Heart of Iron

Chapter 14: A Dark Past Revisited

Forget what hurt you in the past, but not what it taught you…

-Anonymous

Six’s stared unflinchingly through his visor as the saurian impaled upon his blade slid off and made its way to the rubble strewn street. The spartan watched disspationatly as the light died from its cold unfeeling eyes as gravity pulled it inexhaustibly to the ground in a bloody and messy heap. These creatures were not but mindless brutes, lacking the intelligence of a sangheili warrior. They gave him no such challenge unless in larger numbers. He stepped over the newly minted corpse and reached for his magnum, shortly remembering that it lay in scattered shards inside the damaged hulk of his Sabre.

Instead he shifted his gauntlet to clench the metallic grip of his shotgun and pulled it off his armored spine. The hard metal of the weapon comforted the power armored warrior and set his mind at ease. The scattergun was still depleted from its recent use and so he pilfered a number of shells from his primary bandolier, loading them into the munition starved loading port underneath the barrel.

Racking the slide, he chambered the next deadly shot and brought the weapon up to his shoulderplate. Up ahead amidst the hazy dust cluttered air, he detected the guttural hissing he had started to associate with these reptilian beasts. The spartan crouched low and blended into his surroundings. His once pitch black armor covered in ash and dust, providing perfect camouflage for his immense bulk.

He laid in wait until the approaching voices had bodies to accompany them. The pack of nine brutes shuffled through the street, holding their alien weapons close to their scaled chests and scanning the surrounding area warily. In the hours after his arrival, the saurians had grown to fear him.

Long ago, the feline commander had pulled his forces back to consolidate around their center of power, the enforcer building. Their tanks were put to use protecting the vulnerable structure and all the kats therein. The only things that remained in the handful of city blocks around the headquarters were these ravagers. All that area had been cleared of civilians and the enforcer officers on the outside had it sealed off, preventing the enemy from branching out from their emergence point. The spartan was unsure as to what number of the ravagers remained, but he knew that it could be no more than fifty. More than a hundred of the beasts lay dead, strewn about the area in cooling pools of their own viscera.

The zone itself was dominated by an oppressive greyish haze consisting of powdered concrete and ash. The once pristine streets were transformed into a myriad of small hills and sunken craters, creating a twisted environment in which to wage war. The alteration gave him numerous firing positions and locations to use in ambush.

It was the perfect concourse for a spartan supersoldier.

One of the ravagers stepped close to the concealed spartan, sniffing at the air in front of him as its comrades continued walking, leaving it lagging a few steps behind. Its snout scented the air and it looked to have caught onto something.

How unfortunate.

Six sprang an arm forward, his enhanced reflexes amplifying his speed to surpass that of a lunging viper. He latched his plated fist around its throat and yanked it towards him, and before it knew what hit it, he slipped the thin bladed weapon in his left gauntlet in-between the vertebras of its neck. The kukri sliced through its trachea and cut off its impending howls for help. He held the ravager to his chest as it bled out, dousing his ashen armor in a greenish crimson deluge spewing from its severed throat.

The spartan dropped the corpse to the ground and stepped out from his hiding place. The eight remaining saurians were unaware of their ally’s demise and pressed forward cautiously, still searching for the demon that walked among them and oblivious to his true location. Six closed in, years of skill and experience with his armor rendering his gait noiseless.

Once in position, he set upon them with a silent fury.

He jammed the barrel of his shotgun into the lower back of the ravager to his left, using his other hand to plunge his kukri into the back of the skull of its companion beside it. As the first one died, he pulled the trigger of the shotgun and blew the ravager’s intestines out of its body with heated shrapnel.

Even as the two collapsed lifelessly to the ground, the spartan threw his kukri into the chest of a turning ravager and grabbed the fore-end of his shotgun to use in both hands. He emptied the last seven rounds into the disorganized party and ended any future plans they may have made, cutting their lives short with a hail of merciless buckshot.

And just as fast as he arrived, he disappeared amongst the shadows, leaving the bodies to be found by their brethren...not that he expected for any to live long enough to see his grisly work.

