Blue streaks of light rushed through the soft soil, cutting into the charging Shanghalli warriors and splattering them across the black soil so they could mix their purple blood with the darkness.
Gabriel fired again, dropping another set of Elite warriors with a quick set of energy beams; the Storm covenant soldiers were rushing up to him with weaponry drawn and their religious belief's furious. The Blue Spartan IV was surrounded by the covenant soldiers quickly; they immediately started firing their Storm rifles, Needlers and plasma pistols together at him. Golden shields appeared around the sniper as the covenant rounds bounced of his exterior barriers.
Gabriel switched to the heavy weapon on his back, the orange fuel rod cannon that he had fixed on his back holster. He opened fire on them, letting several green tubes smash into the enemy and explode in a fiery explosive of green sparks.
He continued firing until all the soldiers fell the floor in an explosive flash of green, then he readjusted his aim until his bullets started heading towards the uncovered wings of the forerunner ship. The blasts smashed into the shuttle slowly, starting to alight it with green sets of fire and energy pulses.
He roared as he unloaded every projectile he contained in order to injure the forerunner site as much as possible. The Spartan IV dropped the orange fuel rod as soon as he ran out of shells, pulling out the Beam rifle and preparing to take out more covenant soldiers.
A soft growl confused Gabriel, it came from behind him.
The Blue Spartan turned around quickly as soon as he was smashed in the visor by a heavy and quick black fist. The momentum carried him all the way until he fell to the ground in pain, he could feel his face bleeding.
Gabriel looked up slowly through his cracked visor at the enemy standing in front of him.
It was a large black elite clad in armour reminiscent of the Arbiter.
It was the bane of humanity, the hand of the Storm.
The Harbinger.
Meanwhile
Sparks flew all over the Spartan as he clashed his blade with the Golden Zealot and his former friend; Mort'ang.
Michael rushed forward again, lunging his energy blade to slash horizontally across the elite's neck and face. Mort'ang parried it quickly and efficiently, managing to dodge the frenzied Spartan with minimal effort.
"After everything you said about our peace treaty?" Michael shouted at him, slowly walking around the Elite and evaluating his next move.
Mort'ang's mandibles flexed as he ran at the Spartan with his blade held high over his head, he slashed at the soldier's chest in a diagonal move but only received a blocked assault and his enemy kicking him back.
He sank back to a crouching position, breathing heavily before standing up to his full height, the Shanghalli smelled out and growled as he sensed old dried blood on his enemy. This time he prowled around the Spartan and evaluated his next move. He needed to anger his opponent to the point of making a foolish move; Demons were very un-natural fighters and never tired on the battlefield; unlike himself.
"Answer me!" Michael roared, hysteria balanced on his voice.
The Shanghalli paused for a moment, "Always so demanding, your friend demanded my upmost attention as well; unfortunately for him, he got it!" He roared and swung his blade backwards in order to capture the Spartan of guard.
Michael screamed, blocked the attack and immediately ran forward; swiping his energy sword left and right in a furious rage that would hopefully kill his opponent.
Mort'ang retreated from the frenzied Spartan, carefully elaborating every single one of his moves slowly as he blocked the sword thrusts.
"We trusted you!" Michael screamed, slashing at the elite's blade and knocking it aside.
"He trusted you!" The Spartan continued yelling, rushing forward before Mort'ang could recover his wits and retaliate.
"I TRUSTED YOU!" The former green Spartan shouted at the top of his lungs, cutting his sword across horizontally so quickly that it would easily decapitate the traitorous elite.
Mort'ang ducked down quicker than any man or elite could see, letting the energy sword slice through his upper metal helmet piece like a knife through butter. The Shanghalli Zealot immediately spun around the Spartan; grabbing Michael's wrist and snapping it backwards like a twig.
The sword handle fell to the ground quickly, only to be caught by the elite Royal Zealot.
Who proceeded to stab the energy sword straight through the heart of the Spartan IV, leaving the blade skewered through his Mjonlir armour and out his chest.
Time stopped for Michael, he dropped down slowly and felt the blade being ripped out of his own body; replaced by a torrent of blood and lack of life.
"Is this what you did to him?" He spat out blood as his energy ebbed away slowly.
Mort'ang paused for a moment, starting to remember the assassination he committed on the large red Spartan before he replied, "Not exactly."
And with a low backwards thrust of his right sword hand, the Elite slashed horizontally and completely decapitating the Spartan without a second of hesitation.
Michael's head fell down and landed on the soft black soil, his helmet falling off as
the blood mixed in with the dark floor. His death only witnessed by the one creature that had called him his friend, the golden Royal Zealot named Mort'ang.