Interlude 2: A Vision

In the grand cities of Earth, human civilization is dying. In New York, once the seat of human power, only rats still dare to scavenge across the streets as fire rains from the heavens. In the shadows, a single man lurks, peering into the skies alight with flame. He is barefoot, his clothing ragged and much more befitting of a medieval serf rather than a citizen on 27th century Earth. His face is blackened, obscured by the acrid smoke rising from everywhere around him. There is a constant rumble as building collapse every second across the megacity.

The man cradles his burnt arm, seared by some alien weapon. He peers into the sky alight with flame, and sees the untold hundreds of massive vessels lumbering there, content to watch as the planet is consumed by a massive firestorm from their prior bombardment. The ships seem to bristle with exterior hull components, a stark contrast to the blocky but uncluttered hulls of the UNSC and the elegant, sleek designs of the Covenant races. The man can imagine many other human colonies, just repopulated, burning as well. The human race had had just over a hundred years to recover from the War, and in that time natural growth had only increased the population to four billion. The military was all but gutted, so when the attack came, humanity's light was extinguished with a single breath.

The man steps out from the shadows, revealing a head of ash-stained white hair. He is old, old enough to remember stories of humanity's imminent destruction. Now, he was here to witness it. As he turns around, energy weapons once again slam into the ground, rending up the earth and buildings around him in a fiery hell. He can feel the blinding pain, the burning...

The man wakes up in a dense jungle, wearing clothing appropriate on a 19th century English adventurer. He is much younger, his black hair tousled in a carefree way. He cannot be older than his mid forties. He seems disoriented, then frightened, as he hears something out of view. The man begins to run.