Chapter 260: Civil War Erupts! Order Restored! Rebellion Suppressed!
"You idiot! Do you even realize what you've done?!"
Seeing the Prophet of Mercy looking like he'd lost the will to live, the Prophet of Regret nearly fainted from rage.
Originally, all they had to do was adamantly deny the existence of the Reclaimers. That would've been enough to convince the Honor Guards to side with them and stabilize the situation in the Grand Hall.
But Mercy's sudden collapse had directly confirmed Moramee's claims—utterly destroying their last chance at turning things around!
Before Regret could bark out orders to the Honor Guard to suppress the elite councilors before them, a sharp shnk echoed through the hall.
To everyone's astonishment, the Honor Guard Captain had already driven his plasma spear straight through the Prophet of Regret's chest, sizzling as it scorched his frail body.
Under the intense heat and energy, the already weak Regret was incinerated in an instant.
"Excellent. You've made a wise choice—for yourself and for your people."
Moramee stepped forward and gave the Honor Guard Captain a firm pat on the shoulder. Once he confirmed that the true instigator, the Prophet of Regret, was dead, he ordered Mercy and Truth to be detained. Then, raising his voice for all to hear, he declared:
"Everyone, the Reclaimers have arrived. We are about to welcome the true masters worthy of our loyalty!"
"Before the Reclaimers reach us, we must seize the initiative for our people and for the future of the Sangheili. We must take control of the Covenant!"
"Let us create a complete and orderly Covenant—for our true masters!"
At those words, everyone in the hall, including the Honor Guards, froze in stunned disbelief.
The speech sounded a lot like the Sangheili were planning a coup…
They didn't know if the Reclaimers were real, but Moramee clearly intended to strip the Prophets of their power and seize control of the Covenant for himself.
For a moment, the Honor Guard Captain, who had just killed the Prophet of Regret at Moramee's urging, glanced down at the priest's lifeless body in silence.
Moramee had better not be lying. If it turned out they'd been deceived, the Honor Guards would have no hesitation in killing him first before taking their own lives to atone.
After all, those chosen to be Honor Guards were all Sangheili of unimpeachable character and honor. They'd dedicated their lives to serving their masters.
But more important than their masters were the gods themselves. If Moramee had dared to falsely invoke divine will, he'd end up just like the dead Prophet at their feet.
In that moment, the Honor Guard Captain made a swift decision. He lowered his plasma spear and knelt on one knee before Moramee, declaring reverently:
"I pledge myself to the Reclaimers."
With the captain taking the lead, the other Honor Guards quickly followed suit, kneeling in unison: "We pledge ourselves to the Reclaimers!!"
The captain's statement was deliberately specific: their loyalty was to the Reclaimers—not to Moramee, nor to any other councilor.
Should the Reclaimers prove nonexistent, they would not hesitate to kill Moramee and deliver the rest of the councilors to the surviving Prophets, pleading that they had been misled. Whether the Prophets would forgive them didn't matter; what mattered was that they upheld their own sense of honor.
After all, Sangheili chosen to be Honor Guards were typically honest and upright, not the kind to manipulate politics or plot coups.
Treachery, ruthlessness, and shameless backstabbing—those weren't things they could ever truly learn.
Moramee, fully aware of the Honor Guards' theatrics and unspoken threat, simply replied with calm indifference:
"I am no more than a divine messenger conveying the Reclaimers' will. I am not a Reclaimer myself, nor do I seek to seize power."
"Before the Reclaimers arrive, we must stabilize the situation in Charity and handle the Covenant's internal affairs."
Now was the time to make his position clear. Otherwise, he really would be labeled a power-hungry traitor.
The elite councilors in the hall eyed him warily, suspicion in their gazes.
These were high-ranking politicians, after all—well-versed in power plays and driven by ambition. They naturally analyzed the situation from a political angle.
When Moramee announced his intention to take over the Covenant, many of them assumed he was launching a bloody coup, with all talk of Reclaimers and Shield Worlds being mere fabrications.
But seeing the conviction and certainty in his words and demeanor… they were forced to consider that the Reclaimers might actually be real.
Before the councilors could voice their opinions, Moramee took control of the room, issuing orders with the authority of a true leader:
"First, we must reveal the Prophets' corruption to the public—let the people see the truth!"