**********

Feral sat on a battered wooden chair in the headquarters’ lobby. The greying feline was a distance aways from the center of commotion as his officers did their best to clean up the heavily damaged foyer. The front doors were completely obliterated, blasted apart in the battle and the far wall was gone as well. In its place a strange fighter lay buried amidst the rubble. He could only guess that it belonged to the strange warrior that had arrived to help them. Seeing the crash, Feral found it amazing that the pilot survived at all. Whatever he, or it was, must be made of some stern stuff to come out of that intact and ready to fight.

Feral heard a commanding female voice directing the officers in their efforts to restore order and was unsurprised to see that Miss Briggs was orchestrating the whole undertaking. Even though she had a disheveled appearance she managed to project a calm aura of authority that his kats seemed to follow easily. Feral had to hand it to her, for all the trouble she caused him with the help of those SwatKats; she was still dedicated to her job and helping the city.

He growled.

As for those pesky felines, they had the nerve to parade around the building. If he was not in such a desperate situation at the moment, he would have his enforcers lock them up. They were vigilantes, little better than the lawless criminals they combated. Those masked kats were not beholden to anyone and that was what made them his enemies. They held only an allegiance to each other, unlike the enforcers who had an oath to protect the city. Not only that but they were reckless glory hounds and cocky showboats. Megakat City did not need the likes of them.

Or so Feral kept telling himself.

He loathed to faintly consider the scenario that they might be doing more for the city than against it. True, they had foiled many villains’ dangerous plots. But he could not reconcile that with what they were. He was not so stubborn as to think that he and his officers would have been as well off after this event if not for their arrival.

Both of those ruffians had helped take the motor pool back and get it under their control. Feral was confident he could have done it without them, but he would have lost more men in the end.

The feline sighed.

ten casualties and three times as many in critical condition…

That was not even counting the civilians and officers who received only moderate wounds. Almost no one escaped from this unharmed. He had gotten nicked in the leg by a stray bullet and had it patched up. Other than that and a few additional cuts and bruises he was fine.

Yet, that was not even the worst of it. Feline had rushed head on into the melee, uncaring that her badge had been suspended. Feral was infuriated with her but at the same time he could not help but feel reluctant pride in her actions. She had put her duty ahead of herself. It reminded him of a much younger and less confrontational version of himself. He was hard on her  at times but it was only to prepare her. He had hopes that she would be the one to replace him when he stepped down from his position. She had the grit, courage, and determination that one needed for the job. But first, He had to curb her reckless behavior and instill in her a sense of responsibility. It was a trying task.

The industrious chatter in the lobby suddenly died and silence loomed. Feral looked up from his musing to see what was happening and discovered the reason.

The armored entity had returned. It stepped through the blasted lobby doors with the crackling of broken glass and crushed stone, his weight threatening to crack the lobby’s tiles. The giant marched brazenly through the building as if it was his realm, and no one sought to correct him. Whoever this stranger was, he was a league of his own. He made war seem like child’s play. Feral had watched as he waded through the enemy with contemptuous ease and dealt death to any brave enough to challenge him. He had seen these hulking reptilians turn tail and run in fear of the stranger’s wrath, and not a single one escaped. His weapons were foreign and lethal.

And the way he fought was unlike any he Feral had seen before. It was unrestrained power at its preeminent level. He used his guns as often as he used his blades. This warrior had no qualms with sawing through flesh and bone and Feral even felt that he…reveled, in the bloodshed. It was as if war was his entire existence. He made it seem like his sole purpose was to kill as viciously and efficiently as possible. He was economic in his bloodletting, not a single motion was wasted. Everything was directed towards his foes so proficiently that Feral could only assume that he had been bred for warfare. Certainly his appearance did much to support that theory.

The outsider’s armor was drenched in gore, and in his wake he left a trail of oddly colored blood as it cascaded down his plated form to the floor below. His armor was pock marketed with depressions and gouges in the bulky plate, signs that the enemy’s weapons deflected with little to no damage. His helmet’s dull black visor was impenetrable; all that one could see when looking into it was their warped reflection. If not for his rough voice, Feral would have though him some sort of intelligent machine. But he was not like the metalikats. No doubt he could destroy them on a whim if he so preferred. In fact, Feral felt that no one here could stop him if they tried. Maybe if they had all their tanks, helicopters, and enforces together, they might have a chance.

Such a powerful being should not exist here. It was unnatural. His presence felt wrong, as if he was not from their world, something Feral was beginning to believe held some modicum of truth.

