He was tired.
Void, he was so tired.
How many years had it been since he had been awoken? How many battles fought? How many lives he'd taken?
How many more had he watched be taken?
How many more would he still watch?
He just wanted to rest…
The warrior paced the bridge of his ship, staring out into the ever eternal blackness of space. Faint motes of light, their source maybe ended eons before they had even stepped forth the first time into the unknown, reminders that for all their struggles, the cosmos cared not. For all the blood they shed, all the pain and suffering they endured… It would mean nothing.
He had watched too many comrades join the ever-growing tomb of this war. Too many.
Calmly, the warrior turned around and walked down the ramp of his ship, the metal clinking softly against his feet. He walked into the chamber where he forged his weapons, his tools… His entire path of life. At the side, slept his companion. He ran a hand over the grey and white metal that was its skin, very much aware of the fact it was only a disguise to the fused flesh and machine that it once had been. It murred at the affection shown, but remained asleep. The warrior wished he could sleep as such. It would have been far easier to him.
His gaze shifted to all his weapons mounted upon the wall. Gun and blade, many in format and application, all equal in their result. He ran a finger down a particular blade, a blackened one with gold inlaid upon it. It had been with him for a very long time. Even before he walked for the first time once more. He took one of the guns from its holding place, a revolver built in black, gold and white. He turned the weapon in his hand, examining its perfect sculpt and craftsmanship, a product of an era bygone and recreated with tools that could now be considered crude in comparison.
Such art should have never been a tool to kill.
He laid the weapon back upon its resting place, letting his touch linger before pulling it back. His mind drifted to the comments his ship's caretaker would utter, but there were none to be given. There hadn't been for some time now, and he longed for them. He was damaged, near broken, but he cared. He cared so much.
How he missed him.
He walked further back, going down yet another ramp and around towards the three doors further below deck. To his left, a door covered in growths that outside of the confines of his vessel he always considered an enemy to be wiped out with no mercy, yet was allowed to exist here for their necessity in his survival. To the center, a door leading to a pedestal he had once used. Once.
Now, only an empty shell for his sins and regrets to deposit, forever staining his struggles.
To the right, the path he decided to take. The doors opened easily with a silent slide, revealing the richly-decorated room he called his. Three aquariums held exotic fishes of mesmerizing beauty, their hides and scales reflecting the scant light of the room each in their unique ways. Further back, displays containing sculptures of gold and white, in eternal movement in quick, simplistic but soothing patterns. On his wall, a collection of drawings made by a child he did all possible to rescue, and an assortment of glyphs and maps he had collected in time past, now adorning his last living space.
Right in front of the door, a pedestal. It once held something upon it, now laid empty.
Perhaps for the best.
He walked forward towards the middle of the room, and took one moment to gaze in the mirror at his own self. How long had it been since he had stopped and looked?
Ash-colored skin, arranged in a cloud-like pattern. Leather-like clothes, strapped in what others would think a haphazard way, but had their own grace and purpose. A metal belt hanging from his left hip alongside a long cloth covering the leg on the same side, and one belt of glowing prayer beads on his right. Around his neck, a scarf also of leather and patterned like both hair and a dragon's tail. His right arm was bare to the world, his left covered in a long, thick sleeve, attached to an armored fur-covered shoulder plate. An intricate red ponytail extending all the way to the middle of his back, and one large strap of leather, starting from the base of the ponytail, wrapping around in the air around his face, a wall separating his eyes and the outside, a green glow between both.
From his hip hung two blades, one two-handed and another one-handed, one atop the other. Upon his back, a two rifles, one for long range and one for closer. Upon his right hip, a bag of throwing blades, and a gold-and-white pistol. Tools that had come to carry and not realize they were there, extensions of his body yet separate of his being.
This shell, hiding his darkened form that performed crimes too terrible before, and too numerous now, was who he was. He had another vessel once, one of flesh and blood, skin and bone. It had been his once.
This was all he was now.