Classic tactic—smear your political opponents and erode public trust.
"Second, seize control of Charity and the Customs Fleet. We must ensure everything remains under control before the Reclaimers arrive."
Words alone cannot win battles. Throwing dirt at the enemy isn't enough—you need firepower to back it up.
"Finally, we must rally the entire strength of the Sangheili to eliminate the Brutes and Jackals who occupy strategic positions throughout the Covenant!"
This last command was the true heart of the plan.
Now was the perfect time to settle old scores—no need to hold back.
If the Reclaimers showed up and decided to forgive the Brutes and Jackals for the sake of unity, it might be too late to take action later.
Truthfully, ever since arriving at Charity, Moramee had been secretly coordinating with his fellow Sangheili, mobilizing forces to deliver a decisive blow to the Brutes and Jackals.
These species were unintelligent, lacking in emotional intelligence, and utterly incompetent—they should've been wiped out long ago.
Moramee's actions weren't just about revenge—they were for the long-term benefit of the Sangheili race.
Now, his next step was to lead Reed, Jack, and the other Astartes warriors into Charity and assert full control!
…
Three hours later.
At the perimeter of Charity's customs blockade.
Once word from the Grand Hall spread, the soon-to-be-replaced Sangheili commanders wasted no time. Acting preemptively, they launched an attack on the nearest Brute forces.
In a flash, thousands of warships ignited a massive interstellar battle.
Blazing blue plasma bolts and deep violet energy blasts streaked through the void, painting a brilliant tapestry of explosions across the blackness of space.
While the customs fleet was locked in chaos, the High Council's live broadcast resumed.
Only now, the roles had reversed: Moramee—once the accused—had become the judge.
The weakened Prophets of Mercy and Truth, under pressure, confessed everything.
Enraged by the revelations, the Sangheili immediately rallied their forces and began purging the Prophets, Brutes, and Jackals.
The Brutes, as beneficiaries of the old order, had no choice but to defend the Prophets and help them suppress the Sangheili-led rebellion.
Having hitched their fate to the Prophets' wagon, they were now all in the same sinking ship.
But the battle in space was hopelessly one-sided. Most fleet commanders were Sangheili, giving them a clear advantage in both ship numbers and crew strength.
The Brutes and Jackals, being incompetent at best, were usually only good at stealing credit after the real fighting was done.
So once the battle began, their forces were utterly overwhelmed.
Only within the alleys and streets of Charity did the Brutes manage a stalemate—urban combat giving them just enough of an edge to trade blows with the Sangheili.
The ever-opportunistic Jackals, upon seeing the Prophets captured and their Brute allies being routed, chose the only path that made sense to them—run!
As space pirates, fleeing was practically a genetic instinct. Looting was second nature.
Seeing the chaos unfold, the Jackals seized a stash of valuables, hijacked a few docked warships and transports, and immediately jumped to slipspace, fleeing the battlefield.
As for the Grunts, who played no real role, they found themselves caught between the orders of both factions and forced to fight each other.
Grunts, being obedient and not very bright, simply followed whatever command they were given. Rebellion meant nothing to them.
Most ended up fighting alongside the Sangheili.
In a brawl, it's all about picking the right boss to follow.
If your boss is tough enough to knock out teeth with a single punch, the underlings will charge like they're on a sugar rush.
But if your boss gets taken out right at the start, the morale of the little guys collapses instantly.
This rule was especially true for the Grunts, who only knew how to win when the momentum was in their favor.
As the Brutes and Sangheili clashed in brutal combat, Moramee's CCS-class cruiser surged into Port 1 under the cover of chaos.
The port was in utter disarray.
Deafening cannon blasts, ramming impacts, and flashes of plasma fire filled the air. Corpses littered the deck.
"Secure the carrier first! Get the Prophets out of here! Forget those damned Sangheili mongrels!"
"I'll hold them off!!"
The Brute officers' furious roars echoed through the port.
Their soldiers were desperately escorting several senior Prophets in floating chairs, who looked terrified and completely disoriented, toward the boarding bridge.
Seeing the Brutes at the Prophets' side, the Jackals trying to hijack the carrier wisely backed off.
They didn't stand a chance in a direct fight.
"You're not getting away! Scum like you deserves to die here!"