The greying feline watched as the armored warrior made its way directly towards him and he had to resist the urge to stand up and reach for his weapon, not that it would help. If the stranger desired to kill him then and there, there would be little to prevent him from his goal. Instead he remained unmoving and stared back into the approaching figure’s visor with as much conviction as he could manage in his current condition.

The entity stopped in front of him and looked down to the feline, like an adult to a kitten. It silently observed him for severely moments before speaking in its grating tone. “The threat outside has been eliminated. Nothing is left alive.” Its tone was stiff and yet casual, as if all that had transpired was part of the norm, assaults by swarms of reptilian creatures were an everyday occurrence.

Feral was not surprised to hear that.

The armored behemoth continued. “Your men should be able to handle the clean-up. I have done what I can. The rest is up to you.”

With that, the warrior abruptly about-faced and started to march away, no doubt planning on disappearing into the city where no one could hope to find him.

Feral could not help but speak. “Stop right there.” He demanded.

The giant froze mid-step.

By this time, Miss Briggs and Feline had noticed what was going on and they looked extremely uneasy. The SwatKats turned a corner, pulling a large piece of rubble towards the outside when they spotted the developing confrontation, smirks on their muzzles. They knew that Six was not one to submit to other’s authority.

Slowly, the being turned around to face Feral with his looming visor. It offered no words as it seemed to wait for the commander to finish.

Feral held back the urge to gulp and subconsciously fixed the tattered collar of his uniform. It was taking all of his nerve to resist folding in to the stranger’s unseen gaze. “I must admit your assistance was…welcomed. But I cannot allow you to leave without answering some questions.”

“Cannot allow…?” The warrior muttered quietly in confusion. Six was honestly baffled. Did this kat think that he could actually stop him from leaving if he so desired? The spartan’s usual response would have been…unpleasant. But instead he found himself giving off a hoarse chuckle. It amused him that after all he had done, that this Commander Feral thought that he could presume to order him around. It was a hard thing to amuse a spartan, even harder to make one laugh.

At his discordant chuckle, Feral blanched slightly and was starting to regret his poor choice of words.

Still, it was his job to ensure the safety of this city. And he would not be satisfied until all that could be done had been done, even if it was something as stupid as this. He needed to know more about what he was dealing with and now was the best time. This stranger was being cooperative for the moment and there was no telling if that would continue, or if Feral would even find him again after he left. No. Now was the time to capitalize on the chance he was given.

“Very well…Commander.” Six replied sardonically. He decided to amuse the feline. Besides, he was tired off all the secrets. If they wanted to know everything he would tell them. He was old for a spartan-III and very probably the last one. He had not expected to live this long. Every day hence forth was a miracle in all honesty. Once, years ago, he had heard that sharing ones grief was cleansing. If that was true than he had quite a few things to get off his chest and maybe…just maybe, he would stop having those flashbacks.

“Ask away…”

**********

Callie found herself in a very familiar room the very same she had been in before all of this started. Feral had wanted to conduct his questioning in relative privacy away from prying eyes and so no reason not to use it.

Mayor Manks was still alive and well. (Which she supposed was a good thing.) The pompous and rotund kat was still sitting in the same place he had been before. Everyone had gathered in the room to hear Six’s story. Felina stood next to her, holding each other’s paws comfortingly. The two were a little anxious to finally uncover who their hero was. Razor and T-bone were in the room as well. Although they looked uncomfortable, which was understandable considering they were sharing a room with the feline that had been hounding them for years. They had already heard tale of the spartan’s story, and were not as eager to hear it again as they had been the first time. It was a solemn tragic tale filled with sacrifice and loss. Both had already seen what scars it had left on him, both figurative and literal.

The last two occupants of the room were the ones who stole the show. Feral and Six had the entire room’s attention. Callie observed him as he stood near the back corner, as far from the others as he could make himself.

Six looked so out of place among them, a hulking armored figure amidst a group of smaller furred kats. Even across the room she could detect the coppery scent of blood and bitter tang of gunpowder that seemed to be permanently infused into his armor. Once more she had to remind herself what he really was, an alien soldier from another world, who, at times, could be as equally protective and gentle as he was cold and distant. And somewhere from his arrival to now, she had grown attached to this being. Never in her life had she thought something like this could have happened, even with all the strange things that happened in this city.

