- Wolverfrog
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- Fabled Legendary Member
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John heard the cry of a Brute to his left, and instinctively brought his rifle out, aiming it down at the fallen Jiralhanae's head. He then blinked, remembering he was working with the Covenant now, and lowered the rifle, instead bending down to look at the Brute. It seemed to be trapped under a semi-molten steel girder. The Brute was screaming in agony as the girder seared its flesh. Only half its upper torso was free.
"Can you hear me?" John questioned, laying a hand on the Brute's shaggy shoulder. The Covenant soldier nodded, screams dying, replaced by shock as it beheld first-hand a 'Demon.' John gave a sharp nod back.
"Hold on, I'm going to lift this off you." the Spartan assured the Brute, who remained dumbstruck, merely shaking its head once.
John stood up, and placed a hand on the underbelly of the collapsed girder. He saw shields flare around his hands as the heat began to eat away at them. Grimacing, the Spartan diverted more power to his hands, boosting the shields. He gripped the steel firmly, and began to pull.
It was heavy, solid and nearly twice as tall than the straining Spartan. Yet John persevered, heaving and grunting until finally, the girder shifted that critical inch, and the Spartan was able to lift the huge steel bar up and toss it to the side. John reached down and offered the Brute a helping hand. After a few uncertain moments, the Covenant soldier grasped John's hand gratefully, and the Spartan pulled to Brute to his feet. As he released his grip however, the Brute began to fall to the ground again, and would have had John not deftly caught him. The Brute was heavy, put John had lifted heavier. He draped the large beast like person over his shoulder, before gently lowering him down against a nearby wall.
"My--my thanks, Demon," the Brute gasped out wearily, breathing deep. John nodded. He took a look at the Brute. It wore the intricate armour of a War Chieftain. How strange to see such a Brute and yet to not be fighting it, John thought.
"No problem. What's your name Brute?" the Spartan questioned gently, removing the Chieftain's Power Armour, which disconnected with a hiss. John winced at the damage beneath, the Brute's entire torso was mangled and bloody.
"Aeschylus," the Brute wheezed out, before doubling over in a coughing fit. John grimaced, the Brute obviously had a punctured lung. He reached down to his belt and drew out a biofoam canister, injected the thick, musty smelling foam into the Brute's chest area. Aeschylus began to breathe normally again.
"Am I to die, Demon?" Aeschylus asked, and his voice was so uncaring that John blinked, looking up into the empty eyes of the Brute.
"No, you'll be fine. I'll call a medic in a few minutes. What happened?" the Spartan asked, relieving his legs momentarily and sitting down next to Aeschylus, resting his head against the wall.
"I was commanding a lance of Jiralhanae. We were taking cover in a building when a huge Parasite came by. Collapsed the structure, and the building. Killed my pack. Only I survived." Aeschylus muttered out through newly shed tears.
"I know all too well the pain of losing a 'pack' Aeschylus." John told the Brute, thinking of all his brother and sister Spartans who had died at Reach in the attack by the Covenant. The attack the Arbiter had commanded. John liked the Elite, thought of him as a good friend, and yet had trouble forgiving him for authorising the attack which had destroyed everyone John had held dear.
"And how do you cope with the loss Demon?" Aeschylus asked bluntly, stunning John for a second. Cope? There was never a moment in his life where he didn't think about his Spartans. Except...
"You have to do things. Fight. Talk. Move on. It hurts, and will always hurt. But keeping busy is the best painkiller of all." John told the Brute wisely, and began to stand up. He didn't like how awkward the conversation had become.
"Come on, I'll take you to a group of Elites nearby, they'll get you back to base." John told the Brute, reaching down to pick Aeschylus up. 'Base' was a reinforced Tower of London, the ancient structure built back in medieval times by William the Conqueror in 1078. For centuries, it had been a place of death and misery. Ironic that now it was a place of refuge and safety.
As John's fingertips touched the Brute's though, there was a crash through the wall further down the alley, and a lone colossal Flood form stepped through. It was twice as tall as John, and spotted both him and the Brute instantly. Aeschylus baulked.
"By the Prophets, it's back!" the Brute cried out in fear, and John realised this must be the creature which levelled the building Aeschylus had been trapped under. Before the Spartan could lift up the Brute and take him to safety, the colloidal Flood form reached out and grabbed Aeschylus by the waist with one long, thick tentacle. The Brute began to scream.
"No! No! Help, by the Journey, please hel--" the Flood form doubled the thick tentacle holding the Brute over on itself, and Aeschylus's body cracked in two. The Covenant War Chieftain fell to the ground, bleeding, and very much dead.
The huge behemoth Flood form then turned its gaze upon John, who was standing still with his rifle ready. It began to advance.
"Crap." John breathed, before spraying the monster with bullets. It shrugged them off easily, still advancing slowly. The Spartan emptied magazine after magazine into the Flood form, yet to no avail. A sudden clicking noise told John that the Assault rifle was out of ammo. "Not good."
The Flood form charged then, running towards John rather quickly. John tossed the rifle aside, and looked behind him to the mouth of the alleyway. There was no other option available.
And so John ran. He fled from the insanely tall Flood form, as fast as he could. The Spartan was painfully aware that despite the fact he was running his fastest, the Flood form was still right behind him.
John tumbled out of the alleyway, into the broad street beyond. The Elites at the foot of the street cried out in shock, raising their rifles.
"Run!" John screamed at them, waving his arms frantically. He didn't stop, and continued to run down the street. John looked back and saw with horror that the Elites hadn't moved yet, instead raising their rifles bravely, wearing confident looks. Damn their honour! John thought, even as the behemoth crashed likewise out onto the street, careering into the startled Elites. Plasma flew from the reptilian creatures for a few moments, before stopping as the Flood form killed them all with mirth. It then looked around the street, before spotting John once again. The Spartan swore; he'd never in all his time fought something like this.
There was no way John would be able to outrun it. No way in hell. He'd have to stand his ground and fight. The Spartan reached down to his belt, and drew out his energy sword. He spotted another discarded on the street nearby. Two are better than one, John thought, lifting that hilt up and igniting it too, so he held a sword in each hand.
The huge Flood lumbered towards him, covering the vast distance in less than a few seconds. It lunged for John with one thick limb, which the Spartan easily ducked under. As the tentacle passed over his head, he brought up one blade, slicing the limb off. The Spartan chuckled with success as he backed away. Now the creature only had one tentacle left!
His victory was short-lived though, for as John watched in horror as another limb began to grow, coming out of the Flood form's body. John noticed that the torso of the creature, however, seemed to thin, as if it were transferring biomass from one area to another.
"Like a Hydra..." John muttered as he circled the enemy. The Spartan remembered the old tale of the Hydra, the mythological monster which had grown two heads for every one cut off. How had Hercules killed it again?
Before he could remember though, the huge Flood launched an attack at him, forcing John to execute a series of complex and intricate movements which would have impressed even Kelly. Speaking of which, where were his Spartans? He could use their help right now.
"This is Spartan 117, I'm engaged with a powerful enemy, can anyone assist?" John demanded over the priority channel. There was no response for a few moments, and John backed away from the advancing Flood behemoth. Then:
"Uh, Master Chief? We're a little pressed right now, we're barely holding out as it is. Is it vital you need help?" a voice John recognised as belonging to Colonel Miles inquired. John looked up at the colossal Flood creature, standing twice as tall as him; the physical embodiment of hell.