Static, only static.
From one frequency to the next, there is nothing but static. No desperate calls for evacuation, no proclamation of a final stand.
Only static.
With a soft clank, the wireless communication device impacts with the rock formation below the platform, shattering to pieces. With a slow inhale, the marine sitting on the platforms edge turns his gaze skywards.
Red.
The sky is a bloody red, the death of a world. In the distance, beyond the mountains, Covenant ships continue their glassing. Their glassing of Reach.
For all her, and her children's might, she fell, fast and hard. Unthinkable before the invasion, yet the truth is all around. The marine would laugh at such a fact, if he still remembered how to do such a thing.
Many had died, to many in his grasp, their blood flowing through his fingers, for him to remember how to.
A hand gently placed itself on his shoulder, partially covering the faded Red Cross that once stood proud and vibrant. The combat medic didn't need words to know what is coming, and with an exhale he forced himself to his feet, turning to face his last companion.
The Spartan stood a head taller than him, armor scorched and scarred from the waves of hostiles it has already endured this day alone. And yet, with a straight back, the Spartan oozed nothing but confidence and a determination that promises a great flood of blood yet to be spilled.
With a twist of the head, the Spartan gazed off in to the distance, watching the swarm of Phantoms and Banshees grow larger and larger with every passing moment. Yet, the medics eyes found their way to the Spartans that lay motionless upon the scorched ground around them.
He remembered their faces, their eyes, in their final moments. He did all he could for them, all he could to make their end as comfortable as possible. He held them close, weight be damned, as he spoke until their final breaths. Brushing their hair, humming lullabies, anything and everything his mind could conjure up.
Though he doesn't know how he outlived them, the Medic took what comfort he could in having been there in their final moments. And with any fortune, he might give Six that same comfort, for he had no delusions of salvation. He knew this day to be his last, their last, and all he could hope for was to repay Six for the times they saved his life. To ensure that the Spartan didn't die alone was all he could offer now.
The Spartan shuffled, turning to face the marine, with the marine following the motion moments later. Face to face, the plethora of Dog tags hanging off of Sixes neck became visible, two of which he had handed to the Spartan after their owners untimely end.
Catherine-B320 and Emile-A239 are deaths that burned themselves deep in to the medics mind.
For had he noticed the Phantom a second sooner as he waved the Spartans towards the bunker, they could have responded in time. Instead, the Spartan had enough time to face her death, the needle puncturing through the visor and piercing through the helmet.
And while covering the second Spartan as he engaged air assets, the marine had let his guard down after the first zealot was eliminated, not having expected the second one.
The marine almost stumbled forward as a sudden tug forced him back to the present. Refocusing his gaze, he watched Six raise a chain and two new tags up to eye level. The tags, his tags, were quickly secured around the Spartans neck, as two other tags were removed, and extended to the marine.
B312, read on the tags, as they hovered in front of him. With a nod, the Spartan dropped the Dog tags in the marines' palm. Only for a moment, the medic allowed his thumb to glide over the metal, stowing the item behind his chest plate.
With an inhale, he began the track to the nearby ruined buildings, and the Machine gun within them, as the Phantoms landed outside of retaliation range, having learned their lesson after the first few waves came to close and were shot down by rocket and laser fire.
The Spartan followed in his step, retrieving the Spartan Laser than was resting on the platforms railings along the way. Moving by the building and standing in the relative open ground below, the Spartan was adamant about attracting the aliens' ire and allowing the marine behind the freedom to engage with impunity.
Though thoughts quickly faded in to a blur of motion and sensory input as the final wave came crashing upon them. Grunts and