=][= Connection Established =][=
=][= Transmitting =][=

Nobody moved.

Nobody breathed.

The silence was deafening.

It was an odd saying, one you don't truly understand until you experience it. It was the situation Tero found himself in, surrounded by the highest of the high in the covenant. And a holy object just proclaimed him a reclaimer, the descendent of a forerunner.

It was the small party of Jiralhanae present, the San Shyuum had allowed them to attend as an olive branch, were the first to breach the silence. A large chieftain started it all. "Blasphemy! This is heresy! He must be punished!"

The Jiralhanae all around him roared in approval and bayed for blood. One of the youngest among them drew a hidden spiker and charged off his stand making his way to Tero.

This can't be happening! This has to be some sick joke! These thoughts and more past through Tero's head all at once as he watched the giant ape bear down on him. Just as he started to react, plasma blade forming over his arm and coming up to stab the brute in the heart, a loud voice boomed across the chamber. "In the name on the gods STOP!"

But it was to late.

With a load war cry the Jiralhanae leaped intending to impale the Reclaimer and he was rewarded with the sound of muscle parting.

His.

He stood there stock still, a plasma blade imbedded in his chest. His last sight was his spiker barely scratching Tero's chest plate and then he collapsed in a heap right on top Tero. "Help him! I want to see him!" it was the same voice from earlier and Tero swore he recognized it. He gasped as the several hundred pound ape was lifted off his chest by Sase and Luro as well as several honor guard.

Standing up quickly he deactivated the blade and brushed off some of the blood coating his chest, in front of him the three prophets were floating to him. The silence resumed. "Remove your helm, I would ask to see the face of the son of the gods." it was the centre prophet who spoke, truth.

Tero knelt down and slowly slipped off his helmet to reveal a handsome face, strong jaw line, peircing green eyes and raven hair. "I am not worthy my Prophet and I am not reclaimer."

Mercy this time, "The Oracle would disagree, wouldn't it? Now stand up, if anything we should be bowing to you reclaimer."

And finally regret "Now come we must speak in private. The other San Shyuum can handle the rest of the ceremony."

=][=

He loved this feeling. The adrenaline coursing through his veins and the rush it brought with it. It was the moments before a fight where he truly felt free.

No scientists trying to study him.

No trainers harassing him.

No one telling him what to do.

Nothing.

Just his own thoughts. And this suit just made things better. It was unpainted, dull grey metal visible on every surface, the only colour coming from the large orange visor that offered him an unrestricted field of view. He could feel his movements carry more force and power, yet he didn't even register any weight or bulkiness. With the clock ticking down the final seconds he could say without a doubt, these were the moments he lived for.

He had decided to forgo any conventional weapon, instead he wielded the most exotic weapon he had ever laid eyes on. A grenade launcher with a blade making up over 50% of the body, it was apparently dug up from one of ONIs many store rooms and was classified top secret. It was the final seconds now, then he could let loose his inhibitions and really thrive. The girl he faced held a misguided sense of confidence, she had probably been told that she was special and the best of the best and she would be able to beat every opponent she faced.

He knew, he had to live with BS like that for his entire life, if he learned one thing from his instructors over the year it was that you never listened to the praise they fed you. It was false hope. The clock was in the final second now.

It was funny how he never realize how slow time registered in these moments, he felt like he could ramble on in his brain for hours when mere seconds had past. A second that had just past and he knew what that meant.

Fight time.

They were in a circle, first one out of bounds or unconscious lost. It was about ten meters from him to his opponent, the girl decided to close that gap as fast as she could. Running full tilt the girl fired off from two pistols, TWO! A huge rookie mistake, and the results reflected as much the TTR rounds whizzing past her immobile opponent. She was just three meters out when he made his first move. Quicker than the human eye could track he whipped his large weapon through the air, flipping end over end straight at her torso. Letting out an impressive vocabulary of curses the girl dropped to her knees and slid across the floor under the rotating blade.

Fortunately or unfortunately, depending how you looked at it, the dodge left he painfully exposed. Using her own momentum against her he swung a leg directly at her visor. The impact was audible from the observation room and the girl slide back several meters. He walked slowly toward the girl lying on her back before reaching out with his left hand to help her up. She grasped it assuming it was a gesture of good will.

She was wrong.

As soon as her hand was in his he yanked her up while at the same time driving down with his right fist. Her helmeted head snapped back and slammed into the deck hard enough to dent the titanium floor. She stared through clouded eyes and a cracked visor as he grabbed he by the front color and unceremoniously tossed he out of the ring before walking out of the ring entrance.

"Agent Carolina has been defeated. Agent Maine is declared the victor." Fillus voice echoed after the retreating form of the Freelancer.

=][= Transmission Severed =][=

A/N: short chap I know but it contains Maine being a badass I think that evens the score so ya. Sorry about leaving you guys hanging from before but it is so difficult to get into the prophets character without portraying them as genocidal tyrants (Hitlers?) anywaaaaay expect more I ain't letting this fic die