A Sangheili strike team charged forward, weapons blazing, hot on the heels of the fleeing Brutes and Prophets.
But just as they were about to catch up, a thunderous crash erupted behind them.
To everyone's shock, Moramee's CCS-class cruiser barreled straight through, ramming the very carrier the Prophets had intended to escape on.
With a deafening roar, the massive carrier was knocked off balance and sent hurtling away from the port, crashing down toward the heart of Charity.
Like a falling meteor, it smashed through buildings below—utterly destroying the Prophets' escape plan.
With the dock now clear, the cruiser executed a smooth reverse docking maneuver. Its hangar bay opened, and a metallic bridge extended to connect with the port's platform.
Seeing the wrecked carrier and the cruiser drifting into place, the nearby Brutes immediately raised their weapons toward the darkened hangar doors.
A moment later, light streamed into the gloom—and a legion of Astartes warriors, clad in Mark X heavy power armor, emerged like gods descending from the heavens.
Bang!
Bang—!
Without hesitation, the moment they laid eyes on the Brutes, the warriors raised their bolt rifles and unleashed a hail of bullets on the heretics.
This time, the entire port echoed with even denser gunfire.
Amid the distinctive double explosions of the bolt rifles, the sounds of rupturing flesh and the Brutes' agonized screams blended into a macabre symphony with the gunfire.
Lacking energy shields or protective armor, the Brutes stood no chance against the Astartes' firepower.
As the new salvo lit up, the Brutes fell like wheat beneath a scythe—slain in rows.
Only then did the Brutes realize—the enemies pouring out from the cruiser's hangar weren't elite Sangheili troops.
They were the Reclaimer warriors they had seen in the Council Hall's projections!
Or more precisely… Astartes!
Just as the Brutes had feared, this group of Astartes was the ace vanguard hidden within the cruiser.
To ensure the success of this ambush mission, each warrior was fully equipped with a wide array of weapons and power armor modules tailored for various functions.
In contrast, the Brutes, due to the urgency of the situation, had many soldiers with no power armor at all—and some wielded nothing more than shabby iron clubs.
Against warriors with bolt rifles, superhuman strength, and powered armor support…
These battle-ready Astartes were like wolves among sheep—entering full-on massacre mode.
"Kill them!"
"Hurry, activate the Bubble Shield!"
Faced with the Astartes' ferocious assault, the Brutes officers quickly organized a counterattack, directing their troops to return fire.
Many of the Brutes warriors pulled out grenade-like devices and threw them to the ground, where they rapidly deployed into translucent hexagonal bubbles.
Boom—!
Boom!
These faintly glowing bubbles successfully blocked the incoming bolt rounds, buying the Brutes precious time to continue covering the Prophet's retreat.
The so-called Bubble Shield was in fact a deployable defense mechanism.
Originating from Forerunner technology and reverse-engineered by the Covenant, this system could project an energy shield in the form of a spherical barrier using interlocking hexagonal force fields, capable of resisting bullets, explosions, lasers, plasma, and even fire.
Such technology showcased just how terrifyingly advanced the Forerunners' mastery of force fields truly was!
However, likely due to the Covenant's incomplete development of the system, the shield only lasted for 20 seconds.
Additionally, the Bubble Shield's major flaw was that enemies could move freely in and out of the field, and those inside couldn't throw weapons outward—like grenades—without them bouncing back and potentially blowing themselves up.
Twenty seconds passed in a flash. Once the disposable shields were used up, the Brutes were again exposed to the Astartes' relentless firepower.
Worst of all, by that time, all of the Astartes within the hangar had stormed the port and begun their bloody rampage!
"Finally, I can stretch my legs. I've been cooped up for days!"
Jack Wells stepped onto the metal deck with a smile. Using his suit's AI translator and external speaker system, he shouted:
"Listen up! We are Reclaimer warriors. Drop your weapons now and you may live. Resist, and you die—no exceptions!"
Thanks to the AI translator, Jack's words were automatically converted into the Covenant's language, and amplified by his armor's vocal system, his voice thundered across the port.
At the sound of this declaration, all Covenant forces hesitated briefly—but the momentary calm was swiftly shattered by the Brutes.
"Don't believe a word he says—kill them!"
"Open fire! Keep firing!"
…
The Brutes didn't believe for a second that the Reclaimers would spare them. As loyal attendants to the Prophets, they had no choice but to follow them to the bitter end.