The warrior stepped forth towards the viewing port at the end of the room, and kneeled in front of it. His view of space here was no different from the bridge of his vessel, bar here there was less clutter obstructing the view.
Less things to clutter the endless black that surrounded him.
WARNING. UNKNOWN VOID FISSURE DETECTED. EMERGENCY MANEUVERS RECOMMENDED.
Yet he was so tired.
WARNING, CEPHALON UNIT OFFLINE. MANUAL INPUT REQUIRED FOR NAVIGATION.
Peace… That's what he needed, peace…
WARNING, PROXIMITY TO VOID FISSURE REACHING CRITICAL PROXIMITY RANGE. IMMEDIATE ACTION NECESSARY.
Tired… So tired…
-O-
On July 19th, year 2552 of the Anno Domini calendar, the OFFICE OF NAVAL INTELLIGENCEof the UNITED NATIONS SPACE COMMAND calculated a chance of 87% that the COVENANT, the self-proclaimed religious crusade bent on the annihilation of humankind, would choose the planet of REACH as its next target.
REACH, the glorious bastion of humanity's military might, the birthplace of the SPARTAN-II program, and continuation of the SPARTAN-III program that had been created further away, in the planet ONYX.
First contact with COVENANT infiltration forces would happen in July 23rd 2552, when NOBLE TEAM discovered stealth teams assaulting the Visegràd communications outpost. On July 25th 2552, the UNSC and COVENANT would officially begin the first large-scale engagement of the BATTLE OF REACH.
For the next 36 days, brutal conflict erupted throughout the planet, with horrendous casualties incurred by humans, both military and civilian. The UNSC, overwhelmed by the technological superiority of their foe, suffered crushing defeats in several fronts both in space and on the ground.
Yet through the actions of NOBLE TEAM, and the sacrifice of all but one of their members, data pertaining to an alien artifact of the mysterious FORERUNNER race that promised to give them a way to end the war after all this time was delivered to the ship PILLAR OF AUTUMN and the last remaining SPARTAN-II in the planet, JOHN-117, the MASTER CHIEF.
The events following the FALL OF REACH would culminate in the discovery of INSTALLATION 04, colloquially known as HALO, the biological apocalypse that was THE FLOOD, the GREAT SCHISM between the SANGHEILLI AND JIRALHANNE factions of the COVENANT, the INVASION OF EARTH and discovery of both INSTALLATION 05 and THE ARK and the battle for control of the firing mechanism of the entire HALO ARRAY and the subsequent end of the COVENANT WAR.
That is the story that was. The story that became truth, in a different world.
But not here.
This story received change unto itself, when in July 2nd of the year 2552, the population of Reach increased, without the knowledge of any of its inhabitants, by one more being.
There was no indication this being had arrived on the planet. No mysterious energy signature that was picked up by the most occult of ONI's equipment, no flash of light in the night that scared farmers and prompted investigation by armed forces, no emotional moment of a civilian discovering the interloper on his fields and caring for it as it recovered.
First contact began when NOBLE TEAM, under orders from REACH HQ, were sent to investigate the sudden comm blackout in Visegràd.
First contact began when, during the first firefight between UNSC and COVENANT forces on REACH, NOBLE TEAM received support fire from a lone figure, standing off amidst the woods clutching a beautifully constructed sniper rifle.
His name was Excalibur Umbra.
He was the first and last Tenno of the galaxy.
~O~
This is a little something that came to me while I was playing some Warframe.
Praise be to Liger-Inuzuka because his skin designs are godly, how could I NOT use a Zato Excalibur as the main character after buying it and seeing how cool it is?
But yes, here it is. Might work on it on-off in between writing The Iron Flower, split the attention.
Charge the Heavens has taken a… Mostly back-seat considering the more lukewarm response to it.
Also I'm currently on a trip to the coast, spending some time in vacation with my family, so I won't be spending that much time writing as I will on the beach.
'Til next time, folks!