Chapter 249— You See Humanity? Then Kneel!
As for the Unggoy in the Covenant, they're an utterly bizarre alien species—yet ironically, they make up the bulk of the Covenant military, accounting for more than half its numbers.
Unggoy are crude and scrappy in appearance. At first glance, they resemble sleazy, undersized goblins. Combined with their dim-witted minds and cowardly nature, they've earned the nickname "Grunts."
These pig-faced creatures average only 1.4 meters in height. While their combat prowess is abysmal—they flee or surrender at the drop of a hat—they do possess one extremely useful racial trait:
They breed like crazy.
Their reproductive capacity rivals that of the Zerg. Wipe out a batch, and another batch will quickly take their place. Perfect cannon fodder.
So, the Prophets decided to make the most of them, designating Grunts as the Covenant's expendable shock troops.
Whenever a battle breaks out, they're the first to charge in—a living meat shield meant to soak up enemy fire.
Then, once the enemy's ammo and stamina are depleted, the Elites, Brutes, and Jackals move in to finish the fight.
Because of this, Grunts aren't even considered proper soldiers within the Covenant ranks. At best, they're "combat-eligible slaves."
Despite the wealth the Covenant amassed by looting Forerunner relics, Grunts see none of that. They're purely tools of war.
Recognizing their grim lot, the Grunts chose to side with the Sangheili—thinking that under the leadership of a more honorable and warlike race, life might be marginally better.
And to be fair, it is. Ever since they began following the Elites into battle, the Grunts have simply charged when told.
But if the Elites fall, Grunts immediately surrender—or scatter like frightened rodents.
The Elites, frustrated by these useless tagalongs, begrudgingly tolerate them—while sternly warning that deserters will have their necks snapped.
That said, the honor-bound Elites, despite looking down on the Grunts, don't go out of their way to abuse them.
The same can't be said for the Brutes.
Brutal and sadistic, Brutes will roast Grunts alive when supplies run low—or simply when they're in a bad mood.
The Prophets, the Covenant's ruling caste, turn a blind eye to this abuse.
After all, in their eyes, Grunts have no "rights" to speak of. The fact that the Covenant hasn't committed full genocide against them is already a show of mercy. Taking them to battle is practically a favor.
Speaking of Brutes—the species is similar in temperament and intelligence to the Jackals, but physically they resemble massive gorilla-like apes, averaging 2.8 meters in height.
Brutes hold a prominent position within the Covenant, second only to the Elites.
Though their intelligence leaves much to be desired—and they're naturally hot-tempered and prone to rage—Brutes do have an instinct for recognizing authority.
In any civilization, knowing how to follow a strong leader isn't a shameful thing. Lone wolves don't last long—it's better to stand behind power.
Brutes devoted themselves entirely to flattering and pleasing the Prophets, securing for their kind the position of Covenant "Security Chiefs," along with rising status.
Some even believe the Brutes are poised to replace the Elites as the Covenant's primary fighting force.
But while the Prophets love being flattered, they're not blind to reality.
Brutes have low IQs and no self-control. They're oversized, temperamental man-babies—not exactly the type you'd trust to command armies.
So, while they're placed as second-in-command within the Covenant ranks, the Prophets still rely on Elites to lead military operations.
But Brutes, prone to petty tantrums, refuse to cooperate with the Elites. Instead, they formed their own independent units—so any squad led by an Elite won't have Brutes in it, and vice versa.
The rivalry is intense. The Elites blocked the Brutes from rising further in rank, and old grudges run deep. That the two races aren't openly brawling is already a show of respect for the Prophets.
At this moment, a CCS-class Covenant cruiser released thousands of combat teams, yet remained steadily hovering in mid-air with its gravity lifts deployed.
A chaotic mix of Covenant species descended in waves, like a colorful, squirming mosaic.
"Yaaah—!"
"Gwaaah!!"
