"Good job Spartan," someone complimented over the COMs. "I saw that explosion from orbit."
Mar recognized the voice of his boss's boss instantly. Finally, the Shipmaster, Rtas 'Vadum, had arrived. And it was a package deal. Everyone in attendance knew that with the Shipmaster too came the Plague, his loyal bodyguard and personal killing machine.
He bellowed, "Find where the liar hides, so I may place my boot between his gums!"
"We'll know soon enough, Shipmaster," Commander Keys assured him.
Johnson was still in the Pelican providing overwatch for the ground crew, and so interjected, "Infantry on the spire! Mop 'em up!"
Wham! Wham! Wham!
Scorpion tank rounds slammed against the Cartographer building with force, and all the Humans converged on it. Chips Dubbo and the Demon had already taken off in the Warthog. None of it felt real. Mar turned and looked back at the Scarab remains.
Falzud...
Falzud had been a very formidable warrior. Of course, so were the rest of the hand-picked Elites in Mar's Special Operations lance, but there was a reason he had chosen Falzud to come with him on this mission. Now he was dead. Mar wanted so badly to trade places with him but couldn't, and knew deep down that it didn't matter how remorseful he felt, nothing would bring him back.
He died with honor, Mar.
He did. But his death will not be overlooked.
Mar lightly touched his ribs. One of them was definitely broken, but he'd dealt with worse in the past. Much worse. It was the least he felt he deserved after getting Falzud killed. He'd be okay for the time being, or at least he hoped so. Just needed to fight through the pain. The Red Twin drew his Sentinel beam and walked over to the Cartographer building.
I will avenge him. Starting now.
Once everyone reached the top of the spire, they were greeted by the sweet sight of Johnson's Pelican waiting for pickup. Not only that, he was dropping off reinforcements. As Stacker, Dubbo, Coombs, and the rest of the surviving Marines filed into the Pelican's troop bay, the Arbiter and a pair of fresh Marines hopped out.
Although Mar worried that two Marines may not be enough, he regarded Johnson, a revered super soldier from the pre-Demon era, as wise and as sharp as he was fit at his age. If these were the ones that he'd picked, and just these two, Mar trusted them to hold their own.
"Well done, Spartan," the Arbiter said, greeting the Demon as he approached.
He looked to Mar, saw Falzud nowhere in sight, and immediately understood. He walked over to the Major and placed a hand on his shoulder. Seeing this genuine concern, he remembered that the Arbiter had been a Major as well, once upon a time. He knew what it was like to lose Elites in the field, and as Supreme Commander had most definitely dealt with the loss of entire battalions.
"Do not burden yourself with remorse. The worst thing you can do now is let it get the best of you. Come, the others are waiting."
Mar and the Arbiter walked through the entrance of the Cartographer building as the Pelican took off. The door sealed shut behind them. They found everyone was standing around rather anxiously in the next room, all watching the Oracle work on getting a door open. One of the Marines seemed especially impatient.
"Hey what gives?" Lance Corporal Byron Wells wanted to know.
"It seems I've crossed a circuit," the Oracle replied.
"Well, let me have a look."
Like a no-nonsense grandmother whacking the hand of a would-be cookie thief caught reaching into the jar, the Oracle zapped Wells with a thin blue laser. The Arbiter saw this and shouted, possibly alarmed at whether the wound could have been fatal.
"Oracle!"
The Arbiter actually pointed his carbine at the Oracle, eyeing him suspiciously. Mar recalled then that the Oracle had once been a former enemy of the Demon, and had come frighteningly close to killing him and everyone else in the galaxy. Mar didn't raise his weapon, but smoothly placed a hand on the butt of his holstered plasma pistol. Just in case.
"Little bastard stung me!" Wells cried.
Cold and analytical like the machine that he was, the Oracle's excuse had the tones of reassurance, but lacked a certain jenesequa of genuine concern.
"I did not want you to come to any harm."
Wells nursed his slightly tinged arm, muttering, "You've got a funny way of showing it. "
The Oracle got the door open and floated inside. Mar noticed that whenever they visited an ancient Forerunner facility, the Oracle seemed to don a thicker air of authority. Or ownership, to be more precise.
"Excellent. This way."
Through the doorway, at least half a dozen Grunts could be seen sleeping.
"Slothful runts," the Arbiter said, turning to the Demon. "Kill them as they sleep."
Private Singh was eager to see a Spartan in action and quickly agreed with him.
"Yeah Chief, tap 'em out."
The Demon turned to the team. Mar and everyone else just stared back expectantly. It was like watching a tornado being given clear confirmation to destroy an otherwise peaceful town. Without further ado, the Demon flexed his hands and walked quietly into the room. As quiet as a mouse.
It was over in less than thirty seconds. The Demon zipped quickly from one Grunt to the next, leaving corpses and hissing methane tanks in his wake. The rest of his team entered the room as he was busy breaking the neck of a Brute that was urinating in the corner. The Oracle hummed contentedly as he floated past through an open door beside them.
"Come reclaimer," the Oracle told the Demon. "All you seek is at hand."