At least now she would finally hear her guardian’s tale.  Callie wanted…no…needed to find out. She did not want him to be a stranger anymore. She wanted him to be more than that, more than the guy who kept saving her, more than a stranger from another world. The kat sought to understand Six, who he really was inside that armored shell. Getting a glimpse of his past would be the best way to start.

Callie felt a nudge against her side, turning to Felina.

“It’s a little crazy right, feeling nervous? I mean, what do we have to be nervous about?” Feline chuckled weakly.

In response, she smiled slightly and nodded her agreement.

Callie could blatantly see her friend’s nervousness in the way she carried herself. The tip of Felina’s tail twitched in visible agitation and her pair of short triangular ears flicked consistently, almost in pace with the furred appendage attached to her rear.

It was an unusual sight.

For the few years she had known Felina, her friend had always been adept at concealing any feelings she may have had. It was uncharacteristic of her to openly act this way, but understandable given the circumstances. Callie did not want to admit it, but Felina had been similarly swept up in the wake of Six’s chaotic arrival into their lives.

There was something about the reclusive hardhearted warrior that drew her and Felina to him. Callie had seen him at his worst and at his best. She recalled how he had first acted back in the alley, what seemed like months ago now. A being of pain and hate, with a grudge against the world it had seemed. But then, he had come back to her, helping Callie when she had needed it the most, all without any desire to be thanked or rewarded. Giving no reason, he had adopted his role as her protector and had shed his blood to keep it.

And throughout all of this, he hadn’t shown even a sliver of romantic interest in her. The closest he had ever come to showing it had been after his ship crashed hours ago. He had actually pronounced that he cared for her. And how that simple hesitant announcement had sent her heart racing! All of this without ever having even laid eyes on his true face. She still was as clueless as to what he looked like as the first time she had laid eyes on his one-way visor.

She could no longer lie to herself.

Callie had fallen in love with the man under the mask, whatever he might be. Her life had been one of fear and terror before his arrival. It had seemed as if all the villains of Megakat city were set on kidnapping her for their nefarious plots. She had come close to death more times than any kat had a right to in their life.

All that had changed when Six arrived.

In a single day, he had made her feel safe and secure, something she had craved for a long time. He quieted all of her insecurities and gave her the confidence she had thought she lost. His towering and powerful form comforted her more than any set of walls or defenses could. Callie felt safer next to him than she did in the heart of enforcer headquarters. There was no one on this world that could even hope to remotely match him.

She didn’t care what he looked like under his armor. She cared for what he was on the inside, someone who had protected her, fought for her, cared for her. All she wanted was to put a face to the wonderful and complex person that Six was.

Callie’s greatest fear was no longer of the villains of Megakat City. Her greatest fear was that he did not feel the same way about her. She knew he cared for her, but how much did he care? Was he just fulfilling a role? Or was his adoption as her protector something more meaningful? The tan furred feline was too afraid of the answer to attempt to ask him and the uncertainty tore at her.

She could only imagine what Felina felt like.

Callie took a deep breath and composed herself, fixing her shredded outfit and wishing that she had not lost her goggle-like glasses. They were probably in a broken pile back at her old apartment.

Her ears flicked towards the faint whirring of hydraulic joints and she looked up to see Six shift forwards, lurching away from the wall he leaned on and closer to the group. It looked as if he had finally collected his thoughts.

Callie’s protector shifted in place, the servos in his armor humming in the silent room. His suit was a madman’s canvas of war, swirling textures of grey ash muddled with crimson gore, smeared across bulky black plates, all blending into a chaotic ugly multihued jumble.

His appearance was unsettling to the kats’ present, not that he seemed to notice. They could not tell what would be a more disturbing realization, that he did not care about the state of his armor, or that he was so used to it that it was normal for him.

“Well then, ask away, Commander.”

Six spoke, his familiar and harsh voice briefly lit up the room as he folded his plated arms across his chest and waited for Feral to respond.

The Commander nodded and straightened himself in an effort to appear more authoritative, not that it would have intimidated the spartan in any way.

“Let’s start of simple, where are you from?” Feral had never heard of any soldier of the likes he saw before him now.

“I’m not from this world if that’s what you are getting at. No doubt you recall the portal a few weeks ago.”

Feral nodded. It made sense, he had not seen the news, but he did remember the mention that a fighter emerged from the portal and that would help explain a lot. But it did nothing to explain what he was.

“What are you?”