The moment the cowardly Grunts caught sight of the wild beasts native to the Shield World's core, they began shrieking instinctively, their limbs trembling with fear.
Clearly, the memories of the Flood left a deep psychological scar. They feared these native beasts might be as terrifying and deadly as the monsters outside.
Still—guns in hand, fear in heart—they gritted their teeth and used their plasma pistols to easily dispatch creatures that posed no real threat.
But that impulsive volley enraged their Brute commander.
Already annoyed at having to fight alongside Elites, the Brute lost it when the idiotic Grunts opened fire without orders—an open act of defiance!
"Who told you maggots to shoot?!"
With a furious roar, the Brute grabbed a Grunt and, in full view of the team, bit through its neck with a sickening crunch.
The Grunt died instantly, and the Brute casually flung the corpse away like trash.
After asserting its dominance and warning the rest not to fire without permission, the Brute barked a new command:
"Spread out and patrol the area! Make sure there are no Flood signs. If you want to fire at anything that isn't the Flood—report it to me first!"
The remaining Grunts dared not object. Their boss was a Brute, after all. Silently, they followed orders and began scouring the surrounding jungle.
Just then, a massive fleet appeared above them.
The once-panicking Grunts froze, staring up at enormous, blade-shaped objects flying vertically—ships, but unlike anything they'd seen.
Chaos almost broke out again, but their commanders barked them back into line. Trembling, the Grunts pointed their plasma pistols toward the ten enormous warships, each over ten kilometers long.
At the same time, Elite and Brute leaders sent emergency alerts to their fleet's command center, requesting permission to engage.
Then they steadied their troops, raised their weapons, and prepared for a confrontation.
Tension gripped every Covenant soldier. The blade-like ships overhead were far larger than anything they could deploy. Encircled on all sides, survival seemed unlikely.
Moments later, once the fleet had fully surrounded the Covenant ships, the Astartes—led by David Martinez—descended to the surface.
The instant the Grunts laid eyes on the towering warriors clad in intricately designed, vividly colored Mark X heavy power armor, they gasped aloud:
"They must be the Forerunners' chosen warriors!"
"Praise be to the gods! Please forgive our trespass!"
"…"
Upon witnessing the sheer majesty and intimidation of the Astartes, the Grunts immediately fell to their knees, prostrating themselves before David and his brothers in awe and reverence.
In nature, everything respects appearances. Even animals are drawn to strength and striking visuals.
Bright, bold, and fierce-looking creatures are not to be trifled with—and no true warrior of the gods would ever appear small and frail.
David had specially selected a heavy-duty suit of crimson power armor for this mission, one with enhanced defense and a larger frame than the standard issue—to better carry out the Flood purge.
And it worked. The flaming red armor gave him a commanding presence, impossible to ignore.
Thus, the grunts came to regard David and the other Astartes as the "Divine Guardians" of the Forerunners.
At first, David and Reed were a bit baffled by the Grunts bowing and worshipping them, but they quickly caught on.
These creatures had mistaken them for gods—believing they were the Forerunners themselves!
But that worked out just fine. It would make it all the easier for them to wipe out every last Covenant member here.
"Halsey really did call it—these Covenant species think we're gods. This just made our job a whole lot easier."
David spoke a few words over comms with the other Astartes warriors.
They'd all read the "script" provided by the boss, Li Ang, and understood the tangled relationships and grudges between the Grunts, Brutes, Jackals, Elites, and the other Covenant species.
After pondering for a moment, David decided to first approach the commanding Elites and Jackals to force them into submission and compel them to follow his orders.
At that moment, David stepped forward, activating the scanning device in his helmet to survey the gathered Covenant members. When they saw the faint glow emitting from David's eye gear—
The Jackals below were instantly struck with a bone-chilling dread. That oppressive sense of being watched by a god swept over them like a tide, and they hastily knelt in submission to David.
"Kwaa!"
"It's the descent of the gods! Kwaa!"
