The Divine Empress Has Finally Arrived at Her Loyal Reach
Inside the UNSC Command Base, amidst the multiple fortress-like structures between the Spartan Operations Division and the Office of Naval Intelligence (ONI), chaos reigned.
This was a heavily fortified area, constructed at the heart of the UNSC's intelligence operations and elite field divisions—a bastion that had once been defended by multiple layers of UNSC ground forces.
Yet, at this moment, the entire area lay in ruins, devastated by an Astartes reconnaissance force that had executed a precise, short-range teleportation strike from within ONI's interrogation chambers. Their "center-bloom" tactic had obliterated the stronghold.
Gunfire roared, smoke and dust filled the air, and explosive rounds shrieked through the battlefield. The ground was littered with the mangled remains of the fallen.
Within the base, the once formidable defensive positions were now little more than rubble. The entire compound was shrouded in dust and debris, churned up by relentless explosions and raging fires. Broken gray-white walls crumbled, their shattered remnants drifting like snowflakes across the battlefield.
Amidst the devastation, wrecked M12 'Warthog' multipurpose assault vehicles lay torn in half, while several M650 'Mastodon' armored personnel carriers were overturned, their twisted hulls embedded deep into the shattered walls. The ammunition of M808 'Scorpion' main battle tanks had detonated in violent bursts, leaving both crew and surrounding structures reduced to ash. The acrid stench of burnt protein lingered in the air, mixing with the suffocating smoke.
Beside the wreckage, only the armored figures of Astartes warriors moved, their heavy footfalls echoing ominously.
Clank. Clank.
The scrape of their mag-boots against debris was sharp and grating, blending with the agonized groans of still-living UNSC soldiers. It was a symphony of death.
Vrrr!
A brutal, mechanical whir filled the air as a chainsword carved through flesh and bone. Nathaniel's once-pristine, elegantly crafted power armor, adorned with the Night Lords' deep blue insignia, was now drenched in blood and soot.
"Enemies? Ha… Dr. Halsey should have ordered you to remain at your base, Master Chief."
Holding a struggling Jiralhanae—one of the escaped "gifts"—by the throat, Nathaniel tilted his head slightly. With a flex of his free hand, the chainsword's roaring teeth bit deep.
Squelch!
The Brute's chest collapsed inward, dark crimson blood and viscera spilling from the gaping wound as its body convulsed. It was a scene straight from a slaughterhouse.
"Your security measures are abysmal. I handed them over to you already broken and subdued, yet you still let these alien vermin escape."
Tossing the corpse aside with disdain, Nathaniel flicked the blood from his gauntlet.
"As the gift-bearer, I felt obliged to clean up this mess. Yet here you are, pointing your weapon at your benefactor—isn't that a bit ungrateful?"
Despite standing unhelmeted, despite staring down the barrel of Master Chief's M/A5 assault rifle, Nathaniel remained completely unfazed. He spread his arms wide, speaking in the tone of an old friend.
"The Jiralhanae escaped precisely because of the chaos your assault caused," Master Chief retorted, his voice as unyielding as ever.
"From the beginning, your objective was to infiltrate Reach, strike when the time was right, and collude with aliens to take the planet."
Beside him, the fully armored Spartan-134 spoke in a deep, gritted voice. His naturally fiery temper flared, though the neural inhibitors kept his aggression from spiraling out of control.
"To think I genuinely welcomed you as a brother-in-arms on the battlefield, believing humanity had gained a formidable new ally."
As a member of Silver Team, Spartan-134 had accompanied Master Chief aboard the Astartes reconnaissance force's cruiser. The prospect of integrating such an elite force, composed of both baseline human Imperial Navy personnel and genetically enhanced super-soldiers, into Spartan Operations had genuinely excited him.
Nathaniel's amicable conversations with Dr. Halsey had seemed entirely sincere—deceptively so.
"In the end, it was all a façade! You liars! You're human, even if you're rebels—so why side with aliens?! Why?!"
"Engage," Master Chief commanded.
Ratatatat! Boom!
"Siding with aliens?"
Nathaniel's energy shield had long since overloaded under the relentless barrage from UNSC main battle tanks and other heavy firepower. With his energy cells yet to be replaced, countless armor-piercing rounds and grenades clanged against his ornate power armor, ringing out like a twisted symphony of war.
