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Inferno - Chapter 1: Fear of the Dark
Date: 4 May 2006, 7:35 pm

2022 hours, June 11, 2553 (Military Calendar) / Fire Base Alpha Tango Omega, Planet Earth

      Ever since he was a child, Private Gerry Taylor had always been afraid of the dark. Although his fear had diminished as he matured, the thought that something could be lurking in the shadows never faded. He rarely moved when he was in bed and surrounded by the encompassing blackness for fear that something would hear him. Even though he knew his fear of monsters in the dark was childish, he always slept with a flashlight clutched tightly in his hand with a death-like grip. Several times during the night he would activate the flashlight and slice through the darkness with the beam of light. There was never anything there, of course, but the feeling, the gnawing anxiety that something waited to pounce as he slept, always stayed by him, whispering terrifying things into his mind, using his fear as a kind of twisted amusement.

      Even when he slept alongside other marines, Taylor's fears didn't dwindle and his constant flashlight checks annoyed his bunkmates so much, that they often took his flashlight from him, then removed and stowed the batteries away in a locker until morning. This caused many sleepless nights for the Private, as he was always unsure whether the soft breathing he heard between harsh snores was from other marines, or some mangled thing hiding in the darkness, making sure all of its victims were asleep before it began ripping their throats open one by one, killing them before they had a chance to scream.

      Taylor had joined the UNSC Marine Corps in the hope that live combat would burn away his fear. However, all it did was add a real fear of death to his list of phobias. The constant battles with the remaining Brutes and their allies, the Jackals and Drones – not to mention the last few strains of the Flood – brought him closer to death each time. His few battles with the Flood had injected more dread into him. They were in every sense monsters. Beasts of the night. Creatures of the damned. They were one step removed from demons.


      "I'm going to hit the sack, guys," Taylor told his friends, wearily. He had gotten little sleep the night before and he struggled to keep his eyes open. A good night's sleep would be all he needed.

      He got up from his chair and stretched his aching muscles. Waving his friends goodnight, he exited the bright cafeteria and stepped out into the cool corridor. Taylor gasped at a sudden chill that penetrated him to the bone. He shivered in the low temperature and started walking towards his room. It seemed odd that it should be so cold. Even though the air conditioning was on and some of the windows were open, it was still a blazing hot summer. Earlier that day, Taylor had been sweating like a pig and was relieved when to be back inside where it was cooler and the sun in the cloudless sky didn't blind him. Now, he was wishing they would shut off the air conditioning or close the windows, at least.


      Reaching the door to the room where his bed and flashlight were, the Private shivered in the cold once more, then entered the room.

      The first thing he noticed was that the room was not as bitter as the corridor and gave a small prayer of thanks. Then he spotted his flashlight on the small desk. The room was dark and the light from the hallway was not enough to fully remove the gloom. He reached for the light switch and pressed it, but nothing happened. He tried again with no luck.

      "Oh, you gotta be shitting me," he said quietly to the dark room as he repeatedly pressed the small button.

      Giving up, he moved to the desk and recovered his flashlight, which he instantly snapped on and surveyed the room with. Seeing nothing, he gave a small sigh of relief. This passed instantly as the door closed and locked.

      "Oh damn!"

      He walked towards the door, but it remained closed. He tried the emergency release button, but it beeped harshly, indicating an error.

      It didn't surprise Taylor; they were having nothing but errors for the past few weeks – doors locking, lights going out, alarms blaring and a host of other problems that had no justifiable reason.

      Sighing, Taylor slipped into his bunk after doing nothing more than taking his boots off.


      Alone in the room, surrounded by darkness, flashlight in hand, Taylor's breathing was shallow and quiet; listening. Every so often, he heard a sound and his heart raced, but it just turned out to be either ambient metal creaks and groans or other marines talking to each other as they passed the door.

      Just as the depressing actuality of spending another sleepless night in his bunk encapsulated Taylor, he heard a deep exhale of breath coming from the opposite end of the room. Taylor's heart froze and his eyes widened. He played the sound over again in his mind. It had definitely come from inside the room! His muscles tensed, his throat tightened and his lower jaw trembled as sweat ran off him.

      He was one hundred percent sure that nobody else was in the room. That sound came from something else.

      Oh God, oh shit, oh God...!

      There was a deep inhale and another exhale. Taylor was so paralysed by fear, that he was unable to breathe, himself. He certainly didn't imagine it. It had a definite direction and was distinctly real.

      Gripping his flashlight in his sweaty hand, Taylor ever so slowly removed his arm from under the thin, brown blanket. Heart pounding like a piston in his chest, the Private took a deep, silent breath and then quickly sat up, turning the flashlight on as he did, pointing it towards the far end of the room.

      What he saw struck more fear in him than he could have ever imagined. A black, four-legged creature, about as high as a Grunt, stood at in the light. It had bristling white hair in a Mohawk over its arched back. The four legs were disturbingly thin, more bone than flesh, and ended in three-toed feet with black, twisted talons. Its skinny body was littered with dark spikes and the shape of its ribs could be seen against the black flesh. The head was an expressionless, uneven ball with two, round, staring, compound eyes. Two dark-gray, insect-like mandibles clicked below the terrible gaze.

      There was no sudden movement from the creature as it stood in the beam cast by Taylor's flashlight. Its arched back rose and fell as it took another deep breath.

      Slowly and with purpose, it began to move towards the Private, its talons clicking on the metal floor. Taylor was so terrified, that he never thought to try and escape. The horror drew closer, its eyes locked on his and he stared right back, both species unblinking.

      The thing stopped a foot away from him. It cocked its head, quizzically, as if it wondered what Taylor was. Without warning, it launched forward, burying its mandibles in the Private's face, ripping through his cheeks. He was shoved back by the force of the creature hitting him and impacted the wall hard, winded.

      The monster's talons tore into him as it ate his face, ripping it open, viciously. Taylor, unfortunately, remained alive until the thing cracked open his head and pulled his brain out of the ruined skull, feasting on the heavy, thick mass.


      The next morning, Corporal David Grey knocked on the door to the room where Private Taylor lay. When he got no answer, he knocked again, harder. Silence.

      "Private Taylor? Are you in there? Get up!"

      Grey banged on the door to accentuate his words.

      Nobody had managed to get into the room last night, Taylor hadn't reported for duty that morning and nobody had seen him around since he entered the room, so he must still be in his bunk.

      He's going to be in a lot of trouble, thought Grey.

      Finally realizing that Taylor wasn't going to answer, Grey tried the button to open the door, even though he suspected it would respond with a harsh error beep. To his surprise, it slid upwards, releasing the stench of death, which had been fermenting in the room for several hours.

      "Oh, Christ! What the hell...?" cried Grey, covering his nose.

      A passing marine, Jack Stoat, another Corporal, heard him and walked over to find out what Grey was complaining about and wished he hadn't came so close when he smelled the stench.

      "Pooh! What is that?" asked Stoat, waving his hand in front of face to waft away the smell.

      "No idea," replied Grey, "Taylor's not reported in, so I have to get him up."

      Grey walked in, still covering his nose, "Taylor? You--?"

      The Corporal's face went white and his hand dropped to his side when he saw Taylor's mutilated, bloody body with the destroyed head.

      Stoat, seeing Grey's face, frowned and joined him inside the room. He took one look at Taylor's ashen face and stumbled from the room, feeling nauseous. He opened a nearby window and took in several lungfuls of fresh air.

      Grey just stood, staring at the body. It didn't seem real; it was too horrible to be real. But it was real and Taylor was dead. In his hand was the flashlight, still on. Blood thinly covered the lens, changing the dim light from white to red.


      "Do you have any what happened?" asked Lieutenant Harry Pratt.

      "No," replied Grey, "he didn't report in this morning and nobody had seen him around, so he could only have been in his bunk. It wasn't until I opened the door that we found out he was..." Grey took a deep breath, finding that he couldn't say the next word. Although Taylor was little more than a colleague, Grey knew him well from their brief conversations and skirmishes together. Although cowardly when it came to the dark, he was a good person and very talkative, which made Grey feel like he had lost a friend.

      "Where there any signs of Covenant activity?" asked Pratt.

      "No. A Jackal couldn't have done what it did and Brute couldn't have snuck in if it tried. Maybe it was a Drone…?" mused Grey, "But even then, how did it gain access in the first place?"

      "We'll search for any non-human DNA. We'll find out what happened and, hopefully, stop it from happening again."

      Grey nodded with a small sigh. Pratt put a reassuring hand on the Corporal's shoulder.

      "Okay, you better get back to work," said Pratt.

      "Yes, sir."


      In the small, cool, metal autopsy room, Doctor Perry Richards pondered over the strange, gruesome demise of Private Taylor. He had seen many cadavers; ones with missing arms; missing legs; exposed ribcages; bodies sliced cleanly in two by Energy Swords; and a host of other deaths, but he had never seen a body with its entire brain missing. There were instances of the head being vaporized by superheated plasma, but that is not what happened to the young marine. It looked like something had reached in and simply pulled the brain out. But for what purpose? If the Covenant were responsible, why would they take a human brain? There wouldn't be much point. They couldn't learn much about humans by simply taking one of our organs. Besides, the Brutes and Jackals didn't seem to be the type to spend time looking at what makes us tick.

      There was also the question about the damage to the cheeks. Why were they ripped open? It looked like it was either some kind of torture beforehand or mutilation after the Private was dead.

      Doing a basic visual diagnosis was getting nowhere. The doctor was going to have to get a DNA sample. It most likely wouldn't answer why Private Taylor was killed, but it would give a better idea as to what had killed him.

      Richards picked up the small device that would allow him to collect the tissue samples he needed. Moving closer to Taylor, he carefully passed the device over the lacerations. After fifteen seconds, a small beep emitted from the DNA collector, indicating that it was full.

      Turning from Private Taylor's body, the doctor carried the tissue samples over to the DNA Sequencer. Inserting the small DNA collector into a small slot, Richards transferred the contents from the device to the observation slate, which was behind a glass screen to prevent any outside disturbances.

      Richards peered into the high-powered microscope to get a good look at the tissue samples lying on the slate before siphoning out Taylor's DNA. He saw the foreign cells straight away. They were a solid black and were much larger than the human cells, which they seemed to be devouring. It wasn't long until the entire view was filled with the giant, black cells. Richards panned the view out a little and saw nothing but a sea of black. Frowning, he zoomed out further and saw more of the same.

      He leaned back and looked at the slate inside the machine. What he saw startled him. The entire slate was overflowing with a black, sticky substance.

      "What the hell…?" breathed Richards, staring transfixed at the oozing slime.

      "…WWWhhhat tha h'll…" hissed a throaty voice behind him.

      The doctor turned quickly to see Taylor walking towards him.

      "Taylor?"

      "TTTayl'r…" hissed the shambling figure. Suddenly, the Private lunged at Richards, the loose flaps of skin on his face fluttering horribly. Richards dodged to the right, avoiding Taylor's grasping hands and knocking over a small cart, sending various medical instruments crashing to the floor.

      Richards ran for the door, but to his dismay, it wouldn't open. He tried the emergency release button, but the fuse blew with a small bang and he started. Glancing over his shoulder, the doctor saw Taylor coming towards him, again and he started beating on the door, crying out for help, but nobody heard him. Just as the doctor felt Taylor's cold hands grasp him, the lights shattered, plunging the windowless room into darkness. A deep, inhuman laugh reverberated through the doctor's bones and he screamed as Taylor sank his teeth into his neck.

Inferno - Chapter 2: Atrophic
Date: 18 May 2006, 7:24 pm

1345 hours, June 12, 2553 (Military Calendar) / Fire Base Alpha Tango Omega, Planet Earth

      Lieutenant Pratt was questioning a marine about Private Taylor when he heard shouting from further down the corridor. Two marines seemed to be grappling with each other. The Lieutenant ran towards the two grapplers, but when he got closer, he stood stock-still when he saw whom one of the combatants was. There was no mistaking the caved in skull of the deceased Private Gerry Taylor. At least, he was supposed to be deceased.

      "Get this fucker off me!" cried Sergeant Joseph Black, who was losing to Taylor's superior strength. Despite Taylor being much shorter and skinnier, he had gained unnatural power.

      "Ghet th's f'ck'r off meee…" echoed Taylor, as if he were an infant learning to speak by copying what he heard.

      "Taylor!" cried Pratt, but the Private simply repeated his name in his slow, lazy voice and continued trying to bite the neck of Sergeant Black.

      Pratt strode forward and put his hand on Taylor's shoulder. The pale-skinned corpse immediately pushed Sergeant Black away, whirled and grabbed Pratt's hand.

      "Shit!" cried the Lieutenant.

      "SSShhh't…" repeated Taylor and then bit into the hand he was grasping.

      Pratt yelled in agony as the blunt teeth cut into his flesh. Just before the teeth broke his finger bones, a single shot rang out, blowing a large hole in the side of Taylor's head and he staggered to his right, allowing Pratt to stumble away from him, clutching his bleeding hand. The Lieutenant looked up from his hand to see Grey standing with an M7A pistol. Grimacing, the Corporal squeezed another powerful shot into Taylor's already ruined skull.

      Taylor continued standing, a little unsteadily, but standing nevertheless. The first shot alone should have been enough to stop him. A target remaining standing, much less living, after two direct headshots with the M7A was unheard of. Grey released a third and then a fourth round, but the shattered body just came closer, snarling like a wild beast and Grey backed up, keeping his gun pointed at Taylor.

      The shambling body's movements became more and more sluggish until it stood swaying before crumpling like paper to the ground.

      As the three assembled men waited to see if there would be any more movement from the body, four more marines came running to the scene, their attention attracted by the gunshots.

      "What the hell happened?" asked James Sear, a red-haired Private, as he reached the small group. Wordlessly, Corporal Grey stepped back, allowing Private Sear and the three who had followed him to see the body with its half-destroyed head.

      "It's Private Taylor. He… died, but…" Corporal Grey struggled to explain what had just taken place.

      "But he bit me!" said Lieutenant Pratt through gritted teeth, still clutching his bloody hand.

      "He was dead?" asked one of the other newcomers, Corporal Larry Stein, a small-framed marine.

      "Yeah, we found him in his bunk, this morning," explained Grey, putting his sidearm in its holster.

      "So how was he walking around?" asked Stein.

      "Well, how the fuck should I know?" asked Grey, incredulously.

      "Wait, Doctor Richards was performing an autopsy, wasn't he?" asked Pratt.

      "Yeah…" said Grey. Then he had a thought, "Oh, crap!"

      He began running to the autopsy room, which was a little ways down the hall. He stopped just outside the room, took his sidearm back out of its holster and opened the door. He stepped back when he saw the room was pitch black, apart from the small rectangle of light pouring in from the hallway.

      Listening, Grey heard a strange noise coming from within the darkness – a slimy, organic sound. He flicked on the M7A's attached flashlight and checked as much of the inside of the room as he could from his position. Seeing nothing, he edged slowly closer, moving to the right-hand side of the doorway. His flashlight shone on the DNA Sequencer and he gasped. There was a black, slimy substance oozing out from it. Grey slowly lowered his flashlight and saw the ooze covering the floor tiles.

      Searching the floor, the Corporal spotted Doctor Richard's body lying facedown just outside the ray of light coming from the hallway. The ooze appeared to be entering a wound in his neck, but Grey couldn't be sure if that was the case, or if it was just the way the light was bouncing off of the slow-moving slime as it flowed around the corpse.

      The Corporal looked down at his feet and saw the black ooze flowing towards him. He scurried backwards, eyeing it warily. There was something about it that didn't feel right. There seemed to be a sort of malice about it, an evil breath whispering words of fear and pain. As the substance flowed out into the corridor, the feeling of a presence grew.

      There was a long moan and Doctor Richards stumbled out, the slime hanging off of him like a living shroud, all of it meeting inside the large wound in his neck.

      "Doctor Richards?" asked Pratt.

      "Dohker Rissshhher'sss…?" repeated the doctor in the slow, monotonous voice that Taylor had used. Clumsily, Richards lumbered forward, his arms outstretched towards Grey, as if seeking help from him, but his face told a different tale.

      The Corporal had always respected Doctor Richards, but he realised that, just like Taylor, the man in front of him was now a hostile target.

      Rather than fire at the doctor, Grey landed a roundhouse kick to the side of the slavering head. Richards cried out and went spinning to the floor. He lay on the ground for a few moments, moaning softly, before getting up to attack, again.

      Grey looked around and saw a fire extinguisher, its surface gleaming bright red in the harsh ceiling lights. He wrenched it off the wall and turned to face the doctor, who seemed oblivious to the new weapon in the Corporal's hands, since he did not even glance at it.

      Judging the distance, Grey waited until the cadaver came closer. He brought the heavy cylinder over his right shoulder, hesitated, and then swung it, mightily. There was a sickening crack and the body flew a short distance from the force of the blow before landing facedown on the cold floor, unmoving.

      Not taking any chances, the Corporal dropped the fire extinguisher, unholstered his sidearm and, taking a deep breath, fired two shots into the back of the doctor's head. The body twitched and bone splintered under the forceful impacts of the bullets.

      Grey staggered back against the cool, metal wall, feeling ill. He had just killed two of his own kind, two men he knew. But he wasn't sure he had actually killed them – weren't they already dead?

      He tried to shut it out, to stop the word from appearing, but it forced its way in, announcing its arrival smugly.

