* "No weapons," Kronus dictated, throwing aside the spiker blades affixed to his belt. Orpheus did likewise, and both stripped almost bare save for a covering over their lower area. It was painfully clear that Orpheus was the weaker Jiralhanae in every aspect; Kronus was taller, more muscular and his paws ended in claws almost as long as Pel's entire handspan. [i]I doubt this shall end in our favour,[/i] Pel worried, looking across at Grymar'ee and seeing he'd have no help there; the old fool still lay on the ground, his breathing as shallow as his personality. Pel still had the plasma rifle in his hand, but one of Kronus' Jiralhanae had been tasked with watching over him whilst the two Jiralhanae engaged. And even should the one called Orpheus win, what would that mean for them? Pel did not know who he was, and in his experience men did not risk their lives for the sake of someone they did not have business with. And lately, business usually meant someone wanted him dead. [i]A bloody mess,[/i] he decided, thinking on his whole sorry situation as Kronus and Orpheus both assessed each other and issued the mandatory pre-battle growls and curses. [i]A week ago I was one of the most powerful men in the empire, the surgical knife of the prophets. Now I am a man hunted by beasts.[/i] Pel knew all the men loyal to him were dead, or they would have come by now. Probably torn apart by the Jiralhanae. Or maybe they'd never been loyal after all, and had run at the first sight of protuding canines. It was just him now, and he had to figure out a way to get out of this. He decided to let the duel between the two Jiralhanae would-be-chieftains pan out, and from there he would take an appropriate course of action. Whatever the outcome, he did not intend to be taken captive, and he certainly did not intend to die. No, he'd make it out of this and then he'd leave High Charity forever. But not before paying the hierarchs back for their betrayal. A sudden wave of growls, and adrenaline bled out into the air. It was starting. A rough hand pushed him forward, out of the way but where he could still watch. In his captor's other paw, Grymar'ee was held tightly by the neck. Orpheus and Kronus began the elaborate ritual before duels of such nature. Each bowed low to the ground in their opponent's direction, and they cried a small prayer for each other's souls. Pel had always thought it to be a remarkably respectful gesture for such a savage people. It didn't last long. One of Kronus' pack yelled out a harsh, foreign word, and immediately all acts of respect were done away with. Two hands clasped together in a bow reached out, and they rushed towards each other at a staggering speed. Pel winced when they smashed into each other, head against head and all the bulk of the Jiralhanae thrown against each other - the sound of snapping bones whipped about, but if either combatant felt it neither showed any sign of pain. They drew off, each assessing where the other had been injured the most. Pel saw no indicators, but he lacked the heightened senses of the Jiralhanae; Orpheus evidently had found a weak spot, and suddenly charged again and lashed out with a heavy hand at Kronus' leg. It buckled a little, and the blow sent Kronus on the backpedal, roaring hatefully at Orpheus. Had Pel been dished out such an attack, he would have been far more cautious. Kronus didn't seem to heed the lesson, and soon enough the two were trading blows again; the fight could have been an eponym for the slanderous term 'brute' so many gave their kind. As he watched more closely though, Pel saw differences in their fighting style. Kronus was powerfully built even for a Jiralhanae, and his stature was reflected in the way he fought - there was no thought to his attacks, he simply used his size and strength to batter away at Orpheus, and allowed blows to bounce off his muscled shell. Conversely, Orpheus battled more with a technique Pel could appreciate; the man had obviously been given martial arts training, demonstrated clearly as Orpheus wove between the lumbering strikes and dealt his own small but precise ones, like water seeping through the cracks in rock. He heard a stirring to his right, and saw Grymar'ee beginning to come back from the brink. A matting of blood encrusted his face like a river of frozen amethysts, and one of his eyes was swollen shut. Still, that was little compared to the two Jiralhanae the man had dropped forever but he'd finally been subdued. One of the Jiralhanae noticed Grymar'ee's awakening and loosely wrapped a hand around his neck, ready to tighten at the first sign of