Astartes Second Legion Retributors, Serial Number Conquered World—Universe No. 117, Solar System Earth, Human Era, Year 2552.
Humanity has already entered the interstellar age for over four centuries.
Since the latter half of the twenty-first century, with continuous advances in technologies such as artificial intelligence and aerospace engineering, humanity—the intelligent race born on Earth—has finally emerged from one hundred thousand years of enforced genetic regression and forgetfulness.
Once again, following in the footsteps of their long-forgotten ancestors, they cast their gaze toward the sea of stars above their heads. Interstellar colonization was no longer the fantasy of dreamers. It was formally proposed as a viable plan. By the end of the twenty-first century, humanity had fully begun its colonization of the Solar System.
Although they encountered various problems along the way (colonial rebellions, the rise of space terrorism, human civil wars), the newborn civilization that had stepped beyond its homeworld continued to advance in great strides.
By the twenty-third century, colonization expansion within the Solar System had achieved considerable success. Especially after the year 2291, when Tobias Shaw and Wallace Fujikawa successfully developed the first faster-than-light engine—the Shaw-Fujikawa Translight Engine (SFTE).
This engine could fold local spacetime to generate a quantum singularity, allowing ships to open an entrance into a dense multidimensional domain known as "slipspace" (Imaginary Space?) and travel long distances within a reasonable time.
This epoch-making invention laid the foundation for the Unified Earth Government's first large-scale interstellar colonization ship program, declaring that human civilization had gained the ability to leave the Solar System and officially step into deep space.
In 2362, the first colony ship, the Expedition, was launched, opening the curtain on humanity's deep-space colonization era and marking the beginning of what would later be known as the Domus Diaspora or Colonial Era.
The earliest colonization efforts were concentrated in the Epsilon Eridani system. The first colonized planet humanity set foot on was the second planet of the Epsilon Eridani system—now known as Reach, the headquarters of the United Nations Space Command (UNSC).
Near-Earth colonies established during the same period were also discovered and terraformed. Due to their closer proximity to humanity's home system, they received far better development support than later colonies. Large numbers of civilians and soldiers chose to migrate to these new colonies.
In the end, they formed an elite society with the best physical and mental qualities among humans, becoming some of the most prosperous and vibrant regions within humanity's interstellar domain.
After that, humanity's expansion continued without pause. By 2490, more than 800 human settlements were scattered across the Orion Arm of the galaxy (these worlds varied greatly, from highly developed interstellar fortresses to remote small outposts).
As expansion continued, the near-Earth colonies close to the Solar System became political and economic hubs. They relied heavily on the outer colonies for raw materials. This imbalance planted the seeds for another great schism and rebellion in human civilization.
A series of outer colonies provided valuable raw materials for the development of near-Earth colonies and the Unified Earth Government. However, wealth distribution and political power remained concentrated in the near-Earth regions.
This inequality naturally bred dissatisfaction among the residents of the outer colonies, where separatist sentiments began to rise.
Over time, as humanity entered the twenty-sixth century, various ideological and political grievances accumulated, leading many outer colonies to openly rebel.
New waves of separatist movements and uprisings erupted across human outer colonies.
At this very moment, the invasion of the alien alliance known as the Covenant began. From the first battle at Harvest in 2525 to the present, the war had raged for over twenty years. In terms of casualties and material losses, it had already surpassed the total of all recorded wars in human history.
At this time, despite many outer colonies still maintaining hostile and uncooperative attitudes, the UNSC—though overwhelmed by the Covenant's attacks—was forced to divert part of its forces to ensure the security of supply chains. Emergency measures were taken, and military suppression became unavoidable.
To achieve swift results, the UNSC not only deployed its Marine Corps but also redeployed portions of its elite Spartan forces—units that had earned great acclaim on the frontlines against the Covenant—to participate in multiple suppression and counterinsurgency operations.
Among them was a legendary figure of the UNSC military, holding the rank of Master Chief Petty Officer—the Spartan-117.
And since it was war, death was inevitable. As the UNSC's suppression campaigns unfolded, whether it was family members or friends who had died, the hatred between the UNSC military and the colonial independence factions grew ever deeper.
Madrigal was one such outer colony brimming with separatist sentiment.
It was one of many human outer colonies—a resource-based planet classified as a Class 4 heavy water extraction world, located in the Libra constellation (23 Lib), approximately 83.7 light-years from Earth.
Viewed from space, Madrigal appeared as a desolate sandy yellow world. The green patches symbolizing forests and wetlands were sparse and scattered across its surface, making the planet seem barren and lifeless.
Across the endless desertified terrain, one could faintly see countless massive pipeline structures half-buried in sand, linking various human settlements across the planet.
Aside from its harsh desert environment, the planet's gravity and oxygen levels were roughly comparable to Earth's, allowing humans to operate without protective gear.
At a certain deuterium extraction station, a low circular wall enclosed a towering drilling platform. Centered around it, a small human settlement had formed, providing the residents with rudimentary shelter.
Inside the control room of the extraction station, the original control chamber had been crudely expanded. The unnecessary partition walls had been removed to create a large open space resembling a hotel suite.