      Zombies…

      That couldn't be right. It wasn't right. Zombies existed only in movies, books and video games. The only things close to zombies were the Flood, but the two dead men didn't look like virulent, bloated nightmares to Grey. They were just men. Men who he had killed. He had done it because he needed to, because he was trained to, but training didn't help when you had to kill your own colleagues because they suddenly started attacking you.

      Zombies…

      That word, again. No matter how much he denied it, Grey knew that it was the best description, but it didn't seem logical.

      He needed to rest. He didn't have any energy left. The Corporal slid down the wall until he was sitting on the floor, knees pointing up toward the ceiling where circular lights hummed quietly. He crossed his arms on his knees and bowed his head.

      He felt like a traitor – he wasn't supposed to kill other humans. Repeating 'they attacked me, they were dangerous' in his head didn't help. Guilt washed over him. Curiously, the feeling of dread seeped into him, too.

      "Grey, get up! Move!" shouted Stein.

      The Corporal looked up, quickly. He saw the black substance oozing towards him. He scrambled to his feet and ran to the left, towards his colleagues and away from the substance's invisible fingers of fear.

      "What the hell is that stuff?" asked Pratt, his bleeding hand staunched by a piece of fabric he had torn off of his uniform's left sleeve.

      "Hell if I know," said Stein, shaking his head, "but we'd better do something about it."


      Half an hour later, the ooze was still flowing slowly through the corridors. Everything that the marines tried to stop or slow it didn't work; high-pressure water jets were simply ignored. Anti-bacterial chemicals had no effect. Two marines wielding M7057 Flamethrowers tried to burn the ooze away, but the flames seemed to feed the strange substance, so they quickly stopped. Makeshift barricades were set up, but the ooze just climbed over them and continued taking over, slowly moving, creeping along floors, walls and ceilings. There was no choice but to evacuate the base.


      "All personnel evacuate the base. This is not a drill, repeat, this is not a drill. Evacuate immediately."

      The calm male voice from the speaker system crackled as alarms brayed harshly through the corridors, providing a strange contrast of chaos and order.

      The men and women of Fire Base Alpha Tango Omega cleared the rooms and corridors. Those who found their way blocked by the black substance right outside their doors smashed open windows and clambered out through them.

      All one-hundred-and-sixty-eight marines assembled in the open-air parking lot.

      "Everyone here?" called out Captain David Washington, a man who commanded respect just by walking into a room.

      The Captain's brown-eyed gaze swept the crowd as they barked out "Sir yes sir!" in eerily perfect unison. He waited in case someone noticed a missing member. Everyone – apart from those who had needed to be eliminated – appeared to be present. Good.

      Then, eyes began widening and jaws dropped. Frowning, Washington turned to look back at the building and his own expression changed to mimic those behind him.

      The black substance had begun to flow out of the open doors and windows, but instead of pooling on the ground, it seemed to climb the walls as if to cover the building. The marines stood, transfixed, as the ooze devoured the structure. Within five minutes, the whole place was covered in a black shroud. Unheard evil voices whispered to the marines standing only a few feet away, painting horrifying images of torture and pain and death.

      They turned and fled.

Inferno - Chapter 3: Night Terror
Date: 29 June 2006, 11:47 pm

2139 hours, June 11, 2553 (Military Calendar) / Fire Base Bravo Foxtrot, Planet Earth

"So there were these three Jackals creeping round the side of this building, right? They thought they were real sneaky, but I showed 'em just how sneaky they were by givin' 'em a fragger! Boom! Man, what a mess!" Corporal James Peterson relived flamboyantly to Erim 'Strenbilee, a strong, serious Sangheili, who stood with his arms crossed and an expression of fake interest on his face.

The relatively recent, if tenuous, alliance of the humans and the ex-Covenant races had led to the species living in unity. There were still tensions between both parties and many were not happy about having to live alongside those they still considered enemies. However, others were glad to have the Sangheili, Unggoy and Lekgolo races allied with them. It gave them more of a chance to defeat the Covenant forces that had scattered after the demise of the Prophet of Truth and the victory on Earth.

The ex-Covenant, often respectfully being called Ex-Coves, had started to find homes, whether temporary or permanent, on human colonies. At least, those that would permit them to.

Erim looked at Corporal Peterson as he pretended to throw a grenade and then spread his arms to mimic an explosion.

"Really? Interesting…" replied Erim before turning his head to look out a nearby window, his deep blue robes rustling.

"You don't believe me, do ya?"

"I did not say that," Erim said, evenly, his gaze still on the dark sky outside. Trees silhouetted against the deepening blue sky waved in the warm summer breeze.

"No, but you implied it," said Peterson reaching for his beer bottle which he had set down on a nearby table, allowing him to give a visual representation of his heroic tale.

Erim turned his head back to look at Peterson and said nothing.

"Hey, I don't hear you tellin' any of your stories," Peterson said in response to Erim's gaze.

"I am not a story-teller," the Sangheili stated, simply.

"Yeah, right! Come on, you gotta have some cool stories to share!"

"I have none I wish to relate."

"Is there anythin' I can do or say to make ya tell some?" Peterson asked, absently scratching behind his ear.

"No."

The Corporal raised his eyebrows briefly and shrugged, "Alright."

The two stood in the base's cafeteria, which was empty, save for them and two other marines – one brown-haired with a moustache, the other bald – who had looked over when Peterson began demonstrating his grenade throwing abilities. After Erim had turned to look outside, the two marines resumed their previous conversation.

Peterson took a swig from his glass bottle and then extended it towards Erim, "Want some?"

Erim's orange eyes glanced down at the brown bottle, then back up at Peterson.

"No."

Many of Peterson's peers questioned why he was acting so friendly towards the Sangheili. They never identified Erim by name, or spoke to him. Although there was no hatred towards the Sangheili warrior, they were still not comfortable around his species.

Peterson couldn't answer his friends' inquiries, simply because he didn't know why. He had only saw Erim standing alone by a window and decided to talk to him. The long-necked warrior had been surprisingly responsive, but was initially confused by the Corporal's strange speech patterns, especially the "Wassup?" Peterson greeted him with.

Erim found himself warming to the human. He had never had friends, or thought about making any, but he almost considered the Corporal one.

Peterson swallowed the last of his beer and set the bottle on the table. It was then he heard a low rumble that was steadily getting louder. There were shouts and crashes from somewhere deeper inside the base.

Suddenly, the floor lifted up and settled back down like a wave as something passed under the cafeteria. Windowpanes cracked, lights dimmed, and then flickered back to life, snack and drink machines were tilted onto their fronts, smashing them open and spilling their contents on the floor. Peterson and Erim were thrown into a wall while the bald marine lay slightly dazed under a lightweight table, which had upended and landed on top of him. His moustached friend, who had managed to stay upright by grabbing onto the window-frame beside him, lifted up the table with little effort, asking Baldy if he was all right.

Baldy wasn't injured, apart from a throbbing right arm, which had hit the floor, hard.

Erim got up, quickly and helped Peterson to his feet.

"What the f…?" asked Peterson, breathlessly, too shocked to finish his question, his eyebrows knotted together in a look of confusion and worry.

"What was that? An earthquake, or something?" questioned Moustache.

"Strangest damn earthquake I ever been in," replied Peterson, despite having never been in an earthquake in his life.

"Agreed," nodded Erim.

"It sounds like the rest of the base got hit with that… wave, or whatever it was," said Baldy, listening to the sounds coming from further down the corridor.

"Huh. I can't wait to see what it's done to our bunks…" said Moustache, sarcastically.

They all turned as Peterson sighed, heavily.

"Aw, man!" moaned Peterson, "The drinks machine's busted!"


Erim walked along the cold corridor to his bunk. It was a single-bed room, which suited the Sangheili fine. When he had nothing to do, Erim often spent his time alone in his bunk, thinking or meditating.

The Sangheili shivered and wondered why it was so cold. The day had been extremely hot, but there was sufficient cloud cover in the early evening to trap most of the heat.

As Erim pondered this, a broad-shouldered marine passing by him purposely bumped shoulders with him, hard.

"Hey, watch where you're goin', Elite!" the marine spat at him over his shoulder as he continued walking.

Erim's brow came down and one of his mandibles twitched. The Ex-Coves had requested to be called by their races' true names – Sangheili, Unggoy, Lekgolo – and not what the humans had referred to them as during the Human-Covenant war. The human tags had since become kinds of insults to the Ex-Coves, although some still referred to them using human terms if none were within earshot, simply because the alien names sounded strange.

"Ignore him, Erim," said a female voice behind him.

The Sangheili turned and looked down at a smiling, blonde-haired woman. She inhaled sharply as Erim turned to face her; she still found the Sangheili race's height intimidating, even scary, at times.

Erim recognised her as Private Leslie Hughes. She was often seen smiling and always seemed to try and talk at length to him. He was uncomfortable enough with Corporal Peterson talking to him without someone else trying to befriend him. Despite not really wanting to have friends, he never gave anyone the cold shoulder.

"Haven't I told you before?" continued Hughes, "Masters is an asshole. He's just trying to get a rise out of you."

"A… rise?" queried Erim.

"He's trying to make you angry," Hughes explained, patiently.

"He is succeeding," the Sangheili replied, craning his neck to look back over his shoulder, scowling.

Hughes patted Erim's arm, "Don't worry about that big bully."

"Hm," Erim grunted, nodding briefly.

"Hey do you know what made that big earthquake?"

"I do not."

"I wonder how much damage it caused…?" pondered Hughes, her smile replaced with a thoughtful look.

"That is what I was on my to ascertain."

"Oh. Then I won't keep you any longer," replied Hughes, her bright smile returning.

Erim gave her a courteous nod and then continued on his way to his bunk, his feet slapping on the metal floor.


Upon entering his room, Erim turned on the lights, as the illumination coming in through the window from the outside lights did little to brighten the room, and surveyed the damage. He did not have many possessions, so there was not much out of place. The bed was askew from the wall and the blankets flowed from the mattress, pooling on the floor. The carved wooden chest with ornate silver trappings that contained his personal belongings had been tipped onto its front, but the lid had remained shut. The contents inside would definitely be in disarray, however. There were small cracks running along the walls and one of the windows had shattered, but most of the fragments had landed outside, only a few slivers of glass glittered on the floor.

The Sangheili's eyes fixed upon his great-grandfather's ceremonial sword, which had been shaken loose from its mounting brackets on the wall. The blade was darkened, translucent, and had been for many years. Erim bent down, grasped the handle and lifted his family's heirloom. With great care, he reverently replaced the sword on its brackets and allowed himself a rare smile. Being in the sword's presence always seemed to fill him with peace and made him feel whole. As he had done many times before, his eyes always on his treasured sword, Erim got down on both knees and loosely crossed his arms, his long fingers lightly touching the opposite arm's elbow. Lifting his gaze from his great-grandfather's sword, Erim raised his head to the ceiling, closed his eyes and slowly said a Sangheili prayer.

Opening his eyes, the Sangheili's gaze fell once more to the sword. Peace flowed through him like pure spring water, cleansing his soul. Erim's orange eyes slowly closed once more and he released a breath of contentment. Letting his great head slowly crane downward, Erim felt himself getting lighter, his thoughts dissipated like petals on the wind and he fell into a trance, a state of being that was between consciousness and unconsciousness, something that had taken him years to master.

Only thirty minutes later, Erim opened his eyes, but did not raise his head. He felt a presence in his room. If somebody had entered, he would have noticed, but not a soul was with him. The presence he felt had suddenly appeared and he had the uneasy feeling of being watched. Erim knew that his observer was behind him, he could feel it; his senses were always heightened for a short time after meditation. It also felt as if the observer was above him, too. The only creature he knew that could position itself in such a way was a Yanme'e, but that didn't seem plausible. How could it enter without him noticing? As a matter of fact, anything trying to get in undetected would fail. Security was extremely tight. The humans certainly were a cautious species; Erim would admit that.

He decided to act before the entity behind him moved. He tensed his muscles, formulated plans for as many outcomes as he could and then leapt up, turning in mid-air to face the intruder.

Erim had no idea what he would encounter, but nothing could have prepared him for the misshapen creature that stood upside-down on his ceiling, staring at him, unmoving with its dead eyes. The beast took a deep breath, its dark, spike-riddled body inflating and deflating with each breath. Erim's mandibles sprang open in shock and surprise.

As if that were a cue, the creature slowly backed up, its terrible gaze holding the tall Sangheili. The black monstrosity reached the angle connecting the ceiling to one of the four walls of the room. It took its eyes off of Erim for a few seconds to turn and face the wall and then it began climbing down towards the floor, looking at the Sangheili, once again.

Erim prepared himself for the attack which he knew would come. He watched as the horribly mutated creature slithered onto the ground as easily as a snake would descend from a tree by hanging from a branch.

He calmly studied the creature's movements, his perception still heightened by his meditation, waiting for anything that might tell him if the creature was about to lunge.

He backed up slowly, the creature coming closer, watching him. It stopped and in turn, Erim ceased moving. This was it. He sensed it. The beast was preparing to lunge.

The two stood as still as statues. The creature took another deep inhalation, and noisily exhaled, the skinny body inflating and then deflating once more. Erim observed it closely. Waiting for a sign.

The creature cocked its head.

There!

Erim slid agilely to his right, despite his flowing robes, just as the creature reared back and pounced. Without waiting, Erim grabbed the momentarily confused creature by its bony hind legs and pulled, causing the black beast to lose its balance. It hissed in rage, a sound that made Erim's skin crawl.

Showing incredible strength, the creature kicked free and whirled to face the Sangheili warrior, its hard mandibles clicking together, horribly. Rather than give his opponent time to think, Erim launched a mighty kick at the ugly, misshapen head. The creature flew and landed near Erim's wooden chest, in which his weapons were stored. Erim knew he would have the upper hand if he wielded a weapon, but he could not simply open the locked container while the creature was still a threat. He would have to knock it out or break open his chest. However, the chest was made from hardened wood. It would take some time to break it open and he was not fond of the idea, but his energy sword would give him an advantage. At that thought, Erim turned to look at his grandfather's sword and considered wielding it.

No! It is not a weapon, anymore!

Erim turned to the creature, which was already getting to its three-toed feet. It shook itself, vigorously and then began slowly edging towards Erim. The Sangheili responded by moving back, the two effectively circling each other.

The Sangheili threw off his robes, as they would hinder his movement, and raised his arms in a fighting stance as they locked eyes.

Basic combat it is, creature… thought Erim.

The creature stopped when it saw Erim raise his arms. It hissed, flexing its shoulders. Erim almost lost his composure as the creature rose up to stand on its hind legs. Several cracks issued from its back as the spine remoulded itself to support the creature in an upright position. It was now almost as tall as the Sangheili warrior.

Not wasting any time, Erim sprang forward, launching a kick at the creature's torso. It stumbled back, but did not fall. In retaliation, the creature leapt towards Erim and swiped one of its claws. The Sangheili felt a sharp, searing pain in his chest. He looked down for a moment and saw a deep, bleeding gash. Erim felt himself shaking uncontrollably. He knew he was going into shock, and he struggled to keep himself focused on his enemy.

The creature stood, waiting for him to move. Erim took one shaking step forward, and another one, watching the creature. His senses were in disarray, now. He was unable to tell when the creature was going to attack. Not waiting to find out, Erim launched a fist at the beast, but it landed with much less power than he anticipated. The black-skinned creature grabbed his arm, its sharp talons digging into his flesh, drawing blood. He tried to wrench his arm away, but the creature would not let go. Erim screamed in agony as the claws dug deeper, puncturing his strong muscles. He tried punching the creature with his free hand, but it landed with almost no force as before.

Erim knew was weakening, he could feel it. The claws in his arm were pulled out, viciously, causing fresh pain to course through his arm. He clapped one shaking hand over the punctures, sweat pouring down his face. It wasn't just shock that was affecting him. The creature's talons must have been tipped with some kind of poison. Already he could feel a terrible warmth spreading through his arm, snaking its way through his bloodstream towards his chest.

Erim began to feel weak. His vision blurred and he fell against a wall as the room canted. He pushed off the wall, but lost his balance and fell to his hands and knees. He looked up and saw the creature leering down at him. It got down on all fours, again, its spine cracking back into its original position.

Erim waited for it to finish him off. He almost hoped it would. The poison in his blood was starting to cause pains in his arm. The pain raced into his chest area like a jolt of electricity. The muscles in his arm spasmed painfully and he fell flat on his chest.

Erim lay on the floor in pain while the creature observed him, seeming to enjoy his suffering.

The Sangheili felt himself getting drowsy. He knew it must have been either from blood loss or something in the poison the creature had injected into him. He could still hear it, breathing in and out. Distantly, he imagined its skinny body, covered in dark spikes, inflating and deflating like an Earth fish he had observed on one of the human's broadcasting devices. TeeVee, they called it.

His thoughts were broken as the poison touched Erim's heart, stopping its life-giving beats. Erim grabbed his chest with his uninfected arm, rolling onto his back. His breath came in short, sharp gasps. The poison's invisible fingers curled around his heart, squeezing it. Erim felt his body going cold and then numb, his vision greying. He lifted his gaze and grimaced at the creature as it stared at him, clicking its mandibles. The Sangheili's head lolled, his vision resting on his grandfather's sword, the only shining object in a dark, grey nightmare. Erim's eyes closed and he left the world of the living.

