Matthias shifted nervously, then re-checked the battery meter on his Spartan Laser for what must have been at least the tenth time in as many minutes. He was uncomfortable, and not because he was crouching on the assault stand of a Hornet, vulnerable to virtually any form of munitions the Covenant could throw at the poorly-armoured aircraft.
Spartans were used to war, they came face to face with death during every waking moment of their lives, and in their dreams, too. No, It was something else entirely that troubled him, something less obvious. It was his plan, his hastily formulated, shackled-together-at-the-last-minute plan, that had worked perfectly where it should not have.
He had made plenty of oversights, miscalculations, simple errors which should have, in any less-then-ideal situation, led to some sort of trouble.
But everything had gone smoothly, according to plan. It was so wrong. The ideal situation existed where it shouldn't. No situation was ever ideal, not even in straightforward training exercises. Still, no-one had been hurt, every single one of the vehicles that had been left behind was undamaged and fully fuelled. What he found most disconcerting however, was the fact that the remaining Covenant had shown little in the way of enthusiasm.
That certainly was disturbing; the fact that fanatically loyal Covenant troops, troops who would willingly be slaughtered in their hundreds for the Great Journey, had so quickly abandoned their posts, even when faced with a less than determined show of opposition.
The few Covenant troops that had remained, that is. Instead of hundreds of the best troops that could be mustered, they had come across less than fifty Grunts, five Brutes, and two Jackals.
There should have been Hunters; the base was a priority target, it had vital UNSC manoeuvres, documents and procedures loaded into the computer mainframe, and they hadn't deployed Hunters, not even after Loki had stopped them from downloading the precious data from the hard drive.
Loki himself was a prize worthy of any Covenant troops looking to earn a promotion; such a hugely powerful AI, with all of the most advanced UNSC encryption algorithms and decryption software, and they ignored him.
In the distance far behind them, there was a tremendous roar as Eagle base detonated, taking all of its secrets to the grave with it.
A miniature sun, a brilliant white sphere bursting through the very crust of the earth, consuming all that it touched. A shockwave cut through the air, shaking the Hornet as though it were nothing more than a leaf borne on the breeze. A marine fell from the assault stand, and would have fallen to his death, had Matthias not caught him at the last minute.
Lieutenant Anderton scolded the man for not paying more attention to his surroundings, then rapped on the bulletproof glass canopy of the cockpit once, before shouting to the pilot.
"How about we give these ladies a nice look at the fireball? Oughta wake them up a bit."
The pilot nodded once, and sure enough, the Hornet began to rotate so that everyone on board would be able to see the aftermath of the explosion, normally a magnificent orb of superheated radioactive particles. The Hornet swung around, and into view came a Pelican, drifting lazily through the air, truly akin to its avian namesake.
The rear hatch was open, a chain-gun turret just visible. The operator, a beautiful Hispanic woman with silky black hair and wonderful coffee-coloured skin, nodded to Matthias and winked at Anderton, who quickly began signing at the woman.
What is your service number?
Matthias smiled gently. Even now, his Lieutenant was romancing a woman, when they could be shot down at any moment. It was amazing how his personality could remain so… so human, even during this horrible war. He sometimes wished these men could see his face, that perhaps then they would realise that there was someone beneath the armour, that he wasn't simply a mindless, faceless killing machine, and that he actually cared about their lives. Like he cared about the lives of his fellow Spartans, the majority of whom were now dead.
It was a lie, what Kurt-051 and Chief Petty Officer Mendez had both told him, what she had told him. That Spartans never died.
He had believed that up until his first mission, when his friends, his brothers and sisters, had been massacred by the Covenant. Though they were fast, silent and deadly, that didn't amount to much when a single shot from a Carbine could kill you. Ten of them, wiped out by a single Hunter. Matthias had torn it to pieces, used its shield to cut it's blood brother in half, and then skewered an Elite with his own Energy Sword.
What he did, it never brought his friends back, or even make their sacrifice seem remotely worthwhile, not like he thought it would. Revenge was not so much sweet as it was bitter, just like the blood it was paid in.Sometimes Matthias wished he had just died, that he had never found the MJOLNIR armour he now wore from head to toe, that his Semi-Powered Infiltration armour hadn't miraculously stopped those Spiker rounds, that he could have died with his family, taking as many Mike Foxtrots as he could with him when he went.