Seeing these beasts refuse mercy, Jack simply stopped holding back. Drawing his chainsword, he charged straight into the enemy lines.
In a flash, Jack reached the frontline. Spotting a commanding officer among the Brutes , he didn't hesitate—a single swing of his blade.
Schlunk!!
Like a hot knife through butter, Jack cleaved the creature clean in half. A spray of blood and gore filled the air, and the surrounding beasts recoiled in terror.
Farther back, the observing Elites stood in stunned silence, momentarily reduced to background extras, watching the Astartes' brutal display.
Soon, the entire platform was littered with severed limbs and corpses—none survived.
Fragments of organs and pools of blood stained the floor a dull red, and even the Jackals who crossed their path were dispatched without pause by the Astartes.
After all, their mission target included the complete eradication of both the Brutes and the Jackal species—along with any other hostile entities deemed a threat. But the focus was these two species.
The reasoning? These beings were inherently vicious and lacked any redeeming talent—meaning they weren't eligible for "special personnel" protections or subsidies from the Universal Megacorp.
For freeloaders that caused more trouble than they were worth, destruction was simply the most efficient solution—better than risking future complications.
Soon enough, the Astartes had completely purged the enemy presence in front of them. The entire operation had taken less than three minutes.
Not a single member of the elite vanguard had been injured. Even the outer plating of their power armor remained nearly untouched.
At that moment, Jack stood before the Prophet—small, fragile, and trembling with fear. Jack, without a word, raised his chainsword and cleaved the Prophet in half.
Witnessing Jack's ruthless decisiveness, the spectating Elites couldn't help but voice their admiration.
At that instant, a word sprang to all their minds: Efficiency!
No pointless speeches. No drawn-out monologues. The message was clear and direct—
"Make a choice: surrender or die. No discussion."
They were also awestruck by Jack's sheer prowess. Charging headlong into the enemy, cutting them down like wheat—it was unheard of among their own ranks.
In the Elite forces, most tactics involved overwhelming numbers. Only in rare cases did an individual warrior charge alone into enemy lines to demoralize opponents and boost morale.
Yet Jack, by himself, had carved a literal path of blood through enemies equal in strength to the Elites!
The only explanation? The Astartes were simply too powerful—truly worthy of their Forerunner-appointed title: Reclaimers.
"We pledge our loyalty to the Reclaimers. The Sangheili stand ready!"
With one commanding Elite taking the lead, the rest of the Sangheili warriors dropped to one knee, voices loud and unwavering:
"We pledge our loyalty to the Reclaimers! Loyalty!!"
Raised from youth on the doctrines of pilgrimage, the Elites had no thoughts of self-interest upon learning of the Reclaimers' existence.
Their attitude was simple: unconditional loyalty.
After all, their education back on their homeworld emphasized following the gods, embarking on a sacred pilgrimage, and exterminating all heretics who defied divine will.
Religious conviction had the power to drive these warriors to die for the pilgrimage—
—and unite various species under the Covenant banner in pursuit of this shared goal.
But once Moramee and the Elite Council exposed the truth—that the pilgrimage was a lie crafted by the Prophets for selfish gain, and the gods were long dead—
—they lost their purpose and direction, falling into a profound existential crisis.
Every civilization needs something to strive toward. Once basic survival is met, beings begin to ask the ultimate questions: Who am I? Where did I come from? Where am I going?
With these questions in their hearts, the Sangheili launched their sacred war, only to learn, just as they neared their so-called gods—
—that it was all a lie.
Yet now, Jack's bravery and the Astartes' ferocity gave them something new to believe in.
That belief: serve the Reclaimers. Obey their commands. Continue conquering the vast cosmos!
As a race born for war, combat was in every Sangheili's blood.
And raiding, fighting, and warfare were everyday necessities for all civilizations. Skilled fighters like them would always find purpose.
On top of that, by Sangheili standards, the Astartes clad in red power armor were incredibly appealing in appearance—
bright, bold, and fearsome—fitting the image of gods they had always envisioned.
"Wrah! We pledge our loyalty to the Reclaimers!"
Even the Boar Beasts, terrified, dropped to their knees and prostrated themselves before the Astartes.