Inferno - Chapter 4: Discovery
Date: 11 August 2006, 12:03 am

      Journal Entries of Professor Peter Dennison


      11:02 pm, June 8th, 2553

      At last, I am in Egypt. I am eager to get to the destination, but I have to rest. I don't want to collapse shortly after we enter the Tomb of Tunukama. All of the equipment needs to be tested to affirm that it is operational, but we will do that tomorrow morning after breakfast. Right now, though, a good night's sleep is what I need. We will be leaving at around seven o'clock, so I need to get as much rest as possible.

      7:23 am, June 9th, 2553

      We are finally on our way. All of our equipment is fully operational and today's temperature is said to be low – for Egypt, anyway – so that is good to hear.

      According to what I have read from very old Egyptian writings, it is said that the Tomb contains a relic that is 'beyond ancient'. I am not sure what that means, but it definitely stood out amongst the other hieroglyphics. The writings describe the relic as a blood-red stone that is extremely hot to the touch and emits a bright red glow. There were other fragments that yielded only partial nuggets of information, most of it very confusing. There is a reference to a 'gateway of fire'. Other stone fragments told stories of an epic battle between the ancient Egyptian warriors and a powerful army of evil that emerged from the gateway. The red stone seems quite important in this tale and plays a key role in both the arrival of the 'army of evil' and their downfall. I am eager to find this 'Fire Stone', as I am calling it, and cannot wait to uncover the mystery that surrounds it.

      The Fire Stone has been locked away in the deepest levels of the Tomb and will take some work to recover, but I have a good feeling about this expedition.

      I have just been told we are only five minutes away from the Tomb. I can barely contain my excitement! I will log whatever we find as soon as we stop to rest.

      7:34 am, June 9th, 2553

      The Tomb's entrance sits among some ruins of an ancient Egyptian village. We will need to remove a large pile of rubble that blocks the entrance. The strange thing is, there are no pillars or buildings nearby that could have created this blockade, so it must have been created intentionally. I have never seen anything blocked off like this, before. It's like the villagers did not want anyone to enter… or maybe they didn't want anybody or anything to leave. Certainly a chilling thought.

      The buildings that are still standing are now only dead husks. Strangely, I do not want to look inside them. I usually explore an area before heading off to the main attraction to take photographs and collect any trinkets I find such as bowls, shoes, pots, etc. I have a large collection of such items in my office's back room in Florida, but I do not want to go near any of the houses or pick up anything I find. Indeed, when we first entered, I saw half a cup, faded red with the handle intact only a few feet away, but the thought of going over to it caused me some apprehension. This has unsettled me quite a bit. This peculiar… I suppose fear would be the most suitable word… seems to have affected the whole team, all five of us.

      We must continue on. We cannot have come out here only to turn back. I don't want this to have been a wasted journey.

      7:52 am, June 9th, 2553

      We have managed to remove the rubble. The pneumatic drill we brought along helped immensely. However, none of us feel inclined to enter. You see, we cleared away enough rubble to allow us to open the heavy iron door. We had it halfway open when an airy half-scream, half-howl echoed up from the darkness inside the Tomb. This had everyone running and screaming, myself included. Gary was swearing bloody murder and quite literally dove behind a large piece of masonry that had fallen off a large building.

      I ducked behind the corner of what must have been a small shop and peeked out to see if anything was going to come charging out, shoving the door out of the way as if it weighed nothing.

      Of course, nothing happened, but we were very shaken. We still are, in fact. Larry had suggested we go back for weapons before entering the Tomb. It was dismissed quickly, but it was a tempting thought with the memory of the screaming howl still fresh in our minds.

      We know that there is nothing down there. The Tomb was blocked off, so nothing could have gotten inside and if anything was inside, it had been trapped for several hundred years. Anything in there would have died long ago. But that sound has suggested otherwise. We all heard it; there is no mistake there. I am completely certain that there is no other entrance into the Tomb of Tunukama. Even if parts of the Tomb have caved in, there could be no way to gain entry through all of that sand, earth and stone.

      I do not want to enter, yet neither do I want to leave. I will need to think hard about this. The Fire Stone is a very rare and valuable artifact. Even if I cannot touch the stone, just seeing it would be enough.

      8:03 am, June 9th, 2553

      I have decided to enter the Tomb. Despite having had breakfast only an hour ago, the experience we shared drained us. Some water and energy bars were enough to refuel us and finalise my decision.

      The others are preparing themselves, all except Sam and Gary. They are staying above. Sam was going to stay up here, anyway, to keep an eye on our belongings and to make sure the door doesn't close on us while we are inside.

      With Sam and Gary staying up here, that means Larry, Neil and myself are going inside. Gary has a bad feeling about the Tomb. He doesn't want us to go in, but I have made my decision. We will be taking portable radios into the Tomb to keep in touch both with those staying above and with each other in case we get separated.

      I will record our findings once we are a little way inside.

      8:32 am, June 9th, 2553

      It has been hard work getting down here, but we are now standing in a large, round chamber. We have had to light some wall torches, as we can't see very well with our own battery-powered ones. We had quite a scare, again, when we were in the narrow corridor leading to this great chamber.

      We heard what at first sounded like a squeaking noise. We soon realised it was not a squeaking, but more like a baby crying softly. It seemed to come from all around us and did not get louder or quieter when we steeled ourselves to move on. That was ten minutes ago and the crying sound has since stopped. That experience has given rise to apprehension, yet again.

      8:34 am, June 9th, 2553

      Gary has presently contacted us through the radio. He is yelling at us to get out. Neil is trying to calm him down, but he doesn't seem to be having much success. The fear in Gary's voice is starting to infect us, but we cannot let fear control us. The Fire Stone is close. Very close. I can feel it.

      Ah, Neil has finally managed to quieten Gary down. I'm starting to feel more confident, already, now that Gary's voice is no longer shouting, "Get out! Get out, now!"

      We are moving on.

      8:46 am, June 9th, 2553

      We are standing in front of a large stone door with hieroglyphs carved into it. They reference the army of evil and the Fire Stone. The hieroglyphs are telling us to turn back, warning us not to go any further.

      I have not come all this way for nothing. We are continuing onward!

      8:52 am, June 9th, 2553

      We are here! The Fire Stone is right behind the next door! I can see a red glow seeping through cracks in the large stone double-doors. There is a definite change in the air temperature here. It has become warmer, thicker.

      Neil and Larry are currently opening the doors. The red light is getting brighter. The temperature is rising. I can see something! Yes, I think I see it!

      The Fire Stone!

      9:11 am, June 9th, 2553

      I am beginning to lose my nerve. We had just entered the room and approached the Fire Stone – the air around it is almost unbearably hot – when we heard a loud, unearthly roar coming from the passageway we had came from! It sounded like a huge, angry beast. We could hear its footsteps booming through the halls, toward us. We kept our flashlights pointed down the corridor, waiting for the beast to appear.

      Its heavy footsteps suddenly stopped. We waited a long time, but nothing happened. I can only guess that it is still out there, waiting for us. I am beginning to wish we had brought guns with us. We should have done that. We should have!

      Damn it! This heat is making it hard to think. The heat radiating from the Fire Stone. With the sounds of the approaching animal, I hadn't truly looked at it.

      It is not a beautiful gem, as I imagined it would be. It is very… ugly. I don't know what, but there is something about it that stops it from being beautiful. The stone is about as big as a human skull and is on an intricately designed pedestal made of steel. Actually, the stone is not on the pedestal, but above it. The stone is floating and slowly rotating horizontally in an anti-clockwise direction, making its beams of blood-red light flicker around the room, as if a raging fire is burning fiercely inside the artifact.

      We have come all this way to collect it and that it was we shall do. We have a small metal container to place the stone in. It is open, right now, awaiting the valuable object.

      9:20 am, June 9th, 2553

      We have the Fire Stone, now! It is sitting in the container, quite safe.

      I reached out and grasped the stone with both hands, moving automatically. I realised I had touched the stone at the last minute and waited for the searing pain, as the stone must surely be burning hot for the high temperature it generates. To my amazement, the stone was only very warm, enough for my hands to bear.

      I carried it to the metal container and placed it inside, plunging the room into darkness so complete, I thought I had gone blind.

      No sooner was the Fire Stone in the container than a deep laugh, filled with malice rang out. I know that sounds ridiculous, but it was real! That much I knew. I broke out in a cold sweat and snapped on my flashlight, expecting to see a malevolent being standing in the room, grinning evilly at me. Nothing was there, but I could feel a presence. Even now, I feel it, watching me, studying me… stop it, Pete! Stop trying to scare yourself! Damn it, we have to get out of here, NOW!

      9:59 am, June 9th, 2553

      We have escaped! We are currently in the jeep, speeding away from the Tomb. I have never been so relieved!

      Finally deciding that we were going to get nowhere standing around in the dark, we chose to make a break for it, whether there was a monster in the passageway or not. We gripped our flashlights, with me also holding the container with the Fire Stone in it, and ran. Our flashlight beams danced around in the dark, but we were still able to see where we were going. Larry radioed back up to Gary and Sam. I was half-expecting the cliché horror scenario of radio communication being unsuccessful, but to my great relief, we heard Sam's voice coming through. Larry wanted to make sure the door was open for us. Of course it was, Sam and Gary were both there – they wouldn't let it close on us.

      The loud roar we had heard earlier boomed out again, shaking the walls. My legs almost failed me, but we were very close to the surface, now. I could see the cracked and broken staircase just ahead. The way out! Freedom! Sunlight!

      We bounded up the stairs, taking them two at a time, never looking back. I could see Sam and Gary's shocked faces staring down at us. They had heard the roar, too. As soon as we were all out, I started to close the metal door with Neil and Larry leaping over to help me after a couple of seconds, our other two team members too shocked and confused to do anything but stand and stare at us, mouths agape.

      Without saying anything, just wanting to get away from the Tomb as fast as possible, the three of us sprinted towards the jeep and leapt in with Neil taking the driver's seat, myself in the passenger seat and Larry in the backseat. We frantically shouted to Sam and Gary, who had began moving towards us, to hurry. My eyes were fixed on the Tomb's door, which was barely visible through the rubble we had parked behind. Gary and Sam hopped into the back of the jeep and Neil hit the gas. I'm not sure if I imagined it, but it looked like the door was beginning to swing open, but Neil had turned the jeep enough that I couldn't see the door without twisting around in my seat. I did not twist around. I did not want to see if the door had opened.

      I did not look.

      We are now travelling back to the hotel. I can't wait to get back amongst society, again. I just need a good meal and plenty of cool, refreshing water. I can't handle any more surprises. I don't want to think about the Tomb for a long time.

      Log ends.

      1:42 am, June 10th, 2553

      Something terrible happened, tonight. The exact time, I don't know, but it was at least an hour ago, maybe more.

      We had returned to the hotel, thankful to get away from the Tomb and forget about our experiences. We had a splendid meal and spent the rest of the day just doing whatever, trying to clear our heads.

      Soon, we retired to our rooms. The Tomb was still on my mind. It was hard to forget when the Fire Stone sat in its container in my room. I tried to ignore it and lay on my bed, feeling the heat from the Stone, even although it was on the other side of the room.

      I was just dropping off to sleep when I heard a bloodcurdling scream coming from further down the hall. The sound was so terrifying that I ducked behind the bed and peeped out over it, looking towards the door. I heard other people coming out of their rooms, their voices low and confused.

      There was a loud crash and the harsh snap of splintering wood – I later found out it was a door, the door to Liam's room, who had accompanied me in the Tomb – followed by several deep thumps. The people who had come out of their rooms were now screaming and there was a terrible commotion outside. Screams, footsteps and, most disturbingly, wet splattering sounds. What made those wet sounds? Blood, it turned out to be.

      It was quiet outside the room, in the hall. Not a sound except for something that sounded like heavy breathing. The thumping started up again, coming closer. I ducked down lower behind the bed, sweating profusely. The thumping stopped outside the door! From the small band of light that crept in from the hall, I saw a shadow. Not all of it, but it was there and I could tell it wasn't a human that stood outside my door.

      Without warning, the entire door was thrown into the room, towards the bed. I ducked and the door landed on the bed, part of it sticking over the edge above my head, which I had covered with my hands. I don't remember if I screamed or not when the door came flying towards me, all I remember is that I saw it flying in my direction and I ducked just in time.

      Now everything was still, again. I could hear the heavy breathing once more. I could hear a kind of growling undertone when each breath was taken and expelled.

      Then the thing in the hall stepped into the room. I went numb and my heart froze. The thumping turned out to be the creature's footsteps and it came thumping into the room. The footsteps were so heavy, I could feel their vibrations, now that the thing was inside the room. I looked over my shoulder at the wall and saw the creature's shadow. It was at least ten feet tall and had what looked like spikes jutting out from it, but I couldn't tell much from its shadow, as it was too blurred.

      I slowly and quietly got on my stomach and peered under the bed. I saw the creature's red, four-toed feet from which black claws curved wickedly. Wicked – that is how they looked. Like they belonged to some demon.

      From my view on the floor, I saw the… demon… moving towards the steel container with the Fire Stone in it. It bent down and I saw its huge, clawed hands lift up the container. Apparently, this was what it was looking for. Why it hadn't come for me, I don't know. Either it couldn't see me, or it had just come for the Stone. But for what purpose? Again, I don't know.

      I watched its huge feet begin to step back towards the doorway. When it reached the door, it stopped and turned. Was it going to come for me, after all? I waited for it. Waited for the thing to come charging towards the bed, reach over and grab me. After that… I didn't want to think about it.

      Nothing like that happened, however. The monster in the doorway took a deep, growling breath and then let out a loud, terrifying roar that no animal on Earth could ever possibly make. It was a warped, evil, malicious sound and sparked terrifying images of fire and brimstone in my mind.

      The demon then left. I heard its booming footsteps receding down the hall, then nothing.

      I didn't move for a long time after that. A long, long time. It's still quiet out there, but I can hear approaching sirens. I'll wait here. They're sure to come up to this floor. I can't get out by myself. I took one look at the hallway and went white. I can't describe what I saw. It's too horrible.

      The Fire Stone… that's what it came for. But why? I don't think I want to know.

      No, I don't want to know! I absolutely do not wish to know anything about that creature's plans for the Stone!

      3:57 pm, June 10th, 2553

      I have returned to my office. I left Egypt on the soonest possible flight after my experience.

      Liam, Gary, Sam and Neil are all dead, killed by that… thing. Their bodies have been flown back to America and the funerals will be held in a few days. My friends… they're all dead because I wanted to find a stone buried away in a tomb. All those noises we heard… we should have turned back. I blame myself. I'm sorry, my friends, I am truly sorry.

      Forgive me…

      4:19 pm, June 12th, 2553

      I haven't been able to sleep at all since I got back, especially not at night. I will nod off at various times during the day and night, but will wake up only a few minutes later, with strands of nightmares floating around in my head. I have tried going to the doctor, but nothing has helped. I also feel uncomfortably hot all the time. Even though it's summer, the weather hasn't been any hotter than previous summers. I'm not running a fever; I'm just incredibly hot.

      I'm also seeing things in the shadows. I don't know what I'm seeing, but I don't like them.

      I'm feeling tired, again. I w


      The entries end here. The journal was found in a pool of blood on Professor Dennison's apartment floor open at the page with the final, incomplete entry. No body was found and no signs of Breaking and Entering were discovered. The cause of Dennison's death is unknown.

Inferno - Chapter 5: Approaching Perdition
Date: 6 October 2006, 12:40 am

1022 hours, June 12, 2553 (Military Calendar) / Fire Base Bravo Foxtrot, Planet Earth


      "My God, what happened to him?" asked Doctor Neil Graves as two marines brought Erim 'Strenbilee's cold, stiff body inside the medical lab on a stretcher, followed by Sergeant Hill.

      "Lay him down on this table," ordered the doctor, motioning towards a large, metal table in the centre of the room. Above the table was an adjustable fixture with a ring of six bright, circular lights.

      The two marines hefted Erim's heavy corpse from the stretcher onto the table and then stood, awaiting orders.

      "You're dismissed, marines," said Hill.

      "Yes, sir!" the two marines answered in unison before leaving the medical lab, but not without a backward glance at the lifeless body lying on the cold table, the orange eyes dark and staring.

Doctor Graves hadn't gotten a proper look at the cadaver. When his eyes focused on the body, he stiffened at the sight. Erim's chest cavity had been ripped apart, exposing his purple innards, spattered with congealed blood.

      The doctor and the Sergeant both stood for long moments, neither speaking.

Finally, Hill said what they were both thinking, "I heard something like this happened over at Fire Base Alpha Tango Omega a couple of miles north-east of here. A young marine by the name of Gerry Taylor."

      "Yes, I heard that, too. Nasty business," replied Graves, "Apparently, that place has been covered in some kind of black slime."

      "Yeah, nobody wants go near it. They get terrified going anywhere near the place. What do you think's going on?" asked Hill.

      "I have absolutely no idea," the doctor responded, "but I hope to find out by examining this body, assuming the cause of death is related to Private Taylor's. With all due respect, Sergeant, could you please leave?"

      "Of course."

      Hill turned fully on his heels and walked out of the medical lab, leaving Graves to himself.

      Slightly adjusting the angle of the overhead lights, Graves bent over Erim's cold body and examined the inside of the alien warrior. The doctor leaned in closer as something caught his eye. Something very black and with a slight shine. It appeared to be a thick liquid, like blood, and was oozing its way from behind the large Sangheili heart. As he watched, the ooze crept sinuously over and even through organs and bones.

      Graves stood watching, transfixed. He had a feeling he knew what the black substance was. Thoughts of the Fire Base he had discussed only moments ago were going through his mind, and he knew that he should do something, but he found himself unable to move. He stood, watching the substance start to fill up the body, as if someone was pouring it into the corpse.