But that was the strange, funny, stupid thing about life. Some people were meant to keep going on, to cling to life no matter how hopeless things became, and to claw their way back from the slavering jaws of death, time and time again.
Others were engulfed as soon as they started out, died where they should not have, no matter how much they deserved to live, no matter how much others tried to save them.
No matter how much he tried to save them.
That first assignment was what made her take an interest in him, and even after what she had done to him, what she had made him do, he didn't kill her, he couldn't kill her.
It wouldn't have won him back what she had taken, it would only have sent him and the rest of Team Zephyr to military prison.
She made a fatal mistake though. She put her life in his hands. She shouldn't have. She shouldn't have trusted him with her safety. Her life. For the first time ever, Matthias was in control, and he let her suffer for the agony that she had caused him.
Let the Brutes, have her, then; he had never seen so much pain inflicted in so little time, not without causing death. But what they did to her, it was horrible, vile, monstrous, loathsome, odious… there was no single word he could use to describe what he saw, and he knew that what she suffered was infinitely worse than anything she had inflicted upon him.
And though the Brutes were the ones who tortured her, it was by his hand that she suffered.
Flayed alive, screaming, crying, and still living, even as they carved her face from her head. Finally, crying himself, retching in his helmet, dryly, thank god, his chest burning as though his very soul was on fire, he ended it.
A single press of a button, and a wing of Longswords swept in, sending her, the Brutes, and the entire Covenant encampment to hell as they carpeted the area with fire.
But Matthias still remembered, still had the nightmares, where her retribution was slow, tender, loving, and painful beyond imagination.
The Brutes didn't scare him, nothing else did.
Only her.
A brilliant flash of blue passed through the air right before Matthias's eyes, blinding him for a moment, despite the filters built into his visor.
Then there was pain, horrible, blinding agony, his face stung, burnt, external temperature readings at over two thousand degrees centigrade. His arms reached up, reflexively, of their own accord, grabbing, tearing, pawing desperately at his face.
And then the heat was gone, along with his helmet, falling to the ground far below.
White fog, haze, ethereal cobwebs hung before his eyes. Ghostly in nature, there existed no purpose, no world. Only obscurity and nothingness.
Slowly it faded, form, tangibility returning to the world.
And there sat Private Anya Jamieson, staring at him, at his face, at his eyes. Brilliant irises, discs of purest blue, floating on a sea of milk. His nose, his face, gentle and angular, pale skin, deathly, porcelain.
His hair was ash, threaded, woven into fibres as fine as silk, dirty and tussled, yet carrying a lustre akin to that of fine satin. A scar, nearly vertical, on his left temple, not flesh-toned, but blue instead. He had seen battle against the sharp end of an energy sword.
And he was still smiling, even though his armour was literally giving off steam; thick, wispy tendrils rising into the cool, cloudless sky. Anya couldn't imagine the pain that he was in.
A Seraph fighter screamed past, firing its plasma cannons at one of the Pelican's that flew ahead of them. The transport lost an engine and, crippled, began to spiral towards the earth, belching a trail of thick, acrid smoke until it hit the ground with a sickening crash, the sound of metal being wrenched apart.
Then, a welcome screech, a trio of Longswords, tearing through the sky at a speed so fast, so incredible, that no sooner were they visible than a pair of Seraphs exploded, what was left of the craft burning as it rained towards the ground. The interceptors swooped around and began circling the convoy in protective formation, ready to shoot down anything else that didn't give a friendly ID code.
Lieutenant Anderton was already radioing for help, his short, rusty hair jerking violently in the updraft created as the Hornet descended rapidly towards the ground, along with the other Pelicans and the Albatross. They didn't stand a chance up here.
"Shit!"
His normally mild voice became gravelly, desperate even, as another Pelican split in two after taking a hit to the tail. They could only watch as the rear disintegrated, sending the cockpit and passenger compartment hurtling deep into the desert sand. The impact kicked up a cloud of dust that hung over the crash site, a deathly haze. From where he was, Matthias couldn't tell if there were any survivors.
But Anderton wasn't taking any chances; he grabbed his helmet and jammed it roughly onto his head, before repeating his request for assistance. "This is Lieutenant Frederik Anderton, requesting the immediate assistance of any frigate-sized or larger vessel. My convoy is getting shot to shit by Seraphs; we're falling apart up here. We are carrying wounded, and supplies. I repeat, this is Lieutenant Freder-"
There was static for a moment, and then a reply came in, so quietly it was nigh-impossible to hear amidst the commotion of the attack."This is the UNSC Brisbane, responding to assistance request. We are sending escort fighters, repeat we are providing escort fighters. ETA is one minute and counting."