“Not one of you.”

Feral rolled his eyes disparagingly. “Elaborate.”

A faint gusty sigh filtered through the room and the spartan’s helmet twitched a fraction. A sign any other fellow spartan would have taken to mean that Six was extremely irritated.

“I am what you would call a human, homo sapien.”

“So you are not a machine?” Feral asked for clarification.

The spartan chuckled grimly.

“Not entirely.”

“How can we be certain?”

“Take my word for it.” Six retorted with an inaudible growl. All he had left was his identity behind his mask, and the spartan was ferociously defensive of it. He had revealed himself to Jake and chance after a brief moment of weakness. Six was willing to speak of the UNSC and Covenant war, but not of himself. He had too few things left to himself, of himself, and his appearance was not something he revealed on a whim. Some might consider that irrational and even childish, and he in return would wrap his gauntlets around their throats and watch as the light died from their eyes.

To him, it was anything but.

The UNSC had taken his identity once, and he had barely managed to recover. If no one knew who he was, they could not steal his identity, it was a logical conclusion. There was no one on this world or any other he trusted enough to show his face to. Jake and Chance had been lucky enough to catch him in a fragile position that was compounded by his biological obligation to eat, he would not make the same mistake again.

As he waited for Feral to continue, he shifted his helmet to the right. Callie and Felina were off to one side, watching him.

Did he trust them? And if so…why?

Neither had proven themselves in the crucible of war alongside him, and yet the sentiment persisted. He felt as if they were trustworthy, the only things in this fucked up world he could rely on, a ridiculous notion beyond his comprehension…a feeling he guessed you could call it.

Six was not prone to feeling, not in that way. The most he had ever felt was kinship to his fellow spartans. This was close, but not entirely the same. There was a fundamental aspect he could not decipher, a deeper meaning. They made him feel strange, unspartan-like…warm. When he held Callie or spoke with Felina, he did not feel like a spartan supersoldier. He felt like a human being, something he had instinctively separated from himself in his early years. They made him feel human. They made him care.

He had heard mentions of this sensation.

But it was ridiculous, a fanciful creation of his damaged mind. Spartans did not love, they were not human. They were instruments of humanity’s will, created to defend, to fight and die, not to love. They did not have such emotions. That was a luxury afforded to real humans, ones who had lived a real life, not a travestied farce as his had been.

“Are you even paying attention!?”

Six snapped out of his inner turmoil and saw Feral’s disgruntled muzzle glaring up at him and realized that he had zoned out. The spartan shook his helmet.

“Yes.”

“Then perhaps you can enlighten us on what you are doing here. Why did you come to this world?”

“I did not come here on my own violation. It was an accident. Originally, I had intended to die, but that was thwarted by the strange portal that sent me here.”

Feral had been unprepared to hear the stranger’s casual announcement at attempted suicide, and neither had the others.

“Why?”

At that the spartan took a moment to reflect. Indeed…why? An easy question for him to answer for himself, but not so easy to explain to others, they would not understand. But he would try.

“I…had no other recourse. The world I was defending had fallen, and the enemy, too numerous to fight. I approached my last option, to sell my life as well as I could. It was to be my crowning achievement; a spartan’s greatest last wish.”

Sometimes, he wondered if it would have been best to go out like that, a broken and bloody corpse on the deck of a shattered covenant cruiser, piles of alien corpses heaped around him as it was sent hurtling in flames back to the surface of Reach to join his fallen brothers and sisters, digging his own tomb into the bedrock of the fallen world.

Indeed, it would have been far easier…and at the very least, poetic.

“You had more than one world?” The concept was staggering.

“Yes, we had many, stretching across a galaxy, all united under one banner…for the most part.” Six could not help but feel pride at that. Perhaps it was the indoctrination speaking, but he liked to hope otherwise. It would make his efforts feel more worthwhile. Would any even know of his sacrifice, of Noble Team’s sacrifice? Would there even be anyone left to know? Six wondered if the Covenant had finished off humanity, or if they were still fighting. Had their sacrificed amounted to anything? Was the package the game changer they had been told it was?

“If that’s true, who were you fighting?” If they were all united, why had the world he had been defending fall?

“The covenant, a genocidal alien race we encountered many years ago. They called for humanity’s extinction, all for the will of their false gods. They burned planets and slaughtered innocents, murdered my family and scorched my homeworld when I was five years old.”

