Badfic: First Blood

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AN: It was actually a struggle to write this, and god I hope it's a struggle to read it, too. I crammed every single "Do Not" into it that I could think of, and the result is actually painful to read.
I haven't included any formatting, because it doesn't deserve it.
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My Lord High Minister
I have now completed the examination of this particular archive, as has been requested of me by the Ministry. I can state that the text does indeed truly date to around a time nearing the beginning of our cleansing crusade against the Humans, however due in part to the lack of any physical copy of the archive, dating a record that exists purely as mere information on a single terminal is beyond the work of even our most ordained and holy of Huragok. All we can do is trust the date given to us by the terminal itself, but even this may be inaccurate, though to say so is in itself an act of heresy. It is however something that must be considered, as whomsoever created this blasphemy may be capable of other such offenses against the divine.
As to the contents, there is little to report. I have been unable to uncover any records that point me towards any potential authors, nor have I been able to find any evidence of anyone with the correct authority to access this terminal within one of the San ‘Shyumm’s innermost sanctums. The Sacred Promissory is a place deemed as one of the holiest of holies aboard the entirety of High Charity, indeed only select few other locations within the Golden City can claim to be of such import, and yet here we find a most vile collection of heresies so clustered together, as though whomsoever created it did so intentionally, to vex and flout all senses of piety, and to spite all who keep the faith so entirely.
As to the outlandish caricatures found within, I have more troubling news. The Sacred Promissory itself acknowledges the existence of a Prelate by the name of Fora Desh Vis, and the Roster of Elders kept by the current master of the Sinners of Solitude corroborates several other names within its pages. These names have since been stricken from their sources, though their existence remains crucial to the investigation, and so I have included them attached.
The question therefore remains; if the Prelate in question exists, and so do the names of the Sangheili in the Roster of Elders, then can we so readily dismiss the contents of this tale as mere farrago? To ask such questions is dangerous, and speaks of a mind too curious for its own good. This investigation into the contents of this archive quickly ascended past my authority, and my ability to reconcile. 
I implore you, High Minister, let me erase this heresy.
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Lest I be found wanting in the chambers of our lords on high, stress must I that far be it from me to question the minds of those seeking to lead us onwards towards salvation. However our Prophets beget naught but honourless sedition and conniving schemery, in a complex miasma of quagmirical effusions reeking of the stench of betrayal and ignoble piety. Cycle after cycle, worm after worm, seeking oft only gratification and self-serving righteousness, claiming their own superiority above that of their kin. Long are the days of our holy order spreading faith first behind us, and long ahead are the days of strife and turmoil at the sagging fleshy hands of those who would seek to call themselves our masters.
Hence my path as Prelate, Fora Desh Vis, seeking furthering of the Covenant holy cause against those I thought were the true enemies of the faith. Perhaps at one stage even I, Fora Desh Vis, sought only the pleasures of the now, and the strength of the momentary blast of satisfaction from the reputation of a rival immolated above the pyre of our own limitless disdain for those too weak to adequately harden themselves.
Now I exchange this desire for the tactile delight of slitting the throat of an enemy of the journey, disjointed and detached from the desires of the political chasm that seeks to devour our Covenant whole.
Were it not the will of the Prophets alone that guided us, were the teachings of our gods still among us, perhaps we would’ve allowed the primitives of man into our holy order, perhaps we would’ve civilised them and ensured them a proper place amongst us, so long as they took to our tenets and were tamed of their heretical misdeeds. However the Gods have long since ceased their callings, and no longer are we upon their path and treading the grounds upon which they once walked.
Now we are a mind of metal and war, conquering and destroying more than we preach and ensure our faith spreads, and the divinity of the Forerunners is accepted by all.
The will of the Prophets seeps and saturates into every pore of the golden city, and thus like a tainted wellspring it spreads to all corners of our lands, tainting every soul, every ritual, every order and demand made of these fleshy beings on their golden thrones is dripped and draped with their own desires made manifest, above those of our lords..
I grew tired of their gambits, of their incessant gnawings and gibberings. Yet even in my servitude to powers greater than they, they sought to control me. I grew tired of this also, and so I took my blade of masterwork nanolaminate and sought to sever the head of the snakes.
I took with me the disgraced and disorderly, the ones who among all records no longer exist. The exiled sons of honourless sires, the battered remnants of ill folk and cripples, the heirless and heretical. The Sinners of Solitude bore no ill will towards the current Hierarchs of the Covenant, yet neither held they any love in their hearts for the masters that ordered their keeps razed and their families martyred.
Blademaster Rotan ‘Irollee lent his service and a thousand more to the cause, enough perhaps to busy the Honour Guards for a time while I sought my own quarry. To the gates of their chambers I led the rabble of featureless gold helmets and smooth combat harnesses. No engravings nor carvings adorned them, so plain and unassuming when compared to the shining visages of the Honour Guard, caught resplendent.
His Majors, Voras ‘Soral and Lindros ‘Okran, struck first as the Honour Guard made to intercept us, as they have grown slow and fat in the absence of any true threats to their lords. As I in my armour strided through the rabble, whenever a Guard attempted to prevent me from going any further, another one of the Blademaster’s loyal flesh shields moved to meet him.
It was merely I and another two Guards before the entrance to the chambers, and they were easily dispatched with little fanfare to describe. Their movements weak, their readiness shirked, and their nerves set on edge by the felling of so many of their most elite of brothers.
Their severed heads are laid by the doors now, a shame to see such spirited and talented warriors go to waste, and I entered the chambers of the Hierarchs with little to oppose me.
No guards lingered in the shadowy places, nor the seats upon which councillors oft stood and sat to shout their opinions into the writhing mass of voices. Only the three serpents on their stacked thrones that once held hides holier than theirs, and far more deserving of their seats.
They knew me, of course, and they knew of my scheming, for their serpentine hands had touched almost all manner of ill hiding places. 
They whispered to me, Truth, Regret, and Mercy, of a conspiracy so large it blanketed the Covenant in its smothering totality. Of a wretched heresy so foul that it could not be defeated, for it had come from our Lords themselves. 
In my shock I failed to see the honor guards enter behind me, having long since dispatched the gibbering rabble of half-trained, vengeful sangheili. They branded me a false prophet, and I fled to the underhives and slum towns where not even the light could reach.
Now I leave this archive on the site of my turning from politics onto a much darker path. A warning? A retribution? Not even I fully know the answer, I merely know the consequences.
Category:SilverLastname
Category:The Weekly