trouble. [i]Well... if he's alive, I may as well use him,[/i] Pel decided, seeing Grymar'ee staring at him. He nodded at the duel between the two Jiralhanae, and then signalled for the man to wait until it was over before acting at all. Grymar'ee gave the barest of nods, and flexed one of his hands. They wouldn't have to wait long. The fever of the pack was intensifying, and when Pel looked over he saw Kronus' strength winning out over Orpheus' tenacity. The smaller Jiralhanae was backing away with a limp, barely warding off blows. Both had their fur streaked with a dark vermilion, but Pel suspected most of it was Orpheus'. Then it happened; the broken point. A sickening crunch broke the sound of the mob as Kronus grabbed Orpheus by the ragged fur of his chest, and brought the crown of his head crashing down onto his foe's face; Orpheus dropped almost instantly, and the pack cried out with the sound of victory. Kronus turned to face his brothers, arms raised in victory. They all threw their heads to the heavens and began chanting together, like a pack of wolves at full moon. Pel and Grymar'ee's own Jiralhanae didn't join it, but they seemed distracted. [i]Now's as good a time as any,[/i] Pel thought, about to signal Grymar'ee to act and begin their attempt to escape; one that would most like end in vain. But he was cut off by the sudden whisper of a stir from Orpheus, the faintest shaking of a limb. None of the Jiralhanae noticed it, not even when against all the odds Orpheus began to rise to his feet and slowly stalk his way towards the unsuspecting Kronus. Pel heard a sudden gasp before him, and saw the Jiralhanae watching over him gaping at Orpheus as he shuffled towards the still-crowing Kronus. Before his gaoler could shout a warning to his pack-leader, Pel parsed his hand together and whirled around, jabbing the hulking beast in its thick throat. Whatever cry had been about to release was strangled as the Jiralhanae's larynx collapsed in on itself. Pel didn't give the beast time to go berserk with adrenaline, wrapping his arms around the choking brute's head and sharply twisting. There was a snap, and that was that. He looked over and saw Grymar'ee had done the same, his own Jiralhanae gaoler staring over at Pel with a scream of silent horror. Their scuffle had attracted the attention of the rest of the pack, who stared over at them with shock for a few moments. Their surprise didn't last long though, as they all drew out their weapons and began to march towards them, teeth fully protuding. And then Orpheus reached Kronus. It was over before the larger Jiralhanae even knew what was happening; Orpheus bared his claws and plunged the entire length of his arm through Kronus' back, his hand travelling upwards and exiting through the throat. There Kronus stood frozen in time for a few nightmarish seconds, like a bizarre sculpture. Then Orpheus removed his arm, and his foe dropped instantly. "Never turn your back on an enemy until he is buried and rotting," Orpheus mocked as he raised his hand, the severed spine of Kronus dangling from it and wrapped in bloodied entrails. Kronus' pack stopped their advance towards Pel and Grymar'ee, and instead turned to face their new packmaster. [i]Now they're his,[/i] Pel knew, and didn't feel any better for it. Whatever this Orpheus wanted with them, he doubted it was anything good. "Apprehend them," Orpheus commanded, pointing at himself and Grymar'ee, confirming his suspicions. "No blood." Pel looked over at Grymar'ee and they shared a glance, looking at the exit of the tunnel a hundred metres away. If they could reach it, then they could lose themselves in the labyrinth of broken buildings. But Jiralhanae were much faster than Sangheili. "No," one of the other Jiralhanae spoke, and Pel was momentarily distracted from his own worry. He looked to see a Jiralhanae with midnight-black fur move out from the tightly clustered pack, to confront Orpheus. "You do not rule us." "I won the challenge!" Orpheus growled, eyes like sabres. "Should you wish to challenge me, then you may do so... tomorrow. You know you cannot contest moments after a victory, it is not our way. Until then, I am your leader!" "Our way is dead. It served us well on the homeworld, but we can be so much more now. Tradition means nothing, nor does winning a challenge. You are not our leader, Orpheus," the black Jiralhanae spat, and then looked over at his fellow pack-mates. "Kill them all." The Jiralhanae fanned out to meet all all of them, bringing up their aggressive spikers with fingers on the trigger. They fired. Then the skies erupted, and the world went to hell.