Halo : Devil

Just something I wrote a while back, during my Halo-crazy period(: Enjoy! :D

He opened his eyes. Gunfire rang in his ears. He moved his hands into his field of vision and studied them. His entire left gauntlet had been crushed. His flesh mulched and his bones exposed. But he felt no pain. His cracked visor barely displaying his vital signs and environment information. He inhaled deeply, then looked up to see the brute chieftain that had hit him, and looked around. Marines were everywhere, fighting. He reached for his MA5G. A grenadier variant of the typical standard UNSC military issue MA5C, given only to the most outstanding combat Spartans. He was proud of it.

The crack of a sniper rifle was heard from over a kilometer away. The chieftain fell, a clean shot to the head. He blinked hard, then tried to stand. His entire armor was failing him. His HUD had flickered off. Energy shield generator crushed beyond recognition. His bright-green armor plates were falling off. They provided little protection for him against the sizzling, boiling hot plasma bolts that simply burn past the pathetic metal. But he knew what he had to do.

He stood up, the weight of the MARK V MJOLNIR armor crushing him. Without the actuator supports from the armor, he had the entire weight of five hundred kilograms of armor. He checked his ammo counter. 17. It was enough for what he had to do. He started hobbling over to the control center of the gate. He had to open the gates and get the Marines out of this hell hole or they will all die. A plasma bolt whizzed pass him. He was sprinting now. He winced at the pain. His bones aching, creaking from the extreme pressure. Even though reinforced with carbon steel through 25 years of augmentation and training, it was unable to take the weight of the armor.

Still, he pushed on. He fired the last grenade from his G-Variant MA5 Assault Rifle. It blew up against some debris blocking him. A grunt rolled out from under the rubble and fired a round at him, but the combat-hardened Spartan was faster. He spun away from the round, whipped out his trusty M6D pistol and cracked the grunt at the side of its head with the butt of the pistol. Blue blood stained the fresh morning air. Spartan-666, AKA Devil, pushed on. His right arm now limp, but he knew he had to finish this. Then, a blunt force struck him from behind. He rolled onto the floor, dropping his MA5G. Surprised, he looked up to see a minor elite had taken him. He smiled weakly.

"So, it took a pathetic Elite to take me huh? I was always hoping an explosion, a jump off a banshee mid-flight. But this?" he thought. He looked up against the far mountainous horizon, took aim, and fired the last round of his M6D against the control panel's emergency release button. The bullet sizzled pass a number of elites and smashed the button. Those elites would have made it impossible to get to the button but he did it. He looks up at the elite and smiled weakly.

"Boo." he said, and his armor's "Kamikaze" styled generator blew up, taking the lives of all the elites guarding the door. The sub-nuclear explosion from his armor's generator was even strong enough to blow the garrison's door away. This would make it easier for the Marines to escape.

"Let's move!" Sergeant Major Kelly M. McConaughay called out, but not before one last look at what remains of Spartan 666. The blackened gorish, blood-filled hole in the crust of the planet. Blue and red blood fused together, forming an interesting purple colored sticky mix. Bones, and lastly, a tiny bit of his visor.

"Thanks, Spartan." she said. And as if he was there, nodding at her, she nodded back.

Written by Rudolph Benjamin Maxwell.

This is a fan-made short-story of the original game, Halo. It is not a work by its representing company or shareholders.