The broken gold visor of Spartan-117 looked upwards at the overcast sky. Concentrated rays of sunlight broke through the tan clouds at such an extreme angle, and oddly enough, one of the golden beams hit the ground not a half meter in front of him. The golden pillar illuminated the airborne dust and stirred particles. It was beautiful, yet he found himself slightly distant from the spectacle. He did not bathe in the light, but was cast in the shade of the clouds. The Master Chief felt he still had some higher purpose to accomplish, and that would bring him out of the shadow. He’d be damned if he was going to die here.
His eyeless head lowered to the dusty ground. Alien blood blanketed his MJOLNIR Mach-6 armor. The Chief merely grunted in acknowledgement of the transparent blue mess. He saw a small stone next to his foot and kicked it in the light. The stone bounced, and then rolled into the smoldering corpse of a jackal. The bird-like creature sprawled on its back, its blackened flesh cracked away from scorches and burn marks spread across its chest. There were other beaten bodies the gravel, six jackals in total. Pretty easy to kill, even when they do form up. That was the problem with the Covenant, they were predictable. They were pretty difficult, only because he wasn’t given a weapon. That wasn’t an issue anymore: he had six plasma pistols at his disposal. Too bad he didn’t know how to use the energy shields.
The Chief then looked at the hundreds, if not thousands of Covenant seated around him. He was standing in the middle of arena. When he first stepped in, the grunts cursed him with guttural barks. He had laughed at this, much more brave in this controlled environment rather than the battle field. The jackals shrieked, the elites laughed. Well, most of them. While the others taunted him, there were some who sat and watched silently. The Chief couldn’t tell, but maybe he had earned the respect of some of the Covenant’s finest. At the north end of the alien coliseum was a loft, where three chairs, set for kings, were placed, yet only two were occupied. The Prophets stared down on him like a rodent. He chuckled at the empty seat on the far left. The Prophet Regret might need some company in Hell.
Well it didn’t matter anymore, now they were all silent. Maybe he gave them a show. One human, un-armed, had broken through the jackals’ phalanx and slaughtered the first two with his bare hands, then killed the rest with the policed plasma weapon, and did it all under one minute. One jackal did get a hit in, right in the lower right corner of his visor and helmet. Luckily the helmet took most of the damage; his face would have been badly burned. He was cut though from the shattered glass, and blood trickled down his helmet. It was the only thing to give him away as human. The Master Chief wondered if they even considered him a human. He had gathered that they called him a Demon. Maybe it was a name, maybe a fable.
A shadow stretched over the field. The Prophet in the middle seat rose, and was silhouetted. It bellowed out, yet its voice was smooth. He sat back down. The Chief looked around when nothing happened after a heart-beat. Then, the ground shook, and the Master Chief almost lost his footing. Then something hit again. He looked around at the mechanical doors underneath the stone loft. They were being dented from the other side. Two bangs this time. The doors slid open as much as the bent and dented alloy would allow. Green lights illuminated the dark air behind them and cast sparks as they impacted the doors. The bombardment continued until the doors gave way…to two hunters. A delayed projectile fired and after a juke to the left, missed the Master Chief. He felt the heat as it passed his face and collided with a group of grunts in the stands. The blast cast rock and limestone into the arena, along with a grunt, or his better half anyway. Unfortunately, it didn’t suffer the same fate as its companions: death. It squealed and yelped in its native tongue. The Master Chief’s translator in his helmet picked up some of the gibberish and converted it as a high-pitched “Not again!” from the squirming alien. He straightened himself, and stood up, setting his eyes on the blue and orange bulks as they crept through the dust, bunkered down in there defensive stances.
The Master Chief needed a plan. He had taken out hunters before, but never so exposed and lightly armed. He wouldn’t last long like this. Walking forward, his hidden were studying his targets. He walked past the whimpering grunt, and laid one between his eyes without looking. Stepping over the mangled body of the first jackal, an idea came to him; he looked at the creatures arm with the energy shield emitter. There were a few buttons. He could press a button. He raised the arm till it was taught, then stomped right on the elbow, breaking it. Snapping the forearm back broke the flesh and tissue, which released the bone. Kicking it one more time, it gave way, with a hell of a lot of blood.
He looked back at the hunters: why the hell weren’t they attacking?
Then, bright lights all around the base of the stands glowed, and a purple/blue wall rose and connected: An energy shield. The Covenant thought ahead. The protective blanket domed in at the top, sealing them inside, with the crowd outside again in there uproar. Suddenly, the Chief felt alone. Not by the fact that he was surrounded by Covenant, but because Cortana would probably have made a sarcastic statement right about now. He wondered how she was. The idea was pushed aside, he needed to stay focused. The hunter duo lowered their stances. He looked at his adversaries, then at the plasma pistol, and the arm he was holding. He cocked his head quizzically.
“Good odds.”