Yet, Nathaniel's expression was one of sheer bewilderment. Raising an arm to shield his face, his instincts kicked in—deploying Iron Body, Armament Haki, and other combat techniques simultaneously.
For all Spartan-134's accusations, Nathaniel was truly at a loss. Me? A loyal Astartes, bathed in the Empress' divine light—colluding with xenos? Utter nonsense!
Yes, their mission had always been to infiltrate Reach, strike at the right moment, and cripple the UNSC's naval command structure. Yes, they had planned for an inside-out assault. But the enemy was never the Covenant.
With a slight flick, Nathaniel's chainsword sliced through the incoming hail of bullets.
"Night Lords, attack! End this quickly—but be careful not to 'harm' our old friends."
If Dr. Halsey had failed to restrain them, and if Master Chief and his Spartans were now convinced they were colluding with the Covenant, then something else was at play.
The first step? Secure the Spartans.
With that thought, Nathaniel surged forward into the oncoming hail of fire from the Spartans.
Vrrrr!
The serrated teeth of his chainsword roared, eager for blood like a ravenous beast.
Behind him, shadows moved. Night Lords emerged from the ruins, darting forward with precision and deadly intent.
Nathaniel's command to hold back was relative—in their eyes, 'not harming' simply meant avoiding outright decapitation.
To them, as long as they left enough for the Astartes medics to reconstruct later, the Spartans would be just fine.
Had this been the World Eaters instead of the Night Lords, they would have gone straight for the kill. Night Lords, however, preferred a more… thorough approach to interrogation.
Nathaniel intended to uncover the truth behind this baseless accusation.
If there was an external hand at play, then a good fight would resolve it—missing limbs could always be reattached. If not, then a visit to the interrogation chambers would be in order.
Amidst the hail of gunfire, Nathaniel's deep-blue power armor sparked and screeched. Every step he took left deep craters in the ground, kicking up clouds of dust.
"Spread out, Formation B—half-contact, maneuver warfare!"
Understanding the sheer disparity in raw physical capability between the two sides, Master Chief made a split-second tactical decision.
With that, he charged directly at the oncoming behemoth, weapon blazing. His M/A5 assault rifle spat fire relentlessly, each round striking the exact same point on Nathaniel's forehead.
"Targeted precision fire? A commendable tactic… but your weaponry is simply too weak!"
Vrrrr!
With a thunderous impact, the semi-materialized shockwave, akin to a nuclear blast's concussive force, radiated outward from Nathaniel's sword strike, clearing everything in its vicinity.
Boom!
The M/A5 assault rifle was shredded instantly by the monomolecular chainsaw teeth. The outer shell of the MJOLNIR exoskeleton was sliced apart, the titanium-nanocomposite undersuit torn open. Master Chief, now bloodied with his left shoulder mangled, was sent hurtling by the blast wave, crashing heavily into a nearby wrecked armored vehicle.
Before the Spartans could react, a barrage of explosive rounds from the Night Lords rained down upon them.
A chainsaw halberd impaled a black-armored Spartan to the ground. More chainswords roared to life, their shrieking teeth tearing through the battlefield, blossoming into a grotesque display of steel and blood.
Blood mist rose, chainswords swept, and the Spartans—those who were not part of Silver Team—felt an overwhelming pressure. It wasn't about tactics or skill—it was sheer physical superiority, an indisputable difference in raw capability.
As the battle raged on, one Spartan after another was sent flying, knocked unconscious or worse. Nathaniel soon realized the flaw in their coordination—UNSC's internal communications had been severed. These Spartans were relying on shouting to relay orders.
It became clear why.
The Night Lords' fleet and the Covenant fleet had arrived at Reach almost simultaneously. Upon detection, the UNSC's automated defense systems triggered an alert, broadcasting only the Covenant invasion.
Hearing of the Covenant attack, Master Chief and his Spartans had wasted no time in deploying. Meanwhile, the Astartes reconnaissance force had already been tearing through the UNSC's command infrastructure.
To make matters worse, the Night Lords' Primarch, Konrad Curze, had deployed a spatial lockdown, sealing Reach's escape routes while also disrupting the UNSC's communications network.
Trapped within the fortress's thick defensive walls, traveling via rapid deployment corridors devoid of windows, Master Chief and his Spartans had no way of seeing what was truly happening outside. With their communications severed, they were left completely in the dark.