      There came a harsh, strangled noise from Erim's throat. Graves gasped and turned his head to look towards the source of the sound. Erim's four mandibles were slowly curling in and out and his right hand, started to twitch.

      Erim's orange eyes closed and then flashed open. Before Graves could stumble back, the Sangheili's powerful hand reached out and grabbed the doctor by the neck, choking him. Erim's right arm cocked back and then thrust forward, throwing Graves into the clean steel wall, buckling it. Erim's natural strength, coupled with the new ungodly power, made him as strong as, if not more than, a Jiralhanae.

      Winded and injured, Graves lay slumped against the cold wall, stars bursting in his vision. Through the disorientation, he saw Erim begin to sit up, his reanimated body rising slowly, stiffly.

      His vision cleared, but still short of breath, Graves feebly tried to move, but his injured back and lack of oxygen stopped him before he could make any significant progress. Not that he would have escaped, as Erim was now making his way towards the doctor, the orange eyes still dead, giving Erim the expressionless face of a zombie. Graves saw organs inside the Sangheili bouncing and wobbling horribly, organs that humans have no name for, ones unique to Sangheili physiology.

      Erim's heavy shadow fell over the doctor, who did not dare look up. He could smell the decomposing flesh, the stench of decay and death. Through his fear, Graves thought it strange that the body should be decomposing so quickly.

      Erim made a strange choking noise deep in his long throat, a sound so strange that Graves looked up involuntarily. The doctor stared in horror at a large growth in Erim's body. A large glob of black ooze was now bulging out of the Sangheili's chest, the same ooze that he had seen crawling through the alien warrior's body. The thought of that thick, black substance flooding Erim's corpse was sickening.

      The doctor froze as he saw Erim reach down. The tall Sangheili lifted the doctor by the scruff of his lab coat and brought his head level with the black ooze still bulging from the chest cavity. Sensing the reanimated corpse's intent, Graves struggled to free himself from the solid grip Erim's dead hand had on him.

      Erim – the thing that used to be Erim – watched the doctor struggle futilely for a few moments and then thrust Graves' head deep into the thick, growing slime protruding from his open chest.

      Graves flailed his arms and legs wildly, attempting to free himself from the ooze that was entering his body, suffocating him, but Erim held him fast.

      The dead Sangheili stared, unmoving, as the doctor's struggles became weaker and slower until they finally stopped. The doctor's body collapsed loosely, his arms swaying slightly from momentum after falling limply.

      Erim tugged the corpse out of the swelling ooze and studied him through dark eyes. The doctor's mouth was agape and filled with the black slime. More of it clogged up his nostrils and ears. Graves' dark brown eyes were bulging out, being pushed from behind by the malicious substance. The ooze had entered every orifice, crack and opening of the doctor's head to enter his body.

      Without changing expression, Erim unceremoniously dropped the bloated corpse of Doctor Graves and turned towards the door, still moving slowly and stiffly.


      Private Robert Lear was nearing the medical lab, nursing a stinging cut on his left palm. He had unthinkingly picked up his combat knife by the blade as he was preparing for a close-combat exercise. The blade was clean and didn't bite too deeply, but it was bleeding. The tissue he had used to staunch the wound was already soaked through, but he kept pressure on the cut, nonetheless.

      The door to the medical lab opened. Lear stopped and gasped at the sight of Erim stepping out, a black mass bulging from his chest.

      "Holy shit! What…?" the young marine was speechless.

      Erim turned at the sound of Lear's awe-struck voice.

      "Hhhol' ssshhhii…'" the tall Sangheili repeated in a droning, lazy voice.

      The Sangheili began walking towards Lear, advancing on him quickly, the stiffness in his limbs melting away.

      "Hey… hey, stay away!" stammered Lear, stepping backwards. He intended to turn and run, but the sight of Erim walking quickly towards him, expressionless, instilled fear, which sent his thoughts into disarray.

      Erim's strong hand reached out and grasped Lear's right shoulder as the Sangheili repeated the Private's words, "Ssstayway…"

      Wide-eyed, the young marine was hurled into the wall to his right, dazing him. He numbly felt his left hand being lifted up. A sharp, electric pain brought him to his senses. He looked and saw Erim's long tongue licking the salty blood from the wound.

      Trying without any success to wrench his hand out of Erim's grip, Lear yelled in pain, "What the fuck are you doing!"

      Erim snarled at him, mandibles splayed open, silencing the human.

      Dropping the stinging hand, which the young Private instantly stuck under his right armpit. He had seen that the wound had started bleeding heavily, again and he had nothing else on hand to wrap it in, nor the time to.

      Lear scrambled to his feet and pushed off the wall, away from Erim, who had remained crouched and was now only watching the marine. Lear didn't look back; he just wanted to get far away from the Sangheili as possible.

      When he was certain Erim wasn't following him, Private Lear leaned against the wall, breathing heavily. He brought his hand out from under his armpit and saw red smears of his own blood spread all over his palm. Looking at the cut, his heart skipped a few beats and he brought his hand closer to his face to get a better look. The cut was quickly turning black like it had an infection. Lear let out a few terrified whimpers as it consumed the rest of his hand, making it look like he was wearing a single black glove. The infection slithered along his arm, moving in no great hurry.

      A bearded Corporal, Ian Dalton, emerged from a nearby armoury, carrying an MA5C. He looked over at Lear first in confusion, then in shock. Slinging the rifle over his shoulder, the Corporal hurried towards the panicking young marine.

      "What is that?" asked Dalton, referring to the black ooze that had now disappeared under Lear's sleeve.

      "Dunno, dunno!" cried Lear, not daring to touch the strange substance.

      The Corporal did not feel the same way and reached over, intending to try and remove what looked to him simply like wet mud.

      "Don't touch it!" warned Lear, snatching his hand away.

      The Corporal looked at him for a moment, and then retracted his arm.

      "Let's get you to medical," said Dalton, taking the Private's uncovered arm.

      "No! There's… an Elite's there. It attacked me!"

      Dalton's gaze darkened. He had never trusted the Ex-Coves.

      "Don't worry, I'll handle it," he said.

      "No, it's… this shit was growing out of its chest!" said Lear, indicating the ooze.

      "What are you talking about?"

      "I don't know what it is. I just saw this black blob hanging out! I don't think the Elite knew what it was doing. It was like it was in a trance, or something."

      "Well, I'll shake it out of its trance," replied the Corporal, drawing his M7A sidearm.

      The Private's eyes widened at the sight of the pistol, but he said nothing. The two began walking towards the medical lab.


       The entity that used to be Erim 'Strenbilee walked away from the medical lab in the opposite direction of Private Lear. He had done what he had wanted to the human. Now all he had to do was create the second Gatepost. But first, he felt the need to do one final action.


      Sergeant Masters, walking down the empty corridors, could hear a soft, rhythmic slapping sound. He neared a T-junction and was able to determine that the sound was coming from the left-hand corridor. He was going to head down the right-hand junction, but decided to obey his curiosity and investigate.

      Smoothing back his short brown hair, the Sergeant rounded the corner and almost walked straight into a tall Sangheili warrior. Masters fell back several steps after seeing the huge blob of blackness growing out of the alien warrior's chest. Masters looked into the dead face of Erim and recognised the Sangheili from last night.

      "Shit, what happened to you?" asked Masters.

      "Ssshhhi, wha' hap' 'oo…" murmured Erim in response.

      "Don't play games with me, freak!"

      "Dun plah gims, freh…" repeated Erim; walking towards the Sergeant, who refused to show the fear he was feeling.

      "What the hell do you want?" asked Masters, managing to keep the quiver out of his voice, "Is it about me bumping your shoulders? Geez, get over it! And what the hell is that stuff comin' out your chest? Is this a trick?"

      Erim raised his arms and stretched them out towards Masters.

      "Keep your dirty hands to yourself, squid-face!" growled the Sergeant.

      Erim lunged towards Masters and grabbed him by the throat, choking him. The marine clawed at the hands that were slowly crushing his windpipe.

      Erim's right hand let go of the Sergeant's throat and snaked around to grasp the back of his head. The Sangheili then cupped his other hand under the human's jaw. Masters eyes widened in fear. He knew what Erim was preparing to do. The Sergeant struggled in the powerful grip and started beating on Erim, punching and kicking. Erim's left hand, clamped under his jaw, kept him from yelling for help.

      Masters was silenced instantly when Erim's muscular arms twisted his head sharply, breaking the frail neck. Erim held the marine's head for a moment longer, the body swinging loosely below it, before releasing his grip.

      The broad-shouldered marine collapsed like a wet sack and fell forward on his chest, his tongue poking out of the open mouth.

      Expressionlessly, Erim knelt down next to Masters.


      Corporal Dalton and Private Lear cautiously approached the medical lab, looking all around them for any sign of the Sangheili warrior. Lear could feel the ooze spreading across his chest. He felt like a thousand ants were crawling over his skin and he shifted uncomfortably.

      "You alright?" asked Dalton.

      "I think so," the young Private replied, "it's just this stuff just feels really weird."

      Lear had several urges to scratch and rub the tingling areas of his body, but he repressed them, not wanting to disturb the thick, black ooze.

      The two marines stopped near the medical lab's door. Dalton looked up and down the corridor one more time before approaching the lab's door, which hissed open as he drew near. Inside the sterile room, Dalton saw nothing. There were no signs of a struggle and no traces of blood that he could see. The only thing that caught his eye was the back wall, which was slightly buckled, as if something had bashed into it.

      Dalton stepped inside the threshold to get a better look at both the windowless, yet bright room and the depression in the metal wall.

      He had gone only three steps when Lear cried out in pain. Dalton jumped and turned to look at the Private. Lear was holding his forearm, looking at his infected hand with an agonised expression. The hand was shaking and had gone into a claw shape, looking like a spider that had descended from its web to grasp something between its hairy legs.

      "What's wrong?" asked Dalton in a concerned tone.

      "Dunno!" Lear cried, panicking. He twitched and his face twisted into a mask of rage for a moment, a small, throaty growl accompanying it, and then his features flicked back to pain and fear.

      Dalton felt a presence behind him, but before he could turn, he was hit between the shoulder blades with a solid, heavy object.

      He fell forward, and managed to catch himself with his hands just before he hit the floor, sending stinging pains through his palms.

      Rolling onto his back, he saw Doctor Graves, who had been hiding in the medical lab, standing posed with a fire extinguisher, ready to bring it down onto the Corporal's chest. Dalton rolled again as Graves lifted the heavy object higher. The fire extinguisher slammed down with a solid bang right where Dalton had been lying moments before.

      The doctor looked up at Lear who started at the bloated features of the doctor, eyes bulging from their sockets, nostrils blown open, revealing bone and muscle. His face muscles had slackened, making the doctor look older than he actually was. Graves hissed at Lear, the teeth almost translucent, and took a step towards him, but stopped and turned his attention back to Dalton, who was now getting up.

      The Corporal got to his feet slowly. The place where Graves had struck him with the fire extinguisher hurt abominably.

      There came a shout from further down the corridor. Dalton glanced down the hall and saw someone running towards him. He didn't have time for more than a cursory glance, as the doctor was coming at him again, fire extinguisher raised to waist level.

      Dalton, thinking quickly, lowered his shoulder and launched himself into Graves. The two men went down, the impact causing a jolt of pain to shoot through Dalton's back. Ignoring the pain in his back the best he could, the Corporal picked himself up quickly and kicked the fire extinguisher out of Graves' hand. The red cylinder rolled down the hall and came to a stop next to two pipes running from the floor up to the ceiling.

      The marine who Dalton saw further down the hall was now at the scene.

      "What's going on?" asked the marine.

      "No idea," replied Dalton, "Private Lear over there has some kind of black goo all over him and Doctor Graves… hell, I don't know what's up with him."

      Graves was on his feet again, but he stumbled sideways and caught himself on a wall. His translucent teeth were bared and his cheeks sagged, almost making him look like a half-human bulldog. The bulldog pushed off the wall and came at the newcomer, arms outstretched. The marine yelled as the doctor tried to grab his short blond hair. The pale hands were not able to get a grip and the blond marine took the chance to shove the doctor away from him.

      Dalton glanced over at Lear and saw that the young marine was shaking violently; the black ooze had entered his mouth, which now hung open, and was making its way down his throat. His eyes had rolled back in his head, showing only the whites and he sounded as if he were choking.

      Dalton hurried over to help Lear, but when the Corporal neared, Lear closed his mouth and his eyes rolled down until they stared straight ahead. Dalton was confused by this sudden transformation and he frowned at the black ooze still seeping between Lear's slightly open lips.

      There was a thump to Dalton's right, followed by an airy moan. He glanced over and saw Doctor Graves lying on his back, felled by a punch thrown by the blond marine. Dalton strained to see the nametag on Blond's uniform, but the tag was too small to read.

      There was a blur of movement and Dalton felt a heavy weight smash into his left ear. He fell back a few steps, slightly dazed, with one hand shot up to the side of his head. There was a loud, one-note whine screaming in his ear. Dalton briefly visualised it as a bright, white light filling his ear hole. He came back to his senses, quickly, the whine still singing as loud as ever and saw Lear coming towards him, teeth bared, growling like an angry animal.

      Lear had punched him, Dalton knew, but what he didn't know was why. The same question was with Graves, who Blond was now grappling with and losing to.

      The Private launched another fist at Dalton and caught him on the nose, breaking it. In addition to the whining, a faint buzzing also filled Dalton's head for a brief moment. Blood trickled from Dalton's nostrils, but he had no time to do anything, as Lear came at him again, both arms raised over his head, hands clasped, making him look like a celebrating champion.

      A hammer punch, thought Dalton. A second after that thought crossed his mind, Lear brought his fists down, stepping forward to increase the range. Dalton stepped back, causing blood to fall down his throat and he gagged on it, coughing. Lear's attack missed the Corporal by a few inches and sent the Private off-balance. Dalton brought his knee up and it connected with Lear's face, flooring him.

      Dalton looked over at Blond and Graves. The doctor had managed to get Blond down on one knee, but both of them were still grappling. The doctor lifted his head up, not to look at Dalton, but rather down the hallway where a figure was slowly approaching.

      Blond seized the opportunity for an advantage and pushed against Graves, making the doctor stumbled back. Expecting Graves to come back at him, the blond marine was surprised when Graves continued to look past him. Blond glanced down the hall and saw the approaching figure. It was a Sangheili warrior. The marine cautiously positioned himself so that he could keep both Graves and the Sangheili in sight.

      Dalton looked down at Lear, still on the floor and noticed that the Private, too, was watching the tall form walking towards them.

      The Corporal's jaw dropped when he saw the black, slimy substance bulging from the Sangheili's chest. It was then he remembered Lear saying something about an Elite with black ooze growing out of its chest.

      Stopping a few feet from the small group, Erim's gaze swept over each one of them after which, he closed his eyes. For long moments, there was no movement from any of the five assembled. No sounds apart from the rattling wheeze of breath from Graves, who, along with Lear, was still looking at Erim expectantly.

      The orange eyes slowly opened and Erim smiled a grisly smile. Then, in a voice that was not his own, he spoke.

      "Incendia Abyssus mos exuro vos!"

      The smile disappeared, and his eyes closed. Erim doubled over and the black ooze bellowed out and massed on the floor. Erim's corpse fell forward and landed face-first into the ooze, which then devoured his body whole. It then started on the base, multiplying itself constantly, feeding off anything and everything.

      Graves crawled towards the substance and watched dumbly as it snaked up his arms and consumed his body.

      Breaking out of their fear, Dalton and the blond marine ran to warn the others, Blond stopping slightly to trip the base's alarm system.

      Lear stared at the ooze climbing up his legs. He was, as yet, not too far-gone and knew there was something about the black substance slowly creeping up him that was not right. Unable to move, Lear could do nothing but stand and wait for the ooze to cover him completely. He felt no pain, no fear. His mind went blank and he stared, catatonic, unseeing, at the remains of Erim's corpse.

      Eventually, the ooze engulfed him.

      It moved with a calm slowness, sneaking into rooms and through corridors. The nightmarish black ooze claimed the base tile-by-tile, room-by-room. Anyone who found themselves caught in its grasp screamed in agony, the black substance eating them slowly, so slowly, melting flesh and muscle and dissolving bone.

      Through the pain, terrible voices were heard more in the soul than in the mind, images no horror movie could hope to produce flooded into one's thoughts. What they felt was true fear – and it's much worse than anyone can describe.


      Corporal James Peterson sat alone in the cafeteria, which was still a mess from last night's earthquake. He had been told about Erim's passing and was struggling to cope with the fact. The Corporal had gone numb at the news; it didn't seem real that his Sangheili friend had died.

      As he sat, thinking absently with a cooling cup of coffee in front of him, he dully heard the shouts of other marines. Slowly looking up, he saw males and females of all races, human, Unggoy and Sangheili running by the cafeteria doors, the Unggoy squealing in their high-pitched voices. A moment later, the alarm blared, jolting Peterson out of his trance-like state.

      One marine running past the door stopped, backtracked and looked in at Peterson.

      "Hey! You! Get outta there!" the marine jerked his thumb in the direction he had been running, "Move!"

      "What's going on?" asked Peterson, but the marine had already disappeared.

      Hurrying to the doorway, he looked out into the hall. It was empty. Shaking his head in confusion, Peterson ran towards the main entrance, not seeing the black ooze slowly creeping around a bend behind him.


