0051 hours, 9th October, 2549 (Military Calendar)
Tau Ceti System, Lower Kilrathian Forest
Planet Diogenes
The breeze slowly sifted through the forest, mingling with the calls of the night animals to create a tuneless, halting melody. Above, the stars twinkled in the night sky, in constellations that were never seen or imagined on Earth. Joining the stars in the sky were two moons, vast and bright and nearly full. A peaceful, serene landscape.
Normally.
But there was more. The stars were obscured by thick, black smoke from distant fires. The sky was lit by bright flashes, the thunder of clashing titans in the heavens. The melody of the forest was punctuated by distant rumbles. And in a small valley, hidden in shadows beneath a large tree, a number of Grunts slept the night away.
They had fed well the previous day, gorging on what the Jackals had not eaten. Sinew and tough muscle were not the tastiest parts of the humans, but food was food, and anything was better than their rations. So now they slept soundly on full stomachs, not stirring.
Nearby, a large shadow moved toward them. In the dim light, the shadow slowly resolved itself into several tall shadows, then several tall humanoid shadows, then finally several tall humanoid figures in gleaming armor.
Elites.
The Elites strode towards the Grunts, plasma rifles at ease. It was routine to check on the lower ranks every now and then, but there wasn't really a reason for it. The front lines were hundreds of miles away, so what could happen? When the trio reached the tree, two held back and started discussing other matters in their native language while the third one stepped forward.
The first thing he noticed was that the Grunts weren't moving. No uncomfortable shifting, no murmurs to indicate dreams. Just the stillness of death.
The Elite rushed forward, kneeling beside one of the Grunts. To his horror, there were slash marks on the Methane tanks, and puddles of bubbling liquid on the ground. The liquid methane was boiling into the atmosphere. One spark, a single flame, would ignite the gas and kill them all. No, one spark would kill only the Elites. The Grunts were already dead from asphyxiation.
The Elite stood up, somehow unable to breathe. Whether it was from fear or the methane, he couldn't tell. Every instinct told him to turn and run, but he could only stand there, petrified.
A distant sound broke the spell and caused the Elite to turn. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a shot from a plasma pistol streak through the night and enter the invisible cloud of methane. As time seemed to slow down, the plasma bolt blossomed, like a beautiful rose. A red, orange, and yellow multifoliate rose. The rose expanded to envelop them all within its blazing petals, overwhelming the Elites' armor and drowning out their screams.
The Combined Gas Law says that if the temperature of a gas increases, the volume of the gas must increase also. The temperature of the air had increased exponentially, so the volume of the gas must increase exponentially.
Explosively.
The explosion consumed the Elites and the Grunts as it rushed outwards, devouring everything in its wake. Grass withered and caught fire. Bushes smoked and then burst into flame. Trees shattered from the blast wave, then fueled the fire. The fireball slowed and lifted into the forest canopy, stripping trees of their needles and branches, and then it died out. The rumbling sound echoed off into the night, leaving only the flickering flames dancing with the shadows.
At first, nothing stirred in the valley. The wildlife, so noisy at night, was silent. The only animate things were the dancing flames and their partners, the shadows. One minute passed and then another before a shadow excused itself from the dance and approached the conflagration. It was a human soldier, clad in black, armed with a sniper rifle. His right eye and most of his forehead was covered with a HMD eyepiece, wirelessly linked to the scope of his sniper rifle. The soldier stopped just short of the fire, slowly sweeping the scene with his visible eye, taking in all the destruction he had caused with grim satisfaction. The stoic expression on his face could have been carved in stone, so unchanging it was...
Then the Marine laughed. It sounded unearthly, a laugh of a tortured soul instead of flesh and blood. It was low, dry, rasping like a dying man, cynical from years of fighting death. The laugh echoed throughout the valley, and was lost in the roaring flames, a fitting end to the macabre joke.
Having seen everything he wanted to see, the Marine turned and confidently strode off into the darkness.
AN: My first fanfic. I've got about half the story written out, and it gets better. I'll try to update as often as possible. Please review the story, thank you.
I hope you enjoy it.
Note: a disclaimer in Hiaku form:
Bungie owns Halo
And Microsoft owns Bungie
But I own nothing.