The Chief averted his gaze to the severed forearm in his left hand.
“Wouldn’t hurt to try.”
He pressed a random button, and up popped the energy shield, just as the hunter duo dropped in their defensive stance and heated up their arm mounted fuel rod cannon. The Chief considered his options: his protective shielding would only take one shot to drop, not counting the disorientation it would bring. The energy shield probably wouldn’t hold up against more than one direct hit either. With an accurate first volley to knock out his shields, and a second for the kill, it left him no real choice: he had to get in close.
He dropped behind his new shield, and fired up his plasma pistol. The growing green glow grew in the corner of his eye. He had maybe a few seconds before the alien behemoths could get another shot off. Speed and timing were essential. The aliens raised their weapons, and underneath the helmet the chief was gritting his teeth.
It grew dark, and the obnoxious, feral cries from the alien mob became muffled. The shields had closed, and the hunters fired. The blinding green projectiles filled the Master Chief’s visor. He lunged to the right, keeping his shield raised which took most of the damage from the blast radius. When he got back to his feet, the sheer force from the second blast forced him to skid 2 meters on his feet. His shields depleted, and the warning siren rang in his ear. He broke out in a sprint with his plasma pistol still hot, right for the closest hunter. He felt the power emitting from it vibrate to his elbow. The hunter broke out of its defensive stance and lurched forward. When the Chief was close enough, it threw its body at him, swinging the metal shield with such a fatal force. The Chief had counted on this. He dove for the ground, and hit it rolling underneath the alien’s arm, and he found himself behind it. He got his footing, put the plasma pistol in the fleshy part of its back, and fired. The hunter stunned, arched its back. When the initial shot landed, he fired repeatedly when it recharged after a heartbeat. Orange alien matter splattered against the MJOLNIR armor, mixing with the blue blood of the jackal. A shadow fell on the Master Chief and before he could adjust a black mass hit him in the side, cracking ribs and sending him sideways. After he skidded to a halt at the other end of the arena, he stood up, dazed, and unsure if the ringing in his helmet was coming from his armor systems, or his head.
Any other weapon, and that plan would have worked. He looked at his plasma pistol, and threw it to the side when he realized its energy capacity was depleted. He didn’t bother reaching for his spare.
He broke out at a sprint again for the wounded hunter. It seemed to have shaken it off. The hunters delayed reaction reassured the Chief that this time he could kill it. When it lurched forward again, it hesitated as if it was in pain. Perfect. This gave the Chief time to brace himself. He raised his knee to his chest to absorb the blow, and when the shield hit, he grabbed onto the side. The shield took him behind the hunter, oblivious that it had done so. The Chief let go, hit the ground rolling closer to the exposed charred flesh, got on one knee and took a long backswing before dealing a huge punch, right into the burned meat. His fist broke through until his entire forearm was shoved through the beast’s back, thenl it hit something hard. The hunter’s spine crumbled on the impact. He pulled his arm back before the giant fell to the ground, unknowing of what had happened. The Master Chief looked at his coated forearm approvingly.
He turned, and sure enough, the massive bulk fell upon him, flailing its shield. It was too close to dodge. The Chief raised his foot to the shield and his arms to his head. The melee hit his foot, sending him backwards. Somehow he landed on his side, knocking the wind out of him. He quickly shook it off and got to his feet. This got a bit easier. One hunter was fairly easy: you didn’t have to watch your back for the other. He took a step forward, and stepped on something: the detached arm. The shield probably would start again. He picked it up, and pressed the same button. The blue shield extended outwards. Hopefully this would work. He didn’t have any other ideas. The lone hunter did something that surprised the chief: it was advancing on him. Usually they just stayed defensive unless you got to close. Might as well return the favor.
The Master Chief broke out in a jog, and gradually accelerated to an impossible speed for any other human. They closed in on each other, and the hunter raised its shield over its head, and pointed its already charged fuel rod cannon.
Shit.
The hunter fired, and still moving forward, the Chief dropped his head and lunged forward. He felt the heat from the plasma slug as it passed over his back, still on his hands and feet, he kept moving. The hunter threw its shield down, but it was too late. He was too close. He lost his balance, but he still leaped forward. The still open energy shield flared in the sunlight as the Master Chief threw his arm forward and drove the edge of the shield into the hunters exposed throat. He hit the crumbling behemoth’s chest as it doubled over, unable to breathe through its crushed esophagus, and the momentum launched them both backwards. As they hit the ground, the Chief rolled off the beast as it writhed on the ground, but by the time the Master Chief got to his feet, it stopped moving.
Silence.
He looked around at the crowd. Although he couldn’t hear them, he could see that he silenced them yet again. They didn’t see that coming. What was going to happen now? Were they going to keep throwing shit at him, only for it to hit the fan? He laughed at the thought of the Prophets sending the crowd on him. He got the feeling that this was going to be a long day, for both parties.