      It wasn't long until the firebase was completely covered in a thick, black blanket. Actions had been taken to try and stop or slow down the ooze, but as with Fire Base Alpha Tango Omega , all attempts were unsuccessful. The two-hundred-and-two remaining occupants – marines, Sangheili and Unggoy – watched with stunned horror as the base was consumed.

      Feeling the cold hands of fear touching them, clutching at their souls, sharp nails of pain digging in, the beings assembled stumbled back, their eyes still on the fire base, which pulsed like a living thing, and ran.

      Their running was to be in vain.

Inferno - Chapter 6: Slaying Darkness
Date: 7 December 2006, 11:57 pm

1432 hours, June 12, 2553 (Military Calendar) / Fire Base Alpha Zulu Foxtrot, Planet Earth


      Fire Base Alpha Zulu Foxtrot was positioned roughly between Fire Bases Alpha Tango Omega – five miles to the northeast – and Bravo Foxtrot – eight miles to the southwest. Between all three bases were vast plains of barren desert. In the distance, tall, rocky mountains stood like giant guards watching over the land.

      Tensions were high in the base. The attack on the other two installations had unnerved the marines. Fire Base Alpha Zulu Foxtrot was surely next. The most troubling thing was that they didn't know which direction the attackers would come from, or when. Extra guards were posted both on the perimeter and inside, all issued with heavy-duty armour.

      This did not soothe anybody's nerves, however. More than once somebody drew their weapon at a sound that would have been ignored any other time.

      Nobody went anywhere alone. Those who slept in single rooms before now bunked with their fellow marines in larger rooms. Everyone waited for the night, hoping to apprehend the killer -– or killers –- and get some answers about what was going on.


      The lights above Captain Leroy Osmond's head flickered briefly before going out. The Captain sighed and muttered a curse. As if the curse was a command, the lights buzzed loudly and blinked back to life.

      Osmond frowned and looked up at his office's ceiling. All sorts of problems had been plaguing the base's electrical systems for several days, now -- alarms starting and stopping abruptly, doors locking and unlocking randomly, lights flickering. One night, there was a base-wide power loss; even the emergency lighting was affected. Apart from the weak, pale moonlight filtering in through the windows, it was pitch black inside for over two hours. Strange sounds issued from vents and around corners during that terrifying duration of darkness. In fact, a Sergeant was wounded in the right arm when a nervous Private fired his sidearm at the Sergeant's echoing footfalls.

      Captain Osmond shook his head, sighing and resumed tapping away at his laptop's keyboard. He stopped typing only a moment later, closed his eyes and stretched, his joints cracking. From behind him came a low, vicious growl. Osmond whipped around in his chair, startled. He was alone in his office. The growl came again, rolling out from the small duct in the wall that was level with the floor. Osmond got down on his hands and knees. Peering in, he could see nothing past the steel mesh grate covering the opening. It was too dark in there. He was about to get up again, thinking it was just his imagination, when the growl sounded again, this time more vicious. It grew into a loud snarl. Osmond got up quickly and backed away –- he had felt a hot breath on his face.

      The growling animal seemed much too big for the tiny duct it was hiding… lurking in. It could have just been the sound reverberating in the confined space, making the creature seem larger, but Osmond felt that wasn't the case. It was an irrational thought, but he couldn't help picture a large, shadowy form lying on its belly, watching him from the darkness.

      Taking his eyes from the duct for only a second, the Captain reached into a drawer, lifted out a flashlight and gripped it in his left hand. With his right hand, he slipped his sidearm out of its holster and laid his left wrist over his right so that the flashlight pointed in roughly the same direction as the gun barrel.

      Hands shaking visibly, Osmond slowly pointed his pistol and flashlight towards the vent, the circle of light from the flashlight dancing at the opening. Nothing moved, nothing was heard, but he knew something was in there.

      Very slowly, very carefully, Osmond knelt down, angling the flashlight beam to shine further into the vent. He was in a crouched position when suddenly, a black, tortured claw shot out of the darkness, the long, wicked fingers wiggling erratically through the gaps in the mesh, before retracting as quickly as they had appeared. Osmond screamed and fired three quick shots at the claw, all missing their intended mark. Immediately after the claw had retracted, Osmond crouched and pointed the light directly into the vent. He saw a glimpse of something moving around a bend in the ventilation system, then nothing.

      His body shaking now more from the adrenaline in his bloodstream than from fear, he punched the button to contact security.

      "Security, this is Captain Leroy Osmond. We have a security breach. Intruder alert, repeat, intruder alert. Keep an eye on the vents, I believe our intruder is using them to move around."

      "The vents, sir?" asked the security officer.

      "I don't believe it either, but I definitely saw something moving around."

      "Yes, sir. Understood."

      Captain Osmond took his finger off the button and turned his attention towards the vent once again. Had he seen something? He wasn't entirely sure; after all, it was just a glance. It could have been a trick of the light.

      The door opened and Osmond jumped. Two security personnel entered the room, M7A pistols drawn.

      "We heard gunfire, sir," said the first marine.

      "Something was in the vents. It tried to get in through there," Osmond waved his hand at the mesh grate, "but I guess I scared it off."

      "What was it, sir?"

      "I don't know. Like I said, it was something."

      The two marines exchanged uneasy glances.

      "Keep your eyes peeled and watch the vents," said Captain Osmond.

      "Sir!" the two marines answered in unison and snapped a salute. The Captain watched the two men leave and found his gaze wandering back to the mesh grate, remembering the black, clawed fingers. Each finger, he remembered, had an extra joint, making the fingers' jerky movements look very grotesque. He shivered involuntarily.


      Technician Felicity Dillonson opened the casing on the powerswitch panel in the facility's basement. A marine accompanied her; new procedures demanded that no personnel should go anywhere alone or unarmed. The weight of the M7A sidearm hanging in its holster on her belt provided her little comfort.

      Felicity wished her guard was more talkative. So far, all he had given her was his name, Frank Peters, and his rank of Corporal. Any attempts to get more conversation out of him were either met with silence or curt grunts. The Corporal held his M7 Sub Machine Gun in a tight grip and he swept the long, narrow corridors of the basement with his brown eyes, his ears listening intently for any unusual sounds.

      The technician ran a hand through her dark brown hair, which was just a centimetre over the regulation sixteen centimetres, as she looked at the inside of the third powerswitch panel. So far, she could see nothing that could have caused any of the base's electrical systems to act so strangely.

      From around a corner came a tinny crash and the muffled thump of a body hitting the floor, followed by a skittering sound.

      "What the hell was that?" whispered Felicity.

      Corporal Peters crept forward, SMG raised and Felicity drew the heavy M7A. She thumbed the safety off and stayed where she was. She didn't want to get in Peters's way if he had to back up. She watched him creep up to the corner, hugging the wall. At the junction, he paused for three seconds and then leapt out, his gun pointed directly down the tunnel.

      He waved her over and covered her as she crossed the short distance.

      "What is it?" she asked.

      Peters pointed his chin at a metal grate that had fallen from the wall. The mesh was slightly warped, as if something had punched into it.

      "What now?" asked Felicity.

      Peters waved his gun to indicate they move forward. The lights at the further end of the corridor had gone out and the female technician felt her heart rate go up. The Corporal turned on the SMG's attached flashlight and shone it down the corridor. The light, faded with distance, faintly showed the end of the corridor. It was empty except for a red fuse box attached to the wall.

      Felicity gasped as the lights went out, covering she and Peters in complete darkness. Remembering that the M7A, like the SMG, was equipped with a flashlight, she clicked it on. She waved it around, catching disjointed glimpses of pipes, walls, signs and other various items that littered the floors.

      The Corporal moved forward with great caution, his footfalls echoing in the dark, empty tunnels. Nothing could be heard apart from the deep whoomf-whoomf-whoomf of the large industrial fans as they slowly turned deeper inside the basement level.

      Nothing moved as Peters and Felicity crept forward. At the end of the corridor, there was a right turn. They could see one of the seven large fans spinning slowly, but powerfully, thirty metres away behind three large, open slats. A powerful, bright light shone behind it, making the fan cast solid, dark shadows. A quick skittering sound issued from a left bend a few metres away. Peters moved up against the wall and edged towards the bend. He waited, listening, then jumped out, ready to fire.

      Darkness greeted him.

      Felicity whispered, "Shouldn't we go ba--" she stopped as a shape, low to the ground, half-slithered, half-crawled past the light thrown out from behind the fan and disappeared behind a wall.

      Peters turned when she stopped talking. He swept the area with his flashlight.

      "Something crawled past there," whispered Felicity, pointing, "It went behind that wall."

      Peters moved slowly forward, his weapon ready. His hands shook, the muscles in his arms twitched. Taking a few deep breaths, Peters ran and pointed his SMG down the junction, his finger almost squeezing the trigger.

      Nothing moved. He turned to survey the hall behind him. All was still. He lowered his gun, letting out a ragged, stuttering breath. Felicity began walking toward him, swinging her gun around to check her surroundings as she did so.

      There was a hiss and a blur of movement. Peters cried out as a black shape leapt at him from the shadows, hitting him squarely in the chest and knocking him onto his back. His arms flew up and he lost his grip on the SMG and it clattered away into the darkness. Peters screamed in agony, the creature ripping at him with its claws. There was a cracking sound, followed by a meaty slap.

      Felicity tried to train her gun on the creature, but it had already disappeared. The pistol's mounted flashlight illuminated Peters' body. The technician froze at the sight. The marine's eyes were open in shock, there was a large hole in his chest, and bone and gore lay around him. He had been killed in a matter of seconds.

      Shaking visibly, Felicity slowly backed away from the corpse. The creature that had killed Peters had moved so fast, she hardly saw it. It was on him, then a second later, it vanished. There was no way she could fight it. She could only hope to make it back to the basement stairway and escape.

      She moved carefully, trying to make her footsteps as soundless as possible. There was a slithering hiss and Felicity froze. Moving with agonising slowness, attempting to keep her clothes from rustling even slightly, she swept the darkness of the basement with her flashlight. Her light reflected off of steel drums, pipes, walls and a slick of fresh blood only a foot away. She traced the crimson line with her pistol, unconsciously holding her breath. The line of blood stopped underneath the shape of an unearthly beast. From a small head, innumerable black eyes stared unblinking into Felicity's. There was no reflection of the flashlight in those small orbs. The creature's dark body was slim and tapered away to a shadow-thin tail. Two skinny, yet muscular arms, which were double-jointed, supported the beast's body.

      From underneath the black, spider-like eyes, a wide mouth grew into existence, revealing dirty, yellowed teeth. Dripping from them was fresh blood. The only reflection of light came from there. The thing hissed angrily and launched itself towards Felicity. She screamed and squeezed off a shot, the round impacted the spot the creature had been a moment before.

      Felicity had no time to fire off another round; the creature was on top of her in an instant, ripping, shredding, killing. A second later, it slithered off of her body and melted into the shadows.

Inferno - Chapter 7: A Taste of Chaos
Date: 30 March 2007, 12:34 am

2235 hours, June 12, 2553 (Military Calendar) / Fire Base Alpha Zulu Foxtrot, Planet Earth


Night descended swiftly on the desert. The day's blazing heat was replaced with night's freezing cold. The marines on patrol on the outside perimeter were chilled to the bone, the cold going right through the heavy-duty armour.

Walking along the top of the perimeter wall with his BR55 gripped tightly in hands that felt like blocks of ice, Corporal Mark Stenson knew that if he could grab the freezing temperature around him and turn it into ammunition, it would be one of the most effective in existence. Armour-piercing rounds would have nothing on them. They would be armour-ignoring rounds, passing straight through the heaviest armour and settling coldly onto the flesh. A few shots would incapacitate a target while continuous fire would kill them – literally freezing them to death.

This idle thought was mostly to distract him from the cold and partly to relieve boredom. He knew he should have been alert for threats, but in all the times he had patrolled, something interesting only happened rarely. Very rarely.

There was a rustle below him. Stenson blinked out of his wandering thoughts and pointed his rifle at the sound, peering through his night-vision goggles. The desert scrub his rifle was pointed at was swaying and rustling. There was something inside it. A second later a four-legged creature cantered out on thudding hooves. On its head, two huge horns curled to face forward.

Stenson relaxed and snorted, smiling. It was a bighorn sheep feeding on the brown-green vegetation that was growing near the base. It wandered back into the desert, munching contentedly.


The sheep stopped and stood stock-still several kilometres from the base. She sniffed the air and promptly coughed, a horrible smell was in the air. Sensing something to her right, she turned her head, ears pricked, listening. She sniffed again and coughed more violently. The sheep backed away, warily. There was movement behind her. The sheep kicked her hind legs out at the presence that she knew was not another sheep. Her hooves hit thin air and she turned, head lowered, ready to plough through it and escape. She completed her turn, but saw there was nothing standing before her. Seeing her chance, the sheep started to sprint forward, but her efforts were cut short. She felt a moment of wild fear before her body was ripped in two by unseen forces.


"Sometime earlier this afternoon, Peter Dennison, Professor of Archaeology, was apparently killed in his apartment," the newscaster, a middle-aged man with slicked black hair, announced, "Michael Stanning has the latest."

The picture transitioned smoothly from the newsroom to the front of the apartment building that Peter Dennison had lived.

"He was a well-known and respected member of the Archaeology Circle. His life was unfortunately cut short at the age of thirty-five," Michael Stanning's voice – carefully kept in the neutral tone of news reporters – accompanied the images of a tall apartment building.

The camera panned its viewfinder around in slow arcs, transmitting filler shots while the reporter, a ginger-haired, skinny man with a break-like nose and wide, pale-green eyes, gave the background on Professor Dennison's life.

"He had just recently returned home from an expedition in Egypt, where several people, including Professor Dennison's colleagues, were what could only be described as 'slaughtered' in the Three Pyramids Hotel."

The screen showed a still image of Peter Dennison holding a large blue bowl with black markings on it, the last picture ever taken of him, as the reporter's voice informed the viewers of the events. There was another smooth transition from the photograph to a live feed of Michael Stanning with the apartment building behind him, lit up by external lights. In the background, three police officers were standing around the building entrance.

"It was at around seven o'clock this evening that his fate was discovered. His sister, Laura Dennison, had used her spare key to gain entrance to his apartment on the fourth floor after he had not answered the door and found what was left of her brother.

She told investigators that after she had heard about the incident at the Three Pyramids Hotel, she contacted her brother yesterday at six o'clock and had told him she was going to visit him to make sure he was alright. According to Miss Dennison, her brother sounded shaken, but otherwise okay when she contacted him from her home.

The most confusing thing for the investigators is that his body was nowhere to be found. There was only a pool of blood with his journal lying face-up in it. He had apparently been in the middle of writing, but had stopped abruptly and there are no signs of breaking and entering.

In his journal, Professor Dennison mentions some rather amazing and quite frightening experiences in the entries. We weren't told exactly what he wrote, but the expedition was mainly to find a relic – some kind of object he refers to as the 'Fire Stone'. This stone was stolen not long after Professor Dennison's return to the hotel where his colleagues were brutally murdered. Investigations are still being carried out to find out who was responsible for the killings."

The view transitioned back to the newsroom.

"We'll have more on that story tomorrow," said the newscaster, "but now, from all of us at the News Night studio, goodnight."

The screen displayed the News Night logo, which was accompanied by the news show's theme tune.


Two Corporals, Jake Penney and Kyle Lennin, sat in one of the bastions that were situated at each corner of the base's perimeter wall, which was in the shape of a hexagon, much like the ancient coastal fortress of Fort Jefferson.

In the roughly northern-facing bastion, Corporal Penney produced a packet of chewing gum from one of his pockets and pulled out a thin stick of gum. He offered Lennin a stick, but the Corporal refused. Penney shrugged and put the packet of gum back into his pocket, chewing the stick he had withdrawn.

Penney had his back to the desert plains, as always. After two weeks of nothing but wildlife and weather, Penney had begun to be less vigilant, although he did occasionally glance over his shoulder just to make sure nothing slipped by him. However, even in the heightened state of alert, the Corporal still did not pay any more attention. He was quick to get back to his duty properly whenever he saw or heard an officer approaching.

Lennin, however, was looking out over the desert, which had taken on an almost purple colour in the night's darkness.

Something in the darkness caught his eye. He moved closer to the wide, narrow window of the bastion and looked through binoculars fitted with night-vision. Zooming in on the area, he saw a bright green spot on the ground growing larger. The Corporal switched off the night-vision and saw that the spot was of an orange-red colour, much like a hot fire. A harsh glow shone from the spot, which now seemed to be more like a hollow circle with a pattern inside. As it grew larger, Lennin saw the pattern was a five-pointed star – a pentagram.

He lowered the binoculars as the pentagram grew ever larger.

"Hey, Jake," Lennin whispered, "Take a look at that!"

Corporal Penney looked over his shoulder and froze.

"What the hell…?"

He grabbed the binoculars and focused them on the large pentagram, which was still growing and getting brighter. The two Corporals heard the shocked and confused voices of their fellow marines. They had also noticed the pentagram.

They would have to be blind not to, thought Lennin.

The pentagram, now at least a kilometre across, flickered like a great flame, bathing the darkness of the night in its fiery, blazing glow.

The marines observed the anomaly for several minutes, but nothing happened. The pentagram neither grew nor shrunk, neither brightened nor dimmed. It lay on the desert sand, seeming to watch them.

