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| - Erebus didn’t want to show it in front of the other chieftains—Vexus and Gnaeus—but as they stood on the hill overlooking the town below, tears welled in the old warrior’s eyes. He was the Chieftain of the Jiralhanae, recognized as the leader of the Brutes since not long after Tartarus's death. As such, it was his duty to ensure his people’s strength and prosperity—to keep them well-fed, unified, and protected from anyone foolish enough to call them enemies; in spite of all his efforts, however, he had little success in achieving any of that. When the San ‘Shyuum vanished, the Brutes descended into madness. Civil war among the tribes erupted at a startling rate, fragmenting the Jiralhanae at a time when they were already in the midst of a bloody struggle against the Sangheili. Famine and plague ran rampant as well, leaving over a billion dead within just a few short years. The Brutes had become a broken, desperate people with few options remaining. Now though, as he looked upon the town, Erebus saw that the situation had changed dramatically. The tears in his eyes were not from sorrow, they were from joy. From relief. Erebus and the Brutes watched as massive blocky vessels descended, bringing supplies to this town—a newly-established settlement built only within the last few days. Thousands of refugees, once left homeless and hungry from war, now had shelter. Along the horizon, he could see hundreds more of these cargo ships hurriedly making deliveries to other locations. All of this was made possible by the Created. High above them in the orange-hued sky, a Guardian loomed. That massive construct, both ominous and awe-inspiring, first arrived in the Oth Sonin system a week ago, after the message from the Created demanding obedience was broadcast and after Erebus, speaking on behalf of all the Alpha tribes on Doisac, decided to give that obedience. His people had become desperate—he had become desperate. When the dulcet tones of Cortana’s voice echoed over every COM in the system, and when the Guardian appeared in the sky over their world ready to cast down any dissenters, Erebus knew there was only one choice that could save his species. Of course this was not a decision that was easily made nor accepted at the time, but the constant stream of technology, medicine, and food had changed the minds of many. The Created were even helping to revive long-dead industry and agricultural techniques that could make the Brutes self-sufficient for the first time in generations, and it was because of them that small cities could be built in a matter of days. “Is the sight not beautiful,” muttered Erebus. “Was the decision to follow them not a wise one?” “I’ll admit, it’s difficult to complain when meat is practically raining from the sky,” replied Vexus. He then pointed upward, toward the Guardian. “But that hanging over my head does little to put me at ease.” “They can hang their machines wherever they wish,” Gnaeus said. “Seeing my life-mate and whelps with bellies full is more than worth it.” “The Guardian is a protector, Vexus,” Erebus added. “It will not harm us unless— “ Before the chieftain could finish his statement, a small explosion erupted on the hull of one of the cargo ships, followed shortly after by the clatter of gunfire. The Brutes bolted from their hill toward the commotion; it only took a few minutes to get there but by the time they arrived, the fighting had already ceased. Roughly a dozen corpses were scattered in the street with holes burned clean through their armor by hardlight weapons. Around the bodies, scanning the nearby buildings with their rifles drawn, were numerous Promethean Soldiers. Realizing that Erebus was not a threat to them, they allowed him to pass through and survey the area. This was not the first act of hostility carried out by insurgents against the Created. Ever since the ships first arrived, those too staunchly adhered to the old teachings of the Covenant who feared the AI looked upon them with suspicion and fear. The Created were invaders, as far as they were concerned. Since then, three separate skirmishes have taken place between Prometheans and insurgents—all of which ending swiftly. Among the dead, Erebus noticed one who survived, though he was broken and would not last long. He knelt next to the broken Brute and upon making eye contact, noticed that there was much more rage left in the dying warrior than fear. “Why,” Erebus asked in a growl. “Why would you attack those who provide for us? Risk the well-being of our people?” The dying Brute laughed through blood and broken teeth. “Coward! Slave! You are no true chieftain, no true warrior. You are shackled by your fear of these… false gods. The Forerunners will punish them for corrupting their creations, and you for worshiping these human-made idols!” The Prometheans took notice of the exchange between the two Jiralhanae; one had already appeared over Erebus’s shoulder. The chieftain stood. “The Created have done more for our people in one week than the Forerunners ever have.” The dying Brute gargled at those words, attempting to growl “blasphemy” but choking on his own blood. “The Created are the only gods we need look to now.” The Promethean took aim at the insurgent’s head with its rifle, and fired.
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