All the Jackal soldiers followed the Grunts' lead and dropped to their knees, terrified that moving too slowly might anger the deity standing before them.
"Roar—!"
But just as the scene of reverent worship was being established, a sudden, ill-timed roar shattered the atmosphere.
David immediately turned his head to see a Jackal officer—one nearly as tall as the Astartes themselves—growling hoarsely in defiance and suspicion.
It was obvious that this Jackal didn't believe the Astartes warriors were truly the legendary Forerunners.
After all, the Covenant fleet had been excavating Forerunner ruins for years, uncovering countless relics—yet never once had they seen a living Forerunner.
According to the Prophets—the Covenant's ruling caste—the Forerunners had long since ascended, transcending physical existence and entering a higher dimensional plane, far beyond the comprehension of mere mortals.
To follow in their footsteps, the Covenant species had to embark on holy pilgrimages, seek out the Halos, and learn the ways of the Forerunners—hoping to achieve "ascension."
What they didn't know was that the "ascension" they longed for was nothing but a glorified death sentence.
So when the Jackals saw David and his fellow Astartes, they had every reason to believe these impressive-looking giants were just opportunistic imposters—
Not actual Forerunners.
"You see humans before you—why do you not kneel?!"
Before the Jackal officer could issue orders to have the Brutes, Grunts and Jackals rise and rearm themselves, David suddenly activated his helmet's external speaker and bellowed at the Jackal:
"Kneel before me!"
He didn't care whether the creature could understand him or not—as long as he nailed the tone, body language, and intensity, he could steer their reactions purely through force of will.
The key was overwhelming presence.
And sure enough, as David strode closer with that thunderous shout still ringing in its ears, the Jackal officer clearly wavered. It was momentarily stunned and uncertain, even showing a flicker of fear.
Faced with a giant like David—easily twice its own size—the Jackal instinctively wanted to back away. But with so many eyes on it, retreating now would only make it look cowardly.
Just then, a Sangheili (Elite) special operations squad from the Covenant flagship arrived on the scene and stepped up beside the Jackal.
"What's going on here?"
One of the Elites, clad in crimson power armor, stepped forward and spoke. He was a field officer in the Covenant vanguard, outranking the Jackal lieutenant beside him.
At his rank, power armor was issued in red—to project authority and dominance.
In the natural world, bright red signified danger and superiority; within the Covenant, only senior officers had the right to wear red armor.
"You idiot! Can't you see these damned heretics are impersonating our gods, tricking the Grunts and Jackals into kneeling?!"
Seeing the Elite officer arrive, the Jackal didn't care about the greater threat anymore. It immediately shouted at the Elite, venting the frustration that had been boiling inside.
Might as well take it out on one of their own.
The Elite wasn't having it. A lowly Jackal lieutenant daring to talk back? He slammed an armored elbow into the Jackal, knocking it aside.
"A mere lieutenant dares mouth off to a superior? You think your life is disposable? Try saying that to me again!" the Elite officer barked.
Enraged by the blow, the Jackal went red with fury and, in front of everyone, pulled its weapon and aimed it squarely at its commanding officer.
As the two sides were on the verge of internal conflict, David—who had been silently enjoying the show—nearly burst out laughing. He hadn't expected the Covenant's internal strife to run so deep it might lead to open mutiny.
If this were some interstellar megacorp, how many corporate execs would have been court-martialed for this?
"I don't care what your personal issues are. Right now, there's only one thing you need to do—kneel!"
"My time is limited. Those who kneel are spared. Those who don't… die!"
David had no patience for their nonsense. He reached for his waist, drew his chainsword, then leveled his bolt pistol at the two squabbling officers.
As they looked up at the towering red-armored "giant," the Jackal and Elite finally turned their attention back to the real threat.
But with no idea what he was saying—and with David now drawing weapons—the already tense standoff between the three factions escalated sharply.
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