However, the space was rather rough. Dozens of men and women of different ages and ethnicities gathered within.
Black, white, Asian, and Latino—an entire melting pot.
At a glance, there were no bright colors—only black, gray, and brown, all durable and resistant to dirt.
Their exposed skin bore the coarse texture of those who lived long amid wind and sand. Their clothing was simple and dull—worn, dirty, and sweat-stained—exuding a wasteland punk aesthetic.
"Fuck you!"
"Eight times now. Eight. You should be used to losing this much by now..."
"Bullshit! Janka, are you mocking me?"
"No, no, I'm saying you should take a break..."
"The UNSC on Reach does not wish to obtain our precious deuterium through fair trade. They seek to enslave us, to achieve a once-and-for-all solution..." the news broadcast droned.
At this moment, the room was filled with noise. People sought fleeting pleasure—some operated the drilling consoles, some watched news and entertainment programs, others played cards for small wagers.
Several younger children chased one another through the corners, while a few teenagers focused entirely on handheld game devices.
"One more round, one more round." A white-haired Caucasian old man with thick sideburns and a full beard stroked his "winnings" with a smug expression.
Shuffling the cards, her braided hair swinging slightly, the Black woman named Janka finished calming down the poor fool who had lost miserably. She then looked at the old white man with a grin. "That's enough. Let someone else play. The 'Professor's' hands aren't clean."
"You're saying I cheat?" The old man looked displeased.
"I'm saying you don't wash your hands." Janka spread her palms innocently, clearly joking.
"Hmph. These hands of mine are stained with the blood of UNSC Marines..." The man called "Professor" spread his hands across the rough, unfinished wooden table and fixed his gaze on her.
The title "Professor" was clearly just a teasing codename, not an actual occupation.
"Not this story again. Professor, tell a different war story. I can practically recite this one by heart," Janka said helplessly, dealing the cards as she sat down.
"My scars are older than you are. I've seen—"
"—You've seen the world. Right, Professor?"
Cut off mid-sentence, the old man fell silent. Seeing the amusement in the onlookers' eyes, he let out a heavy breath. "Fine, fine. No more talking. Draw your cards."
"They've sent UNSC Marines and their super-weapon Spartans again and again to crush us. But war is not the answer. That's why Jin Ha sent us here. Believe that I can end this endless war through negotiation." The news broadcast continued.
"Turn that idiot off." Already irritated, the old white man slammed his cards onto the table as he watched the well-dressed figure on the screen.
The others merely shrugged. Though they had no cultural canon like some ancient tradition preaching filial piety, basic respect for the elderly still applied. The old man looked half a foot in the grave anyway—indulging him over something this trivial did no harm.
"Vinsher Grath is an idiot," the Professor said disdainfully as he packed away the small bundle of money he had just won, "but he's a dangerous idiot. He gives people false hope. His peace talks will fail."
It was obvious the old man was a hardline, old-school outer colony separatist—anti–Unified Earth Government to the core.
"I'm telling you now—the UNSC will throw everything they have at us."
"You mean the Spartans?" a young man across the table asked curiously.
Among this group of rough wasteland veterans, he clearly stood out as green. His clothes were just as dirty, but his face was clean, his skin still smooth and youthful.
"Hmph..." The old man snorted and leaned back, eyeing the youth with teasing amusement.
"Have you ever seen a Spartan?" Janka asked.
Under the mischievous gazes of the seasoned veterans, the young man flushed slightly. "I've seen UNSC Marines."
"Hahahaha..."
Laughter erupted around the table, the atmosphere instantly lively—everyone laughing except him.
"One Spartan is worth a hundred UNSC Marines..." Janka leaned forward on the table, widening her eyes with exaggerated seriousness as she explained.
But how could the old man, who had actually fought the UNSC, let the topic pass? Before Janka could finish, he cut in.
"But Janka, there's one more thing..."
As everyone's attention returned to him, the old man slowly stroked his cards and spoke meaningfully. "The biggest difference between a Spartan and a Marine... is that a Marine can be killed..."
The smile vanished from his face. With the deep creases and scars lining his features, he suddenly looked rather frightening. Under his stare, the young man—who had been listening like it was just another story—froze stiffly in place.
"A Spartan isn't human. They're faster, stronger, smarter. No one can stop them. They kill without mercy, and they won't stop until... complete... annihilation."
His voice dropped low and rose and fell with deliberate rhythm. The young man swallowed unconsciously.
The next second, clearly satisfied with the reaction, the old man gave a faintly sinister grin, slapped down a decisive set of cards, and said, "You in or not?"
In an instant, the tense atmosphere evaporated. Laughter exploded again, louder than before, and the young man realized he had been played by this bunch of shameless old rogues.
Just then, a hooded middle-aged Asian man approached. His face was weathered, his beard neatly trimmed. The noise in the room immediately quieted.
"Jin Ha." The Professor nodded to him with a smile. "Tell these boys—'the General' knows. Madrigal would rather die than be unfree. There's no middle ground."