His tone was emotionless, something they could scarcely believe. How could anyone be so blatantly composed about such a tragic event?

Six shrugged. All that information was unimportant. It served no purpose in this world.

“But that is not the subject of this meeting. What else do you wish to know?”

“Are all of your people’s, soldiers like you?” If so, Feral could only imagine what war must be like for them.

“No, I…volunteered, for a supersoldier program, spartans we were called. The finest warriors bred to serve humanity since their precursors thousands of years ago.”

“How did they make you like this?” Callie interrupted Feral’s inquiry to voice her question, stepping closer to him.

Six turned his visor to study the tan feline and her curious expression. If he answered her question, she would know that he had been a child soldier. He worried that it would change her opinion of him. Hers and Felina’s were the only opinions he cared about. But he had agreed to come clean, and he was tired of keeping up this façade.

“Shortly after my homeworld was destroyed, I was approached by a group of people, offering me a chance to get revenge. I went with them and was put through a grueling training program that lasted ten years. On the final year, I and the remaining candidates were…genetically modified. The process was excruciating and dangerous, many of us died, those that did not moved on to the next phase, live combat exercises.”

Callie was horrified. How could any civilization do this? And to children! The feline could barely wrap her head around the concept.

Six had watched his family and world die at the age of five. Then he had joined some crazy military program were they experimented on the surviving children and turned them into soldiers. That meant he had been fifteen in his first battle, fifteen! When she was fifteen she spent her time at the school and the mall with her friends. Six had been fighting for his life. How much else did she not know about him?

“Is Six your real name?” She wondered.

For once, the spartan offered no quick response.

“…No…I…cannot remember my real name.” He replied in a low tone. Callie noticed movement at his side and saw that he had clenched his gauntlets closed so tight that they trembled.

The room was silent, no one knew what do ask next. What they learned was more than enough to get them thinking. Felina could not believe the live he lived, it sounded too grim and depressing to be real.

Feral quietly cleared his throat. The aged kat had new found respect for his alien guest. He himself had a hard life, but nothing of the likes Six had. He did not know him, but at the least he felt as if he could trust this…spartan. Still, there was one last thing he had to ask. He had to know if there was proof to his words.

“Do you have any evidence to support this?”

“Uncle, isn’t that enough?!” Felina cut in with a hiss. Didn’t he see what just telling the story did to Six?

Feral sighed, perhaps she was ri-

“It’s fine Felina.” Six rumbled, turning to Feral. “There is proof. I still have my mission recorder.” The spartan pulled a necklace out from his gorget, the solemn clatter of rattling chains filling the room.

The spartan held a clutch of dog tags in his gloved grip.

Intermingled with the tags was a small USB device which he removed and held up, his helmet locked onto the small black rectangular cartridge.

Six silently studied the thin metal wafer before holding it out.

Feral gingerly took it from the spartan’s massive palm, gently carrying it over to the small electronic setup in the room. For some reason he felt the need to be careful with the device, as if it was something of monumental importance.  

There was a screen amidst the setup, usually for enforcers to watch movies in their downtime. But now it would serve a grander purpose than its original design. Feral plugged it into the port on the side of the video box connected to the screen and backed up.

Six passed him and fumbled with the controls, moments later the screen lit up a bright blue and an alien emblem popped up, some sort of bird-of-prey behind a shield. A row of dated links began to scroll down the monitor and the spartan flicked past them, choosing the one at the very bottom, the most recent. A loading bar showed up and the empty rectangle began to slowly turn blue.

The spartan backed away from the screen and resumed his posture in the back of the room as the others neared the screen, eager to see what had been recorded.

Six had already lived it once. He had no desire to do so again. He tuned out the happenings around him by pulling out the rifle on his back and tinkering with it. As he did he heard the faint sound of an explosion.

*****

Six was tossed violently to the heated earth, rolling to the side as a trail of plasma bolts burned a path past him. Breathing heavily, he dug his gauntlets into the charred dirt and clawed himself back to his feet. The air was alive with weapons fire, crisscrossing lines of plasma and rounds from ballistic weapons blazing back and forth.

His rifle lay shattered in front of him, broken by his weight as he collapsed upon it. A battle rifle sat nearby, half buried under a mound of ashen earth.

