THE CHRONICLE OF CETHEGUS
Cethegus had always known his time would come. For over a decade he had led his pack with fervent conviction and fierce renown. Cethegus had climbed the ranks of Jiralhanae society armed with a deadly mixture of cunning and bloodlust. He’d outwitted Kig-Yar mercenaries and liberated the ridiculous mandibles from many a Sangheili’s skull. He’d slaughtered scores of humans across countless systems during the relentless march of the Covenant. He’d served the Prophets and honored the Path, but still one thing remained elusive to him: Opportunity.
That all changed however, within what seemed like fleeting moments; Tartarus – the self-proclaimed turned Prophet-ordained Chieftain of the Brutes – had fallen in battle, cut down by the traitorous Sangheili Arbiter and the indefatigable human Demon at the site of the Sacred Ring. Tarturus’ demise had left a power vacuum amidst a perfect storm; the natural progression of catalyst and consequence quickly accelerating as the Covenant neared the rapidly approaching threshold of the Great Journey.
Divine circumstance had brought Cethegus and his pack to a mighty fortress of the gods, far outside of the galaxy itself. Here, as part of Truth’s forces, the Covenant – and the Jiralhanae themselves – stood primed to ascend, if only these filthy and unworthy interlopers could be stopped; the Demon drew near, and Cethegus himself had been entrusted with halting his progress. As Cethegus saw the Demon emerge from the chamber hallway, he felt almost relieved that his formidable Stalkers had failed to quell the human’s progress just moments earlier. No, this was the chieftain’s divine hour – a fact made ever more clear by the Prophet of Truth’s ultimatum heard resounding through the nearby holotable. “You must win this fight on your own…”
Surrounded by his loyal flight-fighters, Cethegus drew fortitude from their frenzy and activated his holy hammer. To take Tartarus’ place at the right-hand of Truth, he need only do one thing. Finish this fight.