Jin Ha ignored the old man's provocation and walked straight to the drilling platform console. After glancing outside for a moment, he asked in a low voice, "Where's my daughter?"
"Maybe she went out—"
The next instant—BOOM!—
A violent explosion drowned out the hum of the generators and the hiss of wind outside the walls. Janka froze mid-sentence, her eyes widening. "That's the direction Kwan Ha went..."
"What?!"
Before Jin Ha could issue any orders, a shrill alarm began blaring. A young boy dashed inside at full speed, panting. "General Ha! Red flare! From the northern sector!"
"Brothers, seal the pipelines! Grab your weapons!" Jin Ha roared, snatching up a twenty-sixth-century iteration of an AK from nearby.
Amid swirling sand and dust, men shouted, women screamed as they rushed into cover, and the rumble of wheeled vehicles and combustion engines blended into a chaotic roar.
For a semi-militarized resistance force, their organization was decent. Before long, only armed personnel remained active within the settlement. Taking up various types of live-fire weapons, they formed defensive layers behind cover, guarding the main gate of the perimeter wall.
"Dad! Dad!"
At the very last moment before the gate slammed shut, a Korean girl about one meter tall, her long hair tied in a ponytail, rushed inside with a backpack in hand. Her face and clothes were smeared with thick, dark blood.
"Kwan, hurry!"
"Dad! I was over by the forest just now. They came out of nowhere. They killed Kara and Eso..." Kwan Ha stumbled to the side of the modified jeep where her father, Jin Ha, stood, her voice trembling in shock.
"How many UNSC personnel?" Jin Ha gently wiped the blood from his daughter's face, soothing her in their native tongue.
"It wasn't the UNSC, Dad!" Kwan Ha stamped her foot in agitation, words tumbling out incoherently. "It was—it was—"
Whoosh—BOOM!
A flash of blue light erupted.
The armed men Jin Ha had positioned atop the wall instantly exploded into sprays of blue-tinged and crimson slurry. Their bodies burst apart like overripe watermelons under the impact of plasma fire, blood and tissue splattering in all directions.
The horrifying yet almost surreal scene seared itself into everyone's eyes.
"Move!" Jin Ha roared.
BOOM!
Molten metal, propelled by the force of plasma fire, shot backward in a blazing stream. Amid frantic shouts of "Get down!" and "Watch out!" a single blast wiped out most of the squad guarding closest to the gate.
"Who the hell is it? UNSC Marines or Spartans?"
They were panicking.
They hadn't even seen the enemy, yet comrades who had stood beside them seconds earlier were now piles of mangled flesh. Some were not yet dead—but missing limbs, or burned raw by splashing molten metal.
The heart-wrenching screams of the severely wounded further shattered the survivors' fragile nerves.
"Roar—!" Kill all witnesses! (Covenant official language: Sangheili)
"Ao!" Yes!
As strange guttural roars echoed out and the smoke cleared, what came into view were tall, gray-blue–skinned humanoid alien beings with four-part mandibles.
They were Sangheili—the professional warrior caste of the Covenant military. Humans called them "Elites."
Most of the Sangheili wore blue armor, a few wore higher-ranked brown armor, and at the center—like stars surrounding the moon—stood the tallest figure of all. He wore crimson armor and a helmet crowned with an imposing crested headpiece: an Elite commander.
"Ao! Ao-ao! Ao~!" We Sangheili are not those shameless Jiralhanae brutes! The sacred relic must be delivered! There must be no complications!
Under the red-armored commander's orders, unrestrained slaughter began.
To their horror, the resistance fighters discovered that their live-fire weapons could not penetrate the aliens' energy shields.
Meanwhile, when Sangheili plasma weapons struck human bodies, they tore through the camp like a storm of blood. Limbs, fragments, flesh, and organs were scattered everywhere.
Some pieces even smoked faintly, seared by the intense heat of plasma, releasing a nauseating scent of cooked meat.
"Roar!"
Suddenly sensing something, the red-armored Elite commander looked up at the sky.
A dropship bearing the UNSC black eagle insignia was descending toward their position.
Bang!
The hatch opened, and a massive figure—huge by ordinary human standards—slammed down onto the battlefield.
Clad head to toe in dark green armor, his head encased in a matching helmet with a golden-orange visor shielding his eyes, the suit sealed him completely, exuding an aura of impenetrable security.
On the left side of his chest plate, a string of white-painted numbers stood out clearly: 117.
"Ao, ao-ao." It's him—the Demon.
"Ao, ao~" No wonder those foolish apes failed. How did the humans learn of our operation? Has he come to seize the relic?
The more he thought about it, the more plausible it seemed. The red-armored Elite commander immediately barked an order.
"Roar!" Kill him!
Unbeknownst to the Master Chief, he had just taken the blame for an Astartes tactical reconnaissance squad.
...
At the same time, in a remote region of space above Madrigal, a violent burst of light flared into existence.
A massive warship—its design clearly distinct from both Covenant and human construction styles—emerged from a slipspace aperture.
"Report. Human civilization detected in Universe No. 117."