Just ahead he made out the sleek amphibious form of a wraith assault tank. The massive mounted gun on its back recoiled and belched a flaming sphere of molten plasma.

The spartan did not have enough time to retrieve the weapon and so he abandoned it, sprinting to the only building left standing in the basin and the sight of their last stand.

Two hours ago they had lost with Reach HIGHCOM, any survivors rallying at this location. Spartans from all over the planet made their way here and fought together. Casualties were extreme, but the Covenant’s were much higher.  

Behind the running spartan, the plasma blob hit the ground, incinerating a four meter radius and turning the dirt into molten slag. The concussive force pushed him forwards and he almost fell. To his left a red armored spartan was propping a laser on his shoulder, the red sight landing on the center of the wraith’s chassis.

With a deafening pop, the laser fired, spearing the alien tank and ripping a hole out the back. The lifeless vehicle crashed to the ground in a geyser of smoke and dug a furrow as it buried itself under the dirt of Reach.

The spartan’s victor was short lived as a fusillade of retaliatory fire burst his shield and liquefied his breastplate. He offered no cry as he slumped lifelessly to the ground, the light in Six’s HUD turning a deep shade of crimson.

Zachariah-076, he had been an excellent soldier.

Six stopped and grabbed the slagged collar of the fallen spartan’s armor, dragging him along as he entered the structures doors.  

He was covered by a blue and yellow spartan, both unloading their weapons as he slipped in, resting Zachariah’s sizzling armor against the wall and recovering his tags.

As Six stood up, he turned to the door and the blue armored spartan tossed him a rifle. He nodded in appreciation as he caught the spare weapon and delved deeper inside, four marines had made it to the rally point, there terrified expression hidden behind their helmets.

Six pitied them. They were not spartans. All of them new what awaited and had no fear of death. These were just regular humans, with human weaknesses. They could not hope to put up as much of a fight as he and his fellow warriors. And yet, they had lived a better life then he and any of the other spartans could have hoped for. It was the very reason that the spartans found this so easy.

They had never truly lived at all.

To them, death was simply a thing to be expected.

The walls shook under a barrage and Six left the marines to their own wills, there was nothing he could do for them.

A room near the outside had a small fireteam of spartans, firing out the windows and suppressing the Covenant advance. The chamber thundered with weapons fire and Six walked up to add his to the cacophony of defiance.

The Covenant would have to fight tooth and nail if they wanted this world.

The battle raged for hours, a team of spartans gave their lives to hold the outside, weaving through the alien battle line and wreaking untold destruction. But they could not hold forever, the last light for team Crimson winked out and the enemy’s rate of fire increased.

The wall in front of Six exploded, tossing the spartan into the air like a ragdoll. He slammed roughly into the ground somewhere outside the building and viewed as it was systematically shelled by a flurry of plasma bombs. His shields had broken and his HUD was lighting up with injury claxons and the board of spartan IDs flatlined.

Six groggily clambered up and glanced forward, watching as a team of sangheili zealots approached, barking in their contemptable alien tongue.

He would not die on his knees. Not to the slavering hounds of a false prophet.

Six pushed through the agonizing pain and stood shakily on his feet. One of the zealots stepped towards him and he snarled, reaching for the combat knife on his chest harness and ripping it into his gauntlet.

The alien nodded approvingly and activated his energy blade.

Six bolted forward, roaring as he impacted his adversary, flinging him to the ground and plunging his blade into its neck, synchronously slamming a fist into its chest. The elite’s armor crumpled under the spartan’s seething wrath and he rammed his helmet into its skull with a sharp crack.

Leaving its twitching corpse in the dust, Six vaulted forwards and caught the approaching fist of one of its companions, crushing the limb in his iron hard grip. The elite howled in pain and fell to its knees, clutching its destroyed hand.

Six lanced his boot into its mandibled face with a sickening crunch, shattering bone and spraying blood.

Suddenly he staggered, snarling in agony as a barrage of plasma bolts collapsed his shields and splashed against his armor.

Clutching his side, Six pulled out his magnum and emptied the weapon at the small party of grunts to wound him.

They barked and squealed as the high powered rounds punched through their flimsy armor, splashing the ground in luminescent blue blood.

The sounds of combat died and Six turned to his left, witnessing as the last marine exploded in a flash of reddish mist.

His motion tracker informed him of the truth.

Reach had fallen…he was the last.