Sergeant Josh Gladstone – often called 'Gladdy', but never to his face – tried to re-establish some order among the marines, despite the fact that he, too, found his attention constantly being drawn to the pentagram. The way the light it gave off flickered and danced was almost hypnotic; like a lava lamp.

Gladdy managed to keep his attention on the marines long enough to get them back to their posts.

"Keep your eyes on the desert, marines. That… thing out there," he waved his hand in the pentagram's direction, making sure not to look, "is none of your concern. When it is, we'll tell you. Until then, I don't want any questions about it. Understood?"

The marines acknowledged him in unison.

"Those of you on patrol – don't let me catch you staring at that thing. Continue your duties."

Those walking around the perimeter gave him another synched acknowledgement.

Sergeant Gladdy nodded and resisted the urge to look over at the burning shape sitting near the base. It wasn't easy; considering he could see the light it cast reflecting off weapons and armour.

He took a deep breath and entered the base to report the anomaly.


Less than an hour later, a small team, consisting of three marines and two scientists, was sent to find out what they could about the pentagram.

The two scientists, carrying a case of analytical tools between them, followed close behind the marines who constantly surveyed their surroundings as they approached the glowing mark on the desert floor.

"This is Victor Team; approaching target now," reported Victor-One, scratching his unshaven chin.

The response was garbled and unintelligible. The marines and scientists only caught fragments of words, but no sense could be made out of them.

"Repeat, Command? You're breaking up pretty bad," said Victor-One.

Again, the response was garbled. Suddenly, the garbled words were replaced by a thousand tortured screams. Everyone cried out and grabbed their ears as the screams cut into their heads. The screams stopped as abruptly as they had started.

"What was that?" asked Victor-Two.

"Hell if I know," replied Victor-Three, shrugging his shoulders. He shook his head vigorously, "Damn, my ears are ringing."

"Let's keep moving," said Victor-One, almost impatiently. The scientists, having dropped their tool case in surprise when the unexplainable screaming started, lifted it back up and continued walking with the marines.


The team got within fifty metres of the pentagram before feeling fear steal over them. Taking another step was unthinkable; it was like trying to willingly step off the edge of a cliff – they couldn't do it.

Turning tail and running shakily on legs that had turned to rubber, the team fled from the pentagram, their hearts beating frantically in their ears.

Victor-Three screamed as he felt something wrap around his chest and yank him backwards through the air. Victor-Three struggled to free himself, realising that he was headed towards the glowing pentagram. Intense heat flared behind him, burning his skin through the armour. He felt the thing clutching his chest release its grip, but Victor-Three's momentum carried him into the raging hot heart of the five-pointed star. He landed on his back, yelling in agony and then fear as he sank into the ground. The last of him to go under was his arm – stretched up, grasping at the boiling air before disappearing in a gout of fire.

Victor-One and -Two and the scientists quickly followed him afterwards, their screams travelling distantly across the desert in the cold night air.

Inferno - Chapter 8: Nightmares
Date: 20 July 2007, 1:00 am

0014 hours, June 12, 2553 (Military Calendar) / Fire Base Alpha Zulu Foxtrot, Planet Earth


      Captain Osmond slammed his hands down on the conference room table, making everyone else in the room twitch involuntarily.

      "Okay, I want somebody to tell me just exactly what the fuck is going on!"

      For the past two hours, no information had surfaced regarding the large pentagram that brooded just outside the base's walls. The team that had been sent out to the pentagram had still not reappeared and all efforts to try to locate or contact them were given up quickly – anyone approaching the pentagram became overwhelmed with terror. It was impossible to find the missing team's FOF tags, as the pentagram produced too much interference for a positive scan, but everyone had already guessed the unfortunate souls were dead, anyway.

      Osmond looked around at the officers present – Lieutenant Earl Keaton, Lieutenant Joe West and Sergeant David Fielding.

      "Well? I'm waiting for an answer!" said the Captain, loudly, his scowl darkening.

      "Sir, we really have no idea," answered Lieutenant West.

      "I've been hearing that for hours, Lieutenant, and it's just not good enough," replied Osmond in a low, dangerous voice, his scowl replaced by a smile that looked about as friendly as an angry Brute.

      The Lieutenant had no response to this and averted his gaze to look at an empty spot on the polished, metal conference table.

      "So…" said Osmond, "Anybody got any answers?"

      No sooner had he finished his question than the single square light set into the ceiling of the conference room exploded, plunging the room into near-total darkness. From the weak light filtering in from outside through the long window to his right, Osmond saw Fielding holding his temple. Blood was slowly trickling from behind his fingers and leaking into his eye.

      A piece of glass must have hit him, thought Osmond.

      Silhouetted in front of the window was Keaton, who was looking around the dim room, confused at the sudden reduced visibility.

      "What the hell…?" West's voice came from Osmond's left, the Lieutenant barely visible.

      Osmond gave a frustrated sigh, "Damn it! Everybody out."

      "Uh, sir…?" began Fielding as they moved out of the room.

      "I know. Get yourself to the medical lab."

      "Yes, sir."

      "Anyone else hurt?" asked the Captain.

      Apart from a couple of light scratches, everyone else, including Osmond, was fine.

      Suddenly, every light in the base went out, plunging the building into darkness.

      "Oh, what the hell is this?" asked Osmond in a confused, irritated voice, "I'm gonna have to talk to those damn technicians. Everything's fine? Yeah. Like f—"

      A dull, muted thump resonated through the base, cutting him off in mid-sentence.

      "What was that? Why aren't the emergency lights coming on?" whispered Keaton.

      Another thump answered him.

      "Let's see if we can find some flashlights," said Osmond. He felt his way along the walls, trying to find the handle of the emergency supply wall cabinet he had passed on his way to the conference room. After a few seconds, his wrist bumped into something, coincidentally at the same time as the strange, distant thump. He felt the metal object and smiled in the blackness; he had found the supply cabinet. Lifting the cover up, he reached inside and grasped a cold, cylindrical object. Taking it out of the cabinet, he ran his fingers over the cylinder and quickly found a raised bump. He pressed it firmly and a beam of white light shot from his hand.

      Osmond shone the flashlight over at where the officers should have been. He frowned when his flashlight illuminated nothing but the far end of the corridor.

      "Marines?" he called.

      There was no response.

      "Report!"

      Thump.

      Osmond slowly walked forward, his hand on the butt of his pistol, ready to whip it out at a moment's notice.

      The corridor turned left and ended after a few feet. The door to the conference room was set on the right-hand wall. The marines were not in this part of the corridor, either.

      They must be inside the conference room… Osmond thought with a sigh.

      He walked towards the conference room door, letting his guard down a little. The door slid left and a gore-covered skeleton leapt out at him, its bloody, grinning face regarded him with a single, bloodshot eye that shone dimly in the beam cast by the flashlight.

      Osmond fell backwards, screaming in surprise and horror, losing his grip on the flashlight. It clanked to the floor and rolled, casting a curved, moving light.

      The Captain pushed the skeleton with its single, unblinking eye, off of him in a panic. The bones made a horrible, hard, rattling sound as they hit the floor.

      Osmond reached over for his flashlight and shone it on the skeleton. He nearly dropped it again when he saw that the skull was turned to face him. The eye seemed to stare directly at him.

      He was about to stand up when he noticed something about the floor. It had dark red splotches and smears over it. Then he saw it on the walls. Lifting his gaze and flashlight up, he saw it was on the ceiling, too. A bad smell crept into his nose. It smelled like wet, tarnished copper and confirmed what he feared the red stains were. Blood. Fresh human blood. It was everywhere.

      There was a hoarse, throaty, hissing sound close to his left. Osmond swung his light to see a dark brown humanoid figure. It was naked, but he could see no sexual organs, not even nipples. What he noticed more than anything was that the figure was shaking and convulsing constantly, as if it was being electrocuted. The rapid and frenzied hissing and gasping sounds were coming from the creature. The head had no distinguishable features. There appeared to be a face, but at the same time, there was nothing.

      More gasping, hissing sounds came from Osmond's right. Two more quivering creatures stood in the blood-drenched corridor, cutting off his escape. They didn't appear to be looking at him, but he could feel a sense of malice directed towards him.

      One more loud, strangled cry came from directly above Osmond. He swung his flashlight up, shaking in terror and saw one of the dark brown creatures apparently lying on the ceiling. Like the others its body was overcome with shakes and convulsions.

      Breaking out of his terror, Osmond yelled and drew his M7A, firing at the figures around him. Osmond fired round after round at the creatures. They exploded into gory chunks of brown, rotted flesh when the bullets struck them, but whenever he turned his light away from them and back, either they had returned, or another one took their place.

      The pistol clicked empty and the creatures started to slowly glide towards him, jittering and quivering. The Captain cried out as their bony arms reached for him. Their fingers almost touched him and then they disappeared, along with the bloodstains and the coppery smell. The lights remained off and Osmond could hear the dull thump in the distance, again.

      Getting up slowly, Osmond slowly swung his flashlight around the black, empty corridor. The beam of light illuminated something big on the floor. The Captain gasped and pointed his pistol at it. It was the one-eyed skeleton that had leapt out at him. The eye was still staring unblinkingly at him. A gory skeleton with one eye was creepy enough, but it was the fact that the eye was looking right at him that disturbed him the most. It was almost as if it was watching his movements. It should have been staring blankly at the wall, not making eye contact with him.

      Osmond shivered and turned to the conference room. Tucking the flashlight under his arm and reloading his pistol with shaking hands, he walked towards the door. He hesitated, and then stepped forward, the door sliding open, detecting his proximity. He took a quick step back in case any more skeletons were waiting to jump out. There was nothing.

      The Captain was about to go in when he stopped and thought.

      Did that skeleton jump out at me? No… no, that would mean it was alive, or something. Somebody must have pushed it out… but I didn't see or hear anybody. That skeleton definitely mo—

      He turned and trained his flashlight on the inert skeleton once more and froze. The eye was still looking directly at him. He slowly aimed his gun at the skeleton, fully expecting the gory spectacle to get up and come snarling towards him.

      Thump.

      Nothing happened. The skeleton didn't move and it made no sounds. Osmond lowered his M7A, frowning, and turned back to the conference room.

      The moonlight from outside was very weak and hardly lit the room up. On the floor next to a wall directly across from the door was another gore-covered skeleton, this one, however, had no eyes. It lay on its back, the blank sockets staring unseeingly at the barely visible ceiling. Osmond swung his flashlight left and saw another skeleton in the same eyeless state as other one. The table and chairs in the centre of the room obscured the lower half of its body.

      Thump.

      Captain Osmond moved slowly into the room towards the skeleton directly across from the door. He had just reached it when he heard a hard clunk from the opposite end of the room.

      He quickly turned towards the sound and couldn't believe what he saw – the other skeleton was walking around the table, getting closer to the door. The Captain sensed its intent to block the exit and was about to act when he felt something grabbing at his leg. Pointing his flashlight and M7A down, he saw what he expected. Without hesitating, Osmond fired a round into the skeleton's skull. Expecting it to let go, he turned to the other skeleton, which had now almost reached the door, and felt another bony claw wrap around his calf. The claws began squeezing with incredible strength.

      Osmond cried out in pain and fired two more rounds, one at each arm. The humerus bones of both arms cracked, but the pressure was still being applied. Osmond wrenched his leg away, snapping the bones and severing the arms from the rest of the body. But the skeletal hands continued to apply pressure. Osmond let out a yell of pain as the fingers punctured his skin. He dropped his flashlight and pistol and used his bare hands to pull the claws off him. In the dim light, he could see the hands wiggling around, clutching at thin air. He threw them as hard as he could at the sound of the other skeleton, which he sensed was closer. There was a loud crashing of bones hitting metal as the skeleton fell. Grabbing his flashlight, the Captain searched for his pistol on the floor and moved his leg away just in time as the skeletal creature snapped at his shin with what was left of its ruined skull. The movement caused fresh pain to course through his leg. With his free hand, he clutched at his calf muscles while he continued to search for his dropped weapon. He saw it – under the armless skeleton. Taking a deep breath, he kicked the thing, grunting at the pain he received. Ignoring it as best he could he bent down, grabbed his pistol and twisted around to see the other skeleton creature with its bony arms raised. From its collarbones hung the two arms he had threw earlier, swinging disturbingly. Reacting instantly, adrenaline pumping through his body, he pushed with both arms and knocked the creature back down.

      Moving quickly, he retreated to the far side of the room, skirting past the armless creature still trying to bite him lying on the floor. With his back against the wall, Osmond fired again at the skeleton on the ground, sending shards of bone flying everywhere. The skull was completely destroyed, but the creature still slid towards him, using its bony legs to push off of the wall and chairs. Osmond fired round after round into it until his clip ran empty, by which time there was nothing left but some of the spine, the pelvic bone and a leg surrounded by large chunks of bone. The leg still tried to move, but was unable to get anywhere, allowing Osmond to concentrate on the other skeleton coming towards him, again. He reloaded his M7A and shot out the creature's thighbones. It fell to the ground and started crawling. Osmond, breathing heavily, fired at its arms and skull until only the torso lay on the floor with the two disembodied arms trapped beneath it. Rocking from side to side, the torso appeared to be trying to move towards him.

      Don't these things ever give up? thought Osmond.

      He moved towards the door, being careful not to touch the skeletal torso or any of the larger bone fragments. Reaching the door, he took another look around the room, but nothing came after him. The only sounds were the scraping of the skeletal leg and the odd rocking sound of the torso. He backed into the hall and suddenly remembered the one-eyed skeleton. Swinging around quickly, he scanned every direction, but it was nowhere in sight. Listening intently, he head nothing but the faint scraping from the conference room and the distant, dull thumping sound.

      Moving slowly, he approached the corner of the hallway. A gory, bony hand whipped around as he approached. Crying out, Osmond involuntarily fired a round that impacted the wall just above the hand.

      The one-eyed skeleton peeked out mischievously from behind the wall. Aiming carefully, Osmond fired at the eye staring from inside its socket. The bullet blew through the eye and both it and the skull exploded. The force of the impact blew the skeleton back. Almost instantly, it got back up. The Captain used the same tactic he did on the last skeleton – he destroyed the limbs and head, leaving only the bloody ribcage lying on the floor surrounded by bone shards.

      Wasting no time, he ran down the narrow corridor, driven by fear. His legs felt like jelly and he almost fell when he turned the corner. Before exiting the hallway through the door, he turned to make sure nothing was following him.

      At the far end of the corridor, he saw the bloody ribcage rolling towards him. He shook his head.

      "Fuck this," he said and went through the door leading to the main hall. A few seconds later there was a thunk from behind the door, followed by the mysterious thumping sound. It was louder, now, and Osmond could feel the vibrations it made.

      Looking around with his flashlight, Osmond saw that the hall was completely deserted. Light from the moon and stars did little to banish the darkness.

      Moving forward carefully, limping, the Captain headed for the medical lab, hoping that everybody else was okay, unlike the three officers that had disappeared. However, Osmond thought he knew what had happened to them. He didn't understand it, but he knew whom those three skeletons had belonged to.

Inferno - Chapter 9: Phantasms
Date: 22 February 2008, 2:06 am

0039 hours, June 13, 2553 (Military Calendar) / Fire Base Alpha Zulu Foxtrot, Planet Earth


      Thump.

      The vibrations were stronger, now, but Osmond couldn't tell where the sound was originating. It seemed to be coming from everywhere.

      He limped along the dark, deserted corridors towards the medical bay, his punctured right calf hurting abominably. Suddenly, there was an angry, throaty hiss behind him. Osmond whirled around, his flashlight and pistol pointed towards the sound.

      Nothing greeted him.

      A strangled growl sounded at his back and he quickly turned.

      Nothing.

      Thump.

      He stood listening for a few moments, sweating. When he was convinced nothing was in the corridor with him, he moved forward slowly. Another strangled growl emanated behind him. Osmond turned quickly, stumbling on his injured leg. Again, there was nothing but darkness awaiting him.

      Osmond turned back and continued walking towards the medical bay, his pace quickened.

      When he heard another sound at his back, he shook his head and didn't turn.

      Nothing there. Nothing fucking there!

      A heavy, growling weight slammed into him from behind. Osmond's flashlight and pistol flew from his hands and his leg screamed with pain. The Captain felt large hands with long fingers clawing for his throat. Reacting purely on instinct, Osmond thrust his right elbow as hard as he could at the attacker lying on top of him. His elbow connected and the aggressor grunted. Osmond struck twice more, his attacker finally rolling off him.

      Getting to his feet quickly, Osmond launched a punch at where he thought his assailant was, but he only hit air. Recovering from his swing, Osmond raised his fists, although he would have no chance of fighting effectively in pitch black. He turned around wildly, trying to hear or sense his opponent in the darkness. He stopped turning and stayed still.

      Thump.

      Apart from the thumping, louder now, there was no sound to be heard. Osmond listened for a moment more before cautiously limping his way to his flashlight. Retrieving it, the Captain swung the beam over to where he had been seconds ago. As before, nothing was there. The mysterious attacker had vanished.

      Osmond sighed heavily. Now he would have to investigate every sound that was uttered on his way to the medical lab in case his attacker appeared again. He picked up his pistol and suddenly noticed a strange lightning bolt shape on the pool of light cast by his flashlight. He looked at the lens and it confirmed what he thought - the glass that focused the light beam had cracked.

      At least it still works, he thought.


      The Captain finally reached the lab. The entire way, he had heard growls, screams, roars and other unearthly sounds, all of which had no source. A walk that should only have taken one minute turned into a five-minute journey of dread.

      The door slid open, revealing a large room, dark and silent.

