Boots both clad in iron as they were zeal had stood ready for decades just outside of Her titanic doors, willing and able to give their lives in defense, centuries longer inside of them preserved between time and the waking world. Yet even after all their sacrifices, here he lays abandoned, bloodied and bruised but far from beaten; he was Australian after all, and Australians are unkillable!
Years upon years of struggles would stem from this slaughter of a mission he took part in, the same mission which would wash away the meaning behind those words herald had spoken so confidently, the tonnage crushing even the sweetest of his memories from life into faint blips only meant to be experienced in the briefest of dreams before waking up. There would be one memory, one experience, however shared with those few he would dare call family, that would be remembered to tell the story of the moment he killed over. The day he lost them all
The light-emitting display that made up the innards of his visor, the very same one that displayed everything a modern soldier could possibly need, from pointing out hostile locations from gunfire alone to even telling you how long you have left before needing to use the shitter. All of this information is readily available in the hard blue text that made up the outline of his vision.
Harold had to give credit where credit was due; the EXO suit he and his squad had been given was truly the first of its generation, even with its relatively simplistic design decisions like the interlocking pieces of steel that made up its central body, were centuries ahead of what those insects had.
There was however a single flaw he could find with the technology, something his team would readily agree with, that those wobblers back in Summermount had overlooked during their testing, leading to an interesting side effect that may have well crippled the machinery: it couldn't take a hit for shit from class 6 or above insects, it's weight to unwieldy for the damage to effectively discharged. A perfect example being, well, he couldn't quite remember, the thought flickering out like the snuffed light of a candle on his tung.
These were some of the things that circled around his mind, like sharks on the prowl, as he lay shattered deep in the heart of the Blue Ridge Mountains. His EXO suit, airtight and sterile, is doing its best to mend the broken soldier it was designed to protect.
Protection wasn't the only thing the suit was built to do, however. The full-body nylon ensemble hidden behind the main circuitry was crafted with the purpose of forming a guarded union between its wearer and the complex series of armor coatings around it, as well as handling whatever harm came to its wearing. In Herald's case, the suit picked up on his dislocated shoulder through its many hexagonal sensors, immediately alerting the central EXO suit unit so it could begin the painful process of realigning. Select doses of Tylenol, among other things all used to numb the pain, were pumped directly into him through a series of tube-like connections between the suit and his flesh.
Like worms digging into fresh soil, the cylindrical tubes wrapped in flexible steel for support dug themselves deep into his muscles, spanning from his biceps all the way to his claves, delving deep through his back to reach the location.
The incredible sensation it brought, however temporary, brought enough relief for his overtaxed mind to reinforce its hold on reality no longer needing to concern itself with the searing pain, which by now had become muted.
Finally aware again he looked out but instead of seeing…
'Dammit there it was again!"
The memory that had so eagerly popped into him was long gone leaving him with only a blurriness that made the image in front of him nothing more than the base colors of whatever his eyes looked upon, leading to a strange sea of grays and blacks all swirling together and disorienting him despite the suit's best efforts to help.
The blandness that stirred around him was interrupted by a single spark on his retinas that madly blossomed in beams of light shooting every which way they could think of, covering the walls and himself in curtains of shadows and forcing Herald's eyes to close shut. Yet before his eyelids could even connect, the igniting blaze had disappeared, leaving nothing but a trembling in the ground and the tinks of stone shaken loose from the ceiling across his metallic body.
It danced in his vision, the had just coated the air around him. weaving and waving with even the slightest of force as if they were the air itself. The site that not only lay'd before him but became part of him as it clung to the outside of his ensemble was mesmerizing; it was quiet and dark, the micro pebbles floating in the air igniting into shimmering stars wherever his visor looked.
It was in these few precious moments that he felt at peace, as if he were at the bottom of all the world's oceans, forgotten by life's troubles. Well. before the first of the shockwaves came at least. Like a kettle beginning to boil, the initial whistle was a quiet one, barely prickling the hair across his ears before its full potential became clear, a potential that was racing towards him.
As he looked in the distance, his eyes scanning for this "potential," he came across fate itself. His eyes had yet to fully recover, so what was shown to him stayed nothing but swirling ideas of movement, but "thankfully," he wouldn't be left to ponder this for much longer as the ideas quickly gained form, the form of speeding rocks barreling towards him, surrounded by enough sonic pressure powerful enough to liquefy a normal human's brain. Thank god he wasn't any normal human.
The rocketing wall of death, threatening to bring the entirety of the cavern down with it, clawed and weaved its way through narrow and open chasms alike, showing heralding the distance it was willing to take to claim him and the inevitable mass it was picking up along the way.
A soldier's life is one of hardship and struggle; they are expected to give up everything for others they couldn't possibly know with little thanks if any in return . Some do lose something; they lose everything; others lose everyone but some. The forgotten with no names and no families lose it all and survive with the knowledge they'll never get it back, forever tormenting them.