These walking nightmares were not to be trifled with. They wanted no part of the fate that had befallen the Brutes.
Seeing all these alien species kneeling before him, Jack was momentarily unsure how to react.
After a moment of thought, Jack sheathed his chainsword and approached the devoted followers, imitating Li Ang 's usual tone and demeanor:
"Stand up. From this moment forward, you are part of the Universal Megacorp."
The Elites, thrilled to be accepted, nodded vigorously and replied in unison: "Yes, sir!"
As they stood up, the belated arrival of Solomon Reed stepped forward beside Jack. He also activated his AI translator and speaker system, addressing the Elites below:
"Everyone, I am Solomon Reed, and this warrior beside me is Jack Wells. We are employees of the Universal Megacorp, serving under Executive Li Ang ."
"I'm glad each of you made the right choice. Rest assured, your honor will be remembered. Your loyalty will be rewarded and immortalized."
"And now, your mission is to help us take control of all of Charity City. Assist us in purging the treacherous Prophets, the Brutes, and the Jackal species."
Now that they had recruited the Elites and Boar Beasts, it was time to brand them with the "Universal Megacorp" name—make it crystal clear who they served.
Otherwise, they might start chanting "Loyalty to the Reclaimers!" to every human they met. Yes, humans were Reclaimers, but the organization still mattered.
Picking the right team was important.
Universal Megacorp… Executive Li Ang …
Hearing these unfamiliar terms, the sharp-minded Elites immediately understood—the power behind the Reclaimers was the Universal Megacorp, and their leader was Li Ang !
"We pledge our loyalty to the Executive!"
Seeing how quickly these Elites caught on after just one explanation, Reed nodded in satisfaction. This would make the rest of his work much easier.
Soon, with the devout Elites leading the way, the Astartes stormed into the inner city of Charity.
With their Elite guides, Jack and Reed didn't have to worry about getting lost—they simply followed and slaughtered their way through the opposition.
At that moment, a squad of Astartes in crimson power armor suddenly soared across the sky above the port.
Three hundred warriors, equipped with Anti-Hulk suits, flew gracefully using their suit's propulsion systems—serving as scouts for the ground forces.
Thanks to innovations from the Universal Megacorp's R&D department, this new generation of Anti-Hulk armor had been upgraded with far more advanced propulsion technology.
Their energy shield generators had also been replaced with longer-lasting, more durable next-gen antimatter shielding.
Now, these flying Reclaimer warriors—with their radiant red armor and sleek aerial maneuvers—only further confirmed the Reclaimers' divine nature in the eyes of the Elites.
Only the Reclaimers, chosen by the Forerunner gods, could soar so effortlessly through the air.
In an instant, the Elite warriors erupted in shouts:
"All Sangheili, for the Reclaimers! Eliminate every traitorous Prophet! For the future of the Sangheili, take back Charity City!"
BOOM—!!
As the Anti-Hulk warriors swept overhead, the Elites let out primal, echoing war cries:
"Brothers, charge into Charity City and seize the perch of power!"
"Let the Reclaimers witness the might of Sangheili warriors!"
…
Now that their new leaders had arrived, it was time to prove their loyalty and showcase their talents—an excellent opportunity for future promotions.
And with the Reclaimer warriors fighting by their side, the Elites' morale soared to unprecedented heights.
Soon, with the Elites leading the charge, the Astartes warriors reached the surface of Charity City.
The Elite warriors already locked in fierce battle with Skirmisher forces saw the arrival of reinforcements and a surge of Reclaimer aid—instantly boosting their morale to the peak.
To these god-fearing Elites, the Reclaimers' arrival was nothing short of divine intervention!
This wasn't a violent rebellion—it was the restoration of order. They were putting down traitors and restoring righteousness.
The holy scriptures of the Covenant were on their side. Everything the Elites did was a sacred mission to punish treachery, to stand upon the moral high ground, and to smite the rebels with divine justice!
In contrast, the Skirmishers fighting them watched as a wave of flying Astartes warriors hurled thunderbolts from their palms—and their morale collapsed on the spot.
It was no different than an Ultraman fan suddenly witnessing Dyna himself charging up a special attack aimed right at them.
Even the gods the Covenant worshipped were now helping the Elites—was there really any point in continuing this suppression war?
There was no need to think about it. The outcome was already decided—they had lost!
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