      "Hello?" Osmond risked a shout. There was no response. Just in case, he turned to check the black corridor with his flashlight. Emptiness. Osmond turned back to the medical lab. His flashlight lit up various pharmaceuticals on shelves and in open cabinets. Books and papers were scattered on the floor. Looking closely, Osmond saw bloody Elite hoofprints leading into the room. In the middle of the room was a wall that extended halfway across the lab's width, almost dividing the lab into two halves. The bloody hoofprints disappeared behind this wall. From their reflective shine, Osmond knew that the blood was fresh. He stepped fully into the lab, following the hoofprints. There was a clatter to his left. Osmond turned and fired blindly. It took him a few seconds to realise that the sound was from several plastic jars that had fallen from their cabinet. Two of them, both with blue caps, rolled lazily across the floor and came to a stop under a stool.

      Thump.

      Using the back of his flashlight hand to wipe sweat off of his brow, Osmond continued following the trail of bloody prints. He neared the wall section behind which the hoofprints turned.

      Taking a deep breath, Osmond sidestepped past the wall and aimed.

      Nothing…

      The Captain looked down at the floor, but was surprised to find the hoofprints had disappeared. Papers and books still lay scattered, but they were no longer covered in purple-blue blood. Osmond shook his head and looked for a medical kit. He turned to look behind him and saw one hanging on the wall by its long strap, its white surface reflecting the light brightly. He moved towards it, checking around the room as he did so.

      Thump.

      He tucked his flashlight under his arm and took the kit from its hanging place. He went to a nearby bed and set the kit, his flashlight and his sidearm on it and then got on himself.

      He pulled up his trouser leg, which was soaked with blood, and used the flashlight to examine the wound. Four punctures on one side and another on the opposite side of his calf. Placing the flashlight where it would illuminate his leg the most, Osmond opened the medical kit and took out a small cloth and some antiseptic. Pouring the antiseptic on the cloth, he gritted his teeth and wiped the punctures. He grunted and then inhaled sharply, the disinfectant making the wounds sting. He wiped twice more and then, breathing deeply, took out some bandages. Before applying them, he checked around with his flashlight. Still nothing. That was what unnerved him the most - the sheer emptiness and silence of the base. Except for the thumping, of course. It was very close by. The vibrations were strong, now.

      Putting the flashlight back down, Osmond wrapped the bandages around his leg, covering the wounds. The pain was dulled, now. Getting off the bed, Osmond tested his leg by walking a few steps. It still hurt, but he no longer needed to limp.

      Before picking up his flashlight and pistol, Osmond lifted the medical kit and slung it over his shoulder by its strap. He had a feeling he would need it.

      The Captain retrieved his other equipment and set off to hopefully find somebody else and discover the source of the thumping.


      He stood outside the entrance to the mess hall. The sound was coming from inside there, he was sure of it. The vibrations were so strong here that the door rattled inside its frame.

      The Captain swivelled his body, carefully checking up and down the pitch-black corridor with his flashlight. The haunting sounds had harassed him all the way. Twice he heard some sort of beast stomping its way towards him at a fast pace. Nothing ever came at him, but he was sure the beast, or beasts, existed - he had felt the footsteps as they neared him.

      Osmond stepped inside the large, dark mess hall, looking for the source of the thumping with his flashlight. He didn't feel very secure with an open door behind him, so he stepped in further until it hissed shut.

      The mess hall was completely empty. The tables were clear of objects and food stains.

      Thump.

      Osmond turned. It was coming from the very centre of the room. He slowly sidestepped further into the mess hall, bringing him near the counter, to get a clear view.

      From the sound of it, the thumping seemed to be coming from under the tiled floor.

      He didn't want to get near whatever was making that thumping noise. Looking around, Osmond saw a ladle lying on the floor to his left. He moved over to it and, after tucking his flashlight under his pistol's armpit, picked it up. Moving back to where he had been standing, Osmond looked at the ladle and then at where the sound was emanating from. He took a deep breath and threw it.

      The ladle hit the floor with a clang. Osmond readied himself, fully expecting some type of giant worm-like creature to burst up through the ground, throwing the mess hall's metal tables and chairs everywhere.

      For several seconds, nothing happened. No sound, no movement. Osmond realised he had been holding his breath and he let it out slowly and quietly.

      Without warning, the mess hall's lights flashed on, blinding him momentarily. He squinted through the brightness, his darkness-adjusted eyes watering.

      There was a sound behind him. Osmond whirled and aimed his gun. A figure stood just beyond the counter. It made a shocked cry and raised its arms.

      "Don't shoot!" it said.

      Osmond saw it was the chef. Under his tall, white chef's hat, he wore a surprised, confused look on his black-bearded face.

      The Captain frowned and lowered his sidearm.

      "Who are you? Where did you come from?" asked Osmond.

      The chef slowly lowered his arms and watched the Captain warily, "Chief Warrant Officer 2 Davis, sir. I… came from the kitchen."

      "You were in there all along?"

      "Sir?"

      "You must have heard the thumping, then?"

      "Sir? Thumping? No. All I heard was this sort of… clang, so I came to see what it was and I found you… pointing your gun at me."

      "Yeah. Sorry about that," said Osmond, glancing at his sidearm, which he still held in his hand, "Are you sure you didn't hear a thumping? It was coming from right under us."

      "No, sir, I heard nothing."

      "Well, the lights went out. Any idea what-?" he stopped as he saw Davis' confused expression.

      "Sir, I don't know what you're talking about."

      Osmond shook his head and sighed, "Forget it."

      He holstered his weapon and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.

      "Sir, are you okay?" asked Davis.

      "Yeah, fine," replied Osmond, not bothering to mention his punctured calf, nor what had punctured it. He closed his eyes and let out another sigh, remembering the encounter with the skeletons.

      "As you were, Davis," said Osmond, wearily and began walking out of the mess hall.

      "Yes, sir," replied Davis with a salute. The chef continued saluting the Captain, watching after him with a concerned expression, until Osmond was out of his sight.

Inferno - Chapter 10: Invasion
Date: 18 April 2008, 3:05 am

0056 hours, June 13, 2553 (Military Calendar) / Fire Base Alpha Zulu Foxtrot, Planet Earth


      The mess hall door had just closed behind Osmond when he heard a huge crash followed by a roar amidst a cacophony of metal clangs. The lights in the hallway flickered and the ground trembled as if an earthquake had hit. The Captain had already turned to run back into the mess hall when he heard Davis, the cook, scream. Whether in fear or pain, he couldn't tell, but he would find out soon enough.

      The mess hall door opened and Osmond, pistol ready, saw a completely different room than from before. The walls were lined with cracks, a few lights had shattered and in the centre of the mess hall, there was a large hole. Something huge had tore through from below and sent the metal tables flying.

      Lying near the huge opening in the floor was a leg garbed in white. A splatter of blood on the edge of the hole told Osmond all he needed to know. Whatever came up through the floor had grabbed Davis and lifted him into the air before dragging him back down and his leg got caught on the edge of the hole. He was apparently pulled down fast and hard enough to tear his leg right off.

      A loud scraping caught his attention. He looked over in time to see a long, metal dining table that had been teetering on the edge tumble into the gaping hole. Osmond listened, wondering how deep the chasm was, but after listening for a long while, he heard no sound of impact.

      He turned at the sound of voices and footsteps. Other marines in the base had been drawn by the noise. Osmond wondered where they had been earlier when the power had gone out.

      They stopped and stared at the huge cavity with looks of confusion and astonishment.

      One marine, Private Morley, cautiously walked towards the hole, stepping over tipped chairs as he went.

      "Morley, what are you doing? Get away from there!" yelled Osmond.

      The marine paid him no heed and leaned forward slightly to look down into the hole. Deep inside, there was thick smoke, illuminated from below by a flickering deep red light.

      "Marine," said Osmond, slowly, "Get your ass back here, right now!"

      Seeming to hear the Captain for the first time, Morley looked over his shoulder. He made to turn, but a blast of hot air sent him and the others assembled to the floor. They coughed as it brought up the stench of decay.

      Osmond looked over at Morley, who was picking himself up from where he had landed between two chairs.

      Behind him, a huge creature, almost as wide as the hole itself, reared up. Just as Osmond had imagined, a worm-like monstrosity had been below the mess hall. As he stared at the creature, with its horrible dark grey hide and long, yellow fangs, all the strength went out of him. He lay on the ground and watched in horror as it flashed down and caught Morley in its salivating mouth. It rose up, carrying the screaming marine with it, raised its head to face the ceiling and quickly retreated back down the hole.

      A few seconds of stunned silence passed, and then three creatures, all with mottled, spike-riddled black skin and arched backs lined with a Mohawk of white hair, crawled out of the huge hole, their mandibles clicking. Their spindly, bony legs only added to their repulsiveness. All three of them moved slowly, their arched backs rising and falling with each deep breath they took.

      "What are those things?" asked one marine.

      "I don't know," said Osmond, "Just don't make any sudden movements."

      The marines backed away slowly and in turn, the creatures advanced slowly. Osmond raised his sidearm at the lead creature and looked around briefly as he sensed movement on either side. Of the eight remaining marines who came running, only three had had the presence of mind to bring their own sidearms with them.

      "Those of you who haven't got any weapons, very slowly get out of here and find some."

      There was a sound of shuffling behind him. Osmond saw one of the creatures climb like a spider over a table lying on its side. However, it wasn't looking at him, it was looking past him at the marines who were slowly moving towards the door.

      It cocked its head and leapt. Osmond whipped his pistol around and fired, but he had pulled the trigger too early and the bullet uselessly smacked into the far wall. The other marines quickly fled and the creature hissed.

      Two of the armed marines took aim and began firing. Osmond joined the attack and the creature flinched under the barrage of bullets, its vile form being pushed back by the force. Coarse, foul-smelling dark red blood flew from it and splattered wetly on the walls and floor.

      "Guys!" cried the third marine.

      The creature collapsed and they turned. The third marine was backing up, switching his aim rapidly between the two advancing monsters.

      Osmond tapped the marine nearest him on the shoulder, "You and me, we'll take this one," he said, pointing his chin towards one creature, "you guys take the other one."

      "Yes, sir!" answered the marines.

      Osmond and the other marine, Corporal Gregson, aimed their weapons and fired. Several shots rang out, mixed with the angry hisses and squeals of the beasts.

      Soon, both of the black, spike-riddled creatures lay in a pool of thick blood. No sooner had the marines lowered their weapons than four more abominations clambered swiftly out of the hole. Tackling the previous three had taken most of the marines' ammunition and the four of them couldn't handle more of those terrors with what little they had left. Moving quickly, they left the mess hall.

      The door hissed shut and Captain Osmond's finger hovered over the numerical keypad lock as he frantically tried to remember the code to activate the locking mechanism.

      Come on, come on! It's… damn, what is it?

      Then he remembered and entered the four-digit code. The door started to open just as he pressed the final digit. There was a short beep and the door closed. A solid thunk was heard as the lock engaged.

      There were several angry hisses and thumps from behind the door as the creatures, whatever they were, realised they had been sealed in.

      "Alright, let's move," said Osmond and led the small group to the armoury.


      The armoury was just in sight when the other marines came out, two armed with MA5C assault rifles and the other three with M90A shotguns.

      "What happened, sir? Did you get them?" asked a marine with jet-black hair.

      "Yeah, but more appeared. Four of them," replied Osmond.

      "Four? Well, let's get 'em!" said the black-haired marine.

      "Of course. Let us get armed, first. We're almost out of ammo."


      Osmond led the marines towards the mess hall, an MA5C in his hands. When they reached it, they heard no sounds from within.

      Slowly, Osmond put his ear to the locked door. It was completely silent, but he had expected that. The thought that the creatures had retreated back down their hole entered his mind, but he dismissed it. That would be too good to be true. They were in there, waiting. Maybe more of them had appeared. That was a likely possibility, and with the size of the mess hall, any number of those nightmares could be sitting silently, ready to attack at a moment's notice.

      Osmond didn't like this thought much, but it was most probable. Moving to one side, he entered the first three digits of the door's code, pausing at the last one. He looked at the marines. They nodded and raised their weapons. Pressing the last digit, Osmond quickly back-pedalled; making his injured calf muscles ache. The door made a thunk-click and was unlocked. It remained closed, however. Nothing came screaming out of the mess hall at them.

      Osmond cautiously moved forward and started moving back again when the door opened as he neared. Again, no monstrosities attacked. From his vantage point, he could see nothing. He moved ever so slowly forwards, tensed for action.

      He stepped fully in and made a fast sweep of the room with his rifle. Empty, at least as far as he could see. He motioned the other marines to follow him in. They moved in swiftly, flanking him on either side.

      They all stayed at their positions near the door. Nobody felt comfortable stepping any further in, but turning and walking away simply wasn't an option.

      There was a sound above them.

      Damn it, the ceilings! thought Osmond. He had looked everywhere except the ceilings. When they had been fighting the Covenant, he regularly checked above him for Drones, but this wasn't the Covenant he was up against – at least he hoped it wasn't – and so the thought never occurred to him.

      Several heavy weights dropped down behind him, accompanied by screams of pain. He turned and saw the four beasts, their claws ripping deeply into the bodies of four marines, two of them the Shotgun-wielders.

      The creatures looked up at the five humans surrounding them. The marines never let them get any further. Rifle fire started up, the rounds tearing into the monstrosities. The combined firepower made short work of the creatures; it was over in a matter of seconds.

      Lowering his weapon, Osmond turned towards the hole in time to see six more of the creatures clambering out.

      "Shii-iit! Everyone out!"

      They did so, firing as they retreated, regretfully leaving their comrades' bodies behind at the mercy of the fiends that seemed to never stop coming.

      Osmond didn't struggle with the code, this time. He quickly made sure everyone still alive was out and quickly locked the door, again.

      He put a hand over his face and sighed heavily, head lowered.

      That was pointless… shouldn't have went in there, shouldn't have went back in…

      But they had. Now, four more good men were dead. Killed by an unknown enemy that kept coming.

      Whatever's down there just keeps churning those bastards out…

      There was a heavy thump at the door, followed by metal screeches. The marines levelled their weapons. Osmond hoped that the creatures' claws weren't sharp enough to cut through the door. Even if they were, the door was pretty thick; it would take them a while to cut through.

      The screeching stopped along with the thumping. The Captain hoped that meant they were unable to get through. But that didn't change the fact that those things were there.

      They would need a hell of a lot of help to stop this invasion.


      "That is understood, Captain," said Major Harland, "You've heard about Fire Bases Alpha Tango Omega and Bravo Foxtrot, right?"

      "Yes, sir."

      He had heard about them. Those bases apparently got covered in some sort of black ooze that they then sank into.

      "Well we've had reports from a couple of the survivors from those bases who said they saw something similar to the creatures you're describing."

      "Are you saying those things are responsible for entire buildings disappearing?"

      "We don't know, but it seems likely."

      "Well, we can't let that happen to this base. You know how important it is."

      "Yes, I know, Captain. We're sending you reinforcements. Don't let those creatures overtake the base."

      "Thank you, sir. You know about the pentagram outside the base, too, right?"

      "Yes. Don't bother asking; we have no idea where it came from or what it means. All we've seen from satellite images is that there's some kind of new image inside the pentagram, itself. Looks like a goat's head. Ignore it, for now. Is there anything else?"

      "No, sir. Osmond out."


      An hour later, a Pelican approached the base.

      Captain Osmond stood outside with two other marines, watching it glide closer. It took great effort not to look over at the glowing pentagram.

      "Just one bird? We need about ten!" he said, his arms folded.

      The Pelican's thrusters rotated and the craft slowed, its nose lifting briefly. It hovered for a moment as the landing gear lowered, and then swiftly landed, turning one-hundred-and-eighty degrees as it did so.

      The engines died down and Osmond waited for the bay door to open and the detachment of marine reinforcements – the small detachment, thought Osmond – to troop out and report for duty.

      The hatch began to lower. Osmond couldn't clearly see the occupants in the dim red light inside the bay. There were only two silhouettes that he could make out, but there was something strange about them.

      What is this? Two?

      The orange-red light from the pentagram lit one of the two passengers and Osmond sucked in his breath. He wasn't sure if he was seeing right. To him, it looked like a Spartan.

      The large figure stepped out and came into clear view as the base's exterior lights made it fully visible.

      It was a Spartan.

      The other occupant, an Elite, dressed in what looked like silver ceremonial armour, fell in next to it.

      In an almost instantaneous movement, the Spartan saluted, "Captain Osmond. Spartan-117 reporting."

      Osmond, regaining his composure, cleared his throat, "At ease, soldier."

      The Spartan's arm moved from a salute to his side so quickly that Osmond wondered for a second if the metal giant had been saluting at all.

      "So, who's your friend?" the Captain asked, looking over at the Elite who towered over even the Spartan.

      "I am the Arbiter," it said simply.

      "Arbiter? Alright," said Osmond. He had heard of the Arbiter, but had never seen him, before. The Elite continued to look at him and Osmond turned his gaze away quickly. He found it unnerving enough having an Elite look at him with its full-body armour on, but with this Elite's armour, he could see its large, orange eyes.

      "So," he said, turning back to the armoured super soldier, "Spartan-117, is it? You're the Master Chief, right?"

      "Yes, sir."

      "Well, good to finally meet you, Chief. With you here, I think we can deal with this problem."

      "We will deal with it, sir. Do you have any more information on that pentagram?"

      Osmond looked over at it, "No, Chief. Just that there's an image of a goat's head inside it. But we've been told to ignore it. It's real hard to, though. Let's get inside."

      "Yes, sir."

      The Chief, the Arbiter and the two marines followed Osmond towards the base.

      "Spartan, what is a pentagram?" asked the Arbiter.

      "It's a five-sided star. Depending on what religion or group you follow, it has a different meaning. That one has a goat's head inside it, apparently. Sounds like a Satanic pentagram."

      "Satanic?"

      "A group who worship an evil spirit," the Chief looked at the Elite, "a demon, in other words."

      The Elite gave a knowing smile, "As we called you."


      "Marines, anything to report?" asked Osmond.

      "No, s— is that a Spartan?" replied a brown-haired marine, his eyes widening at the sight of the Master Chief.

      "Yes, it is. Now, anything to report?"

      "Uh… no, sir. Those things haven't made a sound since you left. Um…"

      "Yes, we also have an Elite," said Osmond, seeing the marine's eyes lock onto the long-necked alien.

      The Arbiter made a small sound.

      "A… a Sang… Sangilee," Osmond attempted to correct himself, stumbling over the odd alien word.

      "Sangheili," said the Arbiter, coolly.

      "Right, right. Sorry," the Captain turned his attention back to the matter at hand, "So nothing's happened, so far?"

      "That's right, sir," replied the brown-haired marine, "It's been quiet. Too quiet."

      The Master Chief stepped forward, "Sir, do you mind if I have a listen, myself?"

      "Go ahead, Chief."

      The Spartan walked up to the locked mess hall door and put his ear to it.

      "You hear anything, sir?" asked a young marine.

      The Chief looked at him, "Not if you're talking, no."

      "Sorry, sir," the marine apologised.

      Turning his ear back to the door, Chief listened for a few moments, then turned towards Osmond, "Captain, there's definitely something in there. It was faint, but I could hear something."

      "Great," Osmond rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.

      "Sir," said the Master Chief, "If you're tired, you and your men should get some sleep. We'll take over."

      Osmond looked at the Chief and the Arbiter then at his marines, who seemed to be subtly pleading with him to accept with their eyes. Osmond's aching muscles and injured calf joined with their own silent voices.

      "Yeah… yeah, alright, Chief. Although I'm not sure if I'll be able to sleep after what's happened, tonight."

      "Don't worry about a thing, sir."

      "I appreciate it, Chief," Osmond turned to his marines, "Alright, marines, back to your bunks."

      The marines acknowledged him with a slightly out of synch group of      'Yes, sirs' and weary salutes.

      Before heading back to his bunk, Osmond turned to the Chief, "If anything changes, even slightly, let me know, Chief."

      "Understood, sir," the Chief nodded.

      Hoping nothing would change, apart from their unwelcome guests leaving, Osmond headed to his bunk, his weary muscles making him feel as if he could happily crash out on the floor.

      How would that look? thought Osmond with a small, tired smile.

      With relief he reached the door to his room. He felt like he had been walking forever.

      Not bothering to even take his boots off, the Captain climbed onto his bunk and collapsed into the sheets, which had never seemed softer. After the day's exhausting events, he was able to drift off within moments.


      Outside, the pentagram with the goat's head glowed brighter. An outer ring appeared around the five-pointed star in a ring of flame, as though someone had ignited an oil slick.

      The fire died down and the pentagram dimmed to its former brightness, the air around it waving in the heat.

Inferno - Chapter 11: First Wave
Date: 2 October 2008, 10:39 pm

0215 hours, June 13, 2553 (Military Calendar) / Fire Base Alpha Zulu Foxtrot, Planet Earth


      In the silence of the corridor, John could hear the creatures inside the mess hall breathing. It was a harsh, horrible sound – almost like the sound of someone breathing from an oxygen tank.

      Although he knew they were dangerous, John found himself wondering what these creatures looked like. After the varied species of the Covenant, he was sure nothing could surprise him.

      Turning his head from the mess hall door, he looked over at the Arbiter. The alien warrior seemed to be having trouble keeping his eyes open. His shoulders were slumped and his head waved on the long neck.

      "What's wrong? You feeling tired, too?"

      "I… no… I…" the Arbiter sighed, and looked at the Chief, "Yes…"

      "Then sleep. If it comes to a fight and you're tired, then you won't perform at your maximum capability."

      "What about you, Spartan?"

      "I'm fine."

      "Very well. I… I shall… rest here."

      Easing his body down, the Arbiter sat on the floor with his back against the wall and closed his eyes.

      John looked at the Sangheili warrior. It was hard to believe only a few months ago they had been bitter enemies, ready to tear each other's throats out. Now, he was fighting alongside his former adversary.

      As both fighters and sentient beings, John respected the Elites. He didn't… couldn't… consider any of them friends, not even the Arbiter, but he accepted that the Elites were now allies.

      John stiffened as he noticed the base was completely silent. He listened carefully, but couldn't hear the harsh breathing of the creatures. They couldn't be gone. Why would they just suddenly leave?

      John had patched his armour's communication system into Captain Osmond's radio frequency and was considering contacting him when Cortana hastily spoke, "Chief, I'm detecting movement!"

      Before John could ask "Where?" the mess hall door blew out from its frame. The Arbiter cried out and groggily started getting to his feet, using the cold steel wall as leverage.

      Reacting instantaneously, John aimed his Assault Rifle at the new opening in the warped doorframe.

      What he saw made him fall back a step. Standing just behind the doorframe was a huge, ten-foot monstrosity, hunched over, looking through the gap directly at him with blazing red eyes set in a bull's head. Two black, twisted horns jutted from its forehead and flames billowed from its mouth with every exhalation. Its heavily muscled, dark brown skin was marked with ugly bruises and scars. At the end of the muscular arms were large, almost human-looking hands, which were gripping the sides of the doorframe. Supporting the beast's powerful upper body were two large goat legs. Dirt and blood matted the brown hair above the creature's black cloven hooves.

      The minotaur's grip on the doorframe tightened. Its muscles bulged and, with seemingly no effort, the minotaur tore the frame out. Throwing the wrecked doorframe away, the minotaur turned its attention back to John.

      "...This is new..." said Cortana.

      "What are you?" asked John, his MA5C still aiming at the beast, "Are you with the Covenant?"

      The Chief didn't think this thing was, but it was possible. Remnants of the Covenant were still out there, scattered across the galaxy. However, it wasn't unfeasible to think that they would be trying to regain their former strength.

      Instead of answering, the minotaur sucked in its breath. John guessed what was coming next. He ran and grabbed the Arbiter by the arm and shoved him away from the mess hall before diving forward, himself.

      Flames roared around him just before he dove, and his shields drained quickly. A low-pitched beeping sounded, alerting him that his shields were completely down.

      John looked over at the Arbiter who had lost his footing after he was shoved. He was breathing heavily, but seemed unhurt.

      The Chief began helping the Arbiter up as his suit's high-pitched beep told him that his shields were recharging. He turned to face the monster in the mess hall, aiming his rifle with one hand, holding the Arbiter with the other.

      The minotaur, fire licking out from between its lips, reared back and used its body weight to smash through the remains of the doorway and into the fiery corridor.

      Standing slightly hunched over, the monster took up almost the entire hallway.

      By now, armed marines were running towards the scene. They stopped and cried out when they saw the beast, its shape silhouetted by the unnatural fires burning behind it. Then, it slowly began walking towards them.

      "Stay calm," said the Chief, backing off slowly. The marines fell back in time with him.

      The Arbiter gently pushed the Chief's arm away, brought out his Covenant Carbine, and levelled it at the minotaur.

      The marines, barely getting over the shock at seeing the huge creature, pointed their own weapons just as Captain Osmond arrived.

      His eyes widened when he saw the bull-headed beast with its flaming mouth.

      "Holy shit...! What the hell is that?"

      "I don't know, sir," replied the Chief, "But it's probably not a good idea to let it live."

      "Agreed. All right marines," said Osmond, aiming his MA5C, "Ready... fire!"

      The minotaur roared and charged down the corridor. The barrage of fire, however, forced it to slow down and fall to one knee.

      The beast looked up at them with rage. The Chief could guess what it was planning. He stopped firing his assault rifle and quickly took out his M7A. He took careful aim and waited. Less than a second later, the creature's burly chest swelled. The Chief squeezed the trigger and the powerful bullet sped towards the minotaur. The beast's right eye exploded as the bullet tore through it. Surprised by the sudden pain, the minotaur's head snapped left just as it exhaled, causing it to set its own arm ablaze. It let out an agonised roar as its right hand flew up to the ruptured eye.

      "Nice shot!" commented Cortana.

      "Thanks."

      The marines stepped closer, some firing at the head, others set their aim on the burning, charred arm.

      The creature writhed on the ground and let out a deep moan that sounded exactly like a wounded bull. It looked up at the Chief with its one eye and then collapsed, fire escaping from its mouth one last time.

      The marines continued firing, however. The large corpse twitched as the bullets flew into it.

      "Cease fire! Cease fire!" yelled Captain Osmond over the noise of the gunfire and flames.

      Examining the body from afar, Osmond saw no signs of life. He sighed heavily. This was just getting stranger and stranger.

      Wiping the sweat from his brow, he looked at the roaring flames, wondering why the automatic fire suppression system wasn't activating.

      He pointed to two marines, "You and you, get fire extinguishers and put that out."

      The marines saluted and, taking another look at the unmoving bull creature on the floor, followed the Captain's orders.

      "What the hell is go—" Osmond stopped when his radio crackled.

      "Osmond here. What is it?"

      "Sir, I think you'd better come to communications," said the marine at the other end of the radio.

      The Captain heard an edge in the marine's voice, "What's going on?"

      "It's the pentagram, sir. Satellite's showing it... uh... well, something's happening."

      "Alright, I'll be there soon. Osmond out."

      The Captain looked at John, "Chief, you're with me. The rest of you, stay here."

      "You stay too, Arbiter," said John.

      "As you wish," replied the alien warrior and watched the Chief follow Captain Osmond down the corridor.

      As John passed the marines, he could tell many weren't comfortable with the idea of the Arbiter staying with them. Indeed, a couple eyed the Elite suspiciously. The Chief couldn't understand it. The Elites had been allies for several months, now. If they were going to betray the humans, they would have, by this point. There were many times the Arbiter, not to mention a hundred other Elites, could have easily driven their Energy Swords through his back at any time in the past, but it had never happened. John had learned to trust them – why couldn't they?


      Captain Osmond entered communications. A bank of monitors lined one wall, each screen displaying the feed from the cameras in the base with hand-written labels underneath the screens referring to their respective cameras. Almost all of them had now been tuned to the external cameras that focused on the pentagram outside. Osmond looked at the two monitors labelled 'Mess Hall' and noticed they were completely blank. The Captain turned his attention back to the other monitors and tried to ignore that he thought he had seen grinning faces in the blank screens as he looked away.

      "What's going on, soldier?" asked Osmond.

      "Just watch the monitors and you'll see, sir," answered the marine.

      Osmond looked at the multiple images of the giant pentagram that sat north of the base. The strange shape was slowly rotating. As Osmond watched, it started spinning faster, quickly blurring into a solid circle. The spinning pentagram lowered into the ground, creating a huge, gaping pit. There was a deep boom and a large gout of flame exploded from the hole. There was a change in the air and the sky turned from black to blood red.

      The cameras zoomed in on the pit; its sides alight with what looked like glowing red-orange veins. Nothing happened for several moments. Then, a shape crawled out. It didn't look like one of the mess hall monsters; its squat body was covered in red scales. Small, leathery wings sprang from its back. The impish creature walked on all fours and stayed near the pit. Eight more of its kind swarmed out of the hole and advanced a few feet towards the base before stopping.

      "What the hell are those things, sir?" asked the marine.

      "Keep cool, son," replied Osmond. He hit a button and spoke into a microphone.

      "This is Captain Osmond. I want everybody armed and ready. We have unknown contacts outside the perimeter. Contacts may be hostile. All personnel, arm yourselves and stay alert!"

      The Captain lifted his finger off the button and looked up at the monitors to see two new beasts clamber out of the hole. Large, red-skinned monsters that looked to be even taller than an Elite. Like the imps, they had wings on their backs. The two-legged creatures had almost reptilian faces and powerful, muscled bodies.

      One of the creatures roared and a flood of more demonic nightmares surged up from the kilometre wide pit. They were of all shapes and sizes, some flew, some crawled and some walked upright, but they were all grotesque, evil-looking things.

      "Fire Base Alpha Zulu Foxtrot," the radio crackled. It was Major Harland, again. He was the one who had sent the Pelican that delivered the Arbiter and the Master Chief.

      "Yes, sir," answered Osmond.

      "Captain Osmond? If you're in communications, I guess you know why I'm contacting you."

      "Yes, sir, I do."

      "I've managed to get a hold of a couple of patrol teams. They'll arrive much quicker than anything I could send out. You should have two Pelicans dropping off reinforcements. The first one should be there in about ten minutes, coming from the west, the other one'll arrive around five minutes after that, from the south."

      "Good. Thanks, sir. It looks like we'll need all the help we can get," the Captain turned from the microphone for a second, "Send men out to meet those Pelicans," he told one of the other two marines in the communications room. The marine acknowledged and issued the orders.

      "Captain, we'll be keeping an eye on you via satellite. Do whatever it takes to defend that base. If it gets overrun..."

      "I know, sir..." replied Osmond. He knew all too well. If a base as important as his got captured by hostile forces, an orbital MAC Cannon would open fire on the location. The Captain knew that right now, somewhere high overhead, one of the powerful Super MACs was aiming at the base, ready to fire the instant command confirmed that the hostiles had taken over. It would be a bitter pill to swallow, destroying a key fire base along with any survivors, but leaving the enemy free to access the data archives and armoury would be much worse.

      "Captain Osmond, we're going to try something right now," said Harland.

      "Sir?"

      "We're changing the MAC's target to that pit. Hopefully, we'll be able to seal it. Be alert, just in case."

      "Alright. Do it, sir."

      Osmond, John and the assembled marines watched the monitors. A few seconds later, there was a huge explosion, sending the creatures pooled around the pit flying in all directions. Sand flew up seventy feet and smoke rolled out to cover the area as the three thousand ton round flew almost directly straight down the huge hole. The lights in the base flickered and some monitors showed static for several seconds before transmitting again, while others were knocked out entirely.

      "Did we get it?" asked Osmond.

      "The smoke's clearing up top," reported Harland.

      "Something tells me it hasn't worked," said Cortana to John, keeping her voice off the suit's external speakers so as not to alarm the others in the room. The Chief said nothing. He felt the same as the AI.

      "Oh, damn it," said Harland, "Captain... it's still there. It's like we didn't even touch it."

      The smoke dissipated and Osmond could see, as the view gradually became clearer, that the Major was right. Some new hills of sand were created after the explosion, but apart from that, the pit was the same and freakish nightmares still crawled out of it.

      "My God..." whispered Osmond.

      Then, the creatures moved forward, but slowly, with purpose.

      "Oh shit... get everyone to the north entrance... hurry!"

      A klaxon beeped and marines barked orders.

      "What about the teams meeting the Pelicans?" asked one marine.

      "Yeah, them, too," the Captain nodded.

      Osmond turned to the John, "Master Chief, get the Arbiter and join the marines."

      "Yes, sir," John saluted.


      A few minutes later, one hundred and sixty two marines plus the Master Chief, the Arbiter and the marines from the first Pelican dropship stood at the north entrance, ready to fire.

      The creatures came directly towards them, still moving slowly.

      Then, one of the tall, two-legged monsters hunched over and bellowed a deep roar. The marines readied their weapons and the creatures surged forward.

      "Fire!" barked a Lieutenant.

      Weapons of all kinds fired round after round. SPNKrs thudded from the roof of the base and sent rockets soaring overhead. They exploded in a shower of flesh, scales and blood, tearing large rends in the enemy's swelled ranks. Snipers and marines armed with BR55s took out flying beasts and dropped any targets of opportunity on the ground for the few seconds that the sky was empty. With additional support from Scorpion tanks and the mounted turrets on Warthogs, the invading force was rapidly cut down and the fear and dread the marines felt when first faced with the strange, frightening beasts was swiftly replaced with confidence and courage.

      The second Pelican arrived from the west. It hovered for a few moments as the pilot tried to take in what he was seeing and then landed.

      The newly deployed marines joined the battle, their position allowing them to flank the enemy forces.

      After twenty-five minutes, the creatures from the pit stopped coming. A final sniper round punched through the head of a particularly corpulent creature. Its large figure fell backwards to the sand and landed with a muffled thump. The only thing that could be heard was the warm wind blowing from the direction of the pit. They had suffered many casualties, but ultimately, they had prevailed.

      The marines lowered their weapons, smoke rising from the hot barrels.

      A deep, bellowing laugh rolled across the desert, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere. The sound penetrated to the bone and made the most battle-hardened marine go white with terror.

      You have not won! This was only the beginning! Eternal damnation and suffering awaits you! You are only delaying the inevitable! Give up your souls willingly and perhaps I will make eternity slightly more bearable. Come to the Gate and surrender yourselves to me. Join your friends.

      Nobody moved.

      Very well. You will perish under the second wave. None shall survive. Spend your last moments alive well. You will never get them back...

      A huge gout of fire erupted from the pit, turning the surrounding sand to glass.

      Nobody said it, but they all knew who the voice belonged to. They knew what they were fighting. They knew what lurked inside the pit... inside the Gate.

      Hell.

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