Then, they encountered the Night Lords slaughtering UNSC personnel.
When Nathaniel executed the escaped Jiralhanae prisoners—prisoners he had personally delivered—it only seemed to confirm their suspicions. From their perspective, it looked like a cover-up, an attempt to erase any loose ends.
Were the Night Lords planning to disguise themselves as remnants of the Reach defense fleet and stage a repeat invasion of Earth?
"Still think we're Covenant spies?" Nathaniel scoffed, resting his chainsword against his shoulder. He pointed upward. "Go outside and see for yourselves."
"Look at the sky. The galaxy is about to witness a new order. You, the Covenant—it makes no difference. Annihilation is but a moment away."
As the Spartans still conscious enough to process the situation realized something was wrong, their helmet HUDs captured a sight straight out of myth.
BOOM—!!!
From hundreds of kilometers above, a colossal beam of radiant energy, its diameter spanning several hundred meters, tore through every obstruction in its path.
Whoosh.
As the Spartans struggled to their feet amid the shockwave's lingering force, they gazed upward through the gaping hole left in the fortress's multi-layered defensive canopy.
Their visors adjusted to the blinding glow, revealing a world they no longer recognized.
A crimson sun began its slow ascent over the horizon. The eastern sky was painted with the eerie hue of blood, a sight that sent a chill through even the most battle-hardened Spartans.
Above the horizon, the dreamy and dazzling cosmic sky had vanished, replaced by the looming, titanic warships of the Imperial Navy.
Directly above the command tower base, the Nightfall, a warship over 300 kilometers in length, cast a shadow like a moving mountain range in the sky.
Boom—!
From the mountainous behemoth in the sky, several colossal beams of light descended, shaking the ground like the heartbeat of the planet itself. The thunderous echoes of their impact sent tremors of fear through all who witnessed them, their sheer magnitude visible for miles.
The overwhelming presence of these weapons defied words—true despair could only be understood when an enemy faced the might of the Primarch Titans.
Then came the drop pods. Conical-shaped capsules were jettisoned from the ship, streaking through the planet's atmosphere, their descent turning into fireballs due to the intense speed and pressure.
The entire sky burned in what appeared to be a meteor shower of destruction.
"The Legion Commander has arrived," Nathaniel remarked, breaking the silence. His expression remained impassive as he asked, "Now that the misunderstanding is cleared up, are we still fighting?"
Before his words fully settled, boom!—a drop pod crashed directly into the breach in the battlefield.
The sheer impact force sent debris and shattered remnants flying, instantly carving out a deep crater in the ground.
No cushioning, no delay—such an extreme landing could only be endured by Astartes warriors, who would emerge unscathed and battle-ready within moments.
With the grinding of metal, the drop pod's armored plating unfolded, followed by the hiss of hydraulic release valves.
Clank. Clank. Clank.
Heavy footfalls echoed as a figure clad in elaborately adorned, deep-blue power armor strode forth. A terrifying power glaive, radiating volatile warp energy, was mounted on his back.
Behind him, an entire squad of Night Lords Astartes marched out in disciplined formation.
"Nathaniel… well done."
A red-winged skull visor scanned across the Spartan warriors, the Night Lords reconnaissance forces, and finally settled on Nathaniel. His voice was deep and resonant.
"Squad Leader!" Nathaniel snapped to attention and saluted.
"These are the so-called 'Spartans' you mentioned in your report? These bio-enhanced warriors… I was under the impression you had struck an agreement with their leader. Why, then, is there conflict? Has the cooperation failed?"
The Night Lords Centurion questioned, his power glaive raising as he pointed its crackling blade toward the tense Spartan warriors. "Are they enemies of the Empire? Should they be eliminated?"
The air crackled as arcs of purple-red warp lightning coursed across the glaive's surface.
Click.
Bolters were readied, their barrels lifted.
In an instant, the atmosphere became suffocatingly tense.
Just as Nathaniel prepared to respond, a voice—cold, commanding, undeniably imperial—descended from the heavens, silencing all conflict across Reach.
"Curze, cease your assault."
It transcended mere language. Whether in Imperial Gothic, English, or Sangheili, her voice carried across the battlefield and directly into the minds of every sentient being present on Reach.
"This is…"
"Your Majesty!!"
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