The Wasteland
This was a world once.
It still is. Once, it had the name Elysium. Now, it is but a wasteland. Hades, some call it. But it is not yet Tartarus. Hell, as we know, does not come from below, but above. And here, I am free of demons. Here, I am the only demon. Here, I walk alone.
The sands blow around me – in silent song, they whisper the names of the departed. They claw at me, beg me for release. My armour keeps the ghosts at bay. My cape billows in the wind, asking for permission to depart. Begging me to join the ghosts. To fade away, and leave the heavens of space to Hell. To let it end.
I keep walking.
Elysium has a single moon – Persephone. It hangs in the sky, in a blood-red glow. Reflecting the light of its sun. Reflecting the defilement of its host world. Once, this place was paradise. And now…I come to a stop. I know what this place is. I know what is here.
The ground gives way. Hell comes to meet me. A crater opens up, the sand shifting, falling down into the depths of the cold, cruel Earth. I watch as the fallen angel rises, its wings shining in the sun. And slowly, I take it out. The one thing that could reach it. The one hope I…humanity…has left. I do not weep for Elysium. I cannot weep for one world when so many others fall. As the Mantle comes down on the galaxy as the fist of Heaven. As we learn how our world ends. Elliot, as it turns out, was right. We once feared it would end in fire. Now, we are forced to whimper. Mewling in the dark.
And yet fire can still purge the device's foes. Fire can scour entire worlds clean. Fire can burn the surface of worlds until they are but glass. Or sand, in this case. The fire was less so here. Yet no less horrible.
The device stretches out its wings. Guardian, it is called. Like an angel, it looks over me. Like an angel, it lords over me. With the voice of a god, it lets out a pulse, a shockwave rippling through the air. Enough to blow back my hood, and reveal my own, polarized gaze. Some call me a guardian as well. Others demon. Both false titles. Guardians are our jailers. Demons come from above. Not even the mightiest of demons can stand against the angels in our midst.
This Guardian looks down on me, and I clench the data chip in my hand. I know it has seen it. And I want it to know that I defy it. Defy its master. And yet, want her reminded. Want her to know that even now, I carry it with me.
And I look up at it. Towards the face of Heaven. And it too looks down at me. An ant, waiting to be stomped on by a boot. Burnt, as a child might play with them in a world that has a garden. So many ants, burnt. So many insects to those who burn us out. Why should I be any different?
I hope that question has an answer.
Elysium is gone. Burnt. Like so many, they tried to fight. Like so many, they tried to resist. Unlike so many, the Guardian remained. Buried itself in the sand, as if seeking slumber. Solace. And I must ask, repentance? I can offer no validation. Nor forgiveness. All I have to offer is memory. Morality. Humanity. And so I meet its gaze. A thousand metres separating us.
Are you there? I ask. Do you see?
The Guardian remains in place. The ant looks up at the boot. The ant does not flee. The ant dares to hope that the boot has not come down, because its wearer hesitates. That its wearer can pull back. Cease the fire. Let gardens grow.
Cortana?
And the Guardian roars, and I wait the end. The fire. Fury. Betrayal. The ending of the world. Of all worlds. I wait for it all.
And nothing happens. The angel takes to flight, soaring for the Heavens. To find other worlds to turn into Hell.
It is a blurred line that lies at the edge of godhood and insanity. Guess which side of it I am on.
And so I remain in the wasteland. In the dust. In despair. In damnation.
I remain for a long time.
A/N
Why yes, this was based on the original trailer for Halo 5. How could you tell?