"We have escort fighters, we need shelter from enemy fire; I have a poorly armoured convoy of air units here-," another Longsword flew over the top of the Hornet and blew a Seraph out of the sky, only to be hit by a lucky shot from one of its comrades. The voice of the pilot cut into the frequency Anderton was using, full of passion and determination, something that the Lieutenant rarely heard anymore.
"Shit yeah, this is the way I go!" A missile lanced out from beneath the wing of the crippled fighter, and shredded the Seraph that had landed the fatal blow. "See you in hell, motherfuck-," there was radio silence, for less than a second, then a nerve-jarring crack, as the Longsword rammed yet another of the teardrop-shaped Covenant fighters, both ships disappearing near-instantaneously in a smouldering maelstrom of fire and plasma.
Anderton could only gawp in amazement at what he had just witnessed, at what that pilot had just done; so consumed was he with respect for the man, that he nearly missed a positive reply from the crew of the Brisbane.
"We hear you loud and clear. En route now, we are charging Archer pods. Arrival in five minutes, we are preparing emergency extraction procedures."
It was at that moment that Matthias noticed a Seraph, cutting straight towards them, plasma cannons blazing. Then he noticed Anya, staring at him, staring deep into his brilliant blue eyes and what they held. He couldn't warn her, there was no time. He grabbed her around the waist, and pulled her down onto him, so close that their noses were touching.
A blast whizzed over both their heads, blowing a sizeable chunk out of tail, and out of the marine who sat behind them.The Hornet shuddered violently with the force of the impact, and then plummeted a few meters before stabilising. Matthias felt disoriented, it was funny, he thought the ground should be beneath you, not alongside you. Then he felt his stomach drop out from within him, electricity crackled along his spine, from his fingertips to the end of his toes.
He was consumed by a strange feeling, not one of fear or anger, but of euphoria, as he tumbled through the air towards the desert.
Or was the desert coming to him?
Then he notice Anya beneath him, her face contorted with terror. No. He wouldn't have it end this way, not for either of them. He rolled, so that she was no longer beneath him, so that she was safe. If now was his time to be shed of this mortal coil, then so it would be.
But somehow he doubted it, that life would let him off quite that easily. Then, suddenly, he felt it, his spine hitting the sand, motion; he was sliding down a small hill. Then, nausea as he came to a halt with a lurch . Dust rose around him, deathly haze, threatening to engulf him. His energy shields held for a moment, flexing, contorting, morphing as Anya's body pushed against his, cushioning her, saving her life, perhaps at the cost of his own.
Then they gave way, bolts of energy arcing across his armour, jumping from one plate of alloy to the next as his shields dissipated into the surrounding air. Anya rolled off him, completely unharmed, and began trying to help him up. However, he was far too heavy for her to lift alone.
He tried to shift his limbs, to move, to do something to show that he was A okay, but neither his arms nor his legs moved at all, not even the tiniest amount.
Sirens sounded, the voice of a digital angel; his vision blurred, here come the cobwebs again, enshrouding him, a heavenly veil.
An angel swept down from the sky, metallic wings beating up clouds of sand as it landed before him, bringing all his friends to see him.
As his eyes flickered shut, Matthias saw Loki standing over his paralysed body. Scarlet eyes, worried and distressed, looking into blue eyes, blithe and unaware.
The AI nodded, his mangy blue tresses blowing in a simulated wind. The corners of the Spartan's thin lips pricked up, and he slept, then, and for what seemed to be the rest of time itself.
"Sleep now, my brother, but do not dream. In this realm and the next, all that exists is pain. Until we stand as one, we stand alone and we suffer."
My mind presents...
Journey of an Apostle
A Halo story
Written by Kieren P. McGovern (AKA Untractable Evocation, or Loki, or Fedaykin Guard).
With thanks to Corey W. Smith (Cylor), The Phiend, and Shawn L. Phillips for their help.
The Halo universe and all characters depicted therein, apart from those of my own creation, are the intellectual property of Bungie Studios, with special license to Microsoft. The (original) characters and situations depicted within this fanfiction are MY intellectual property, and use of these characters without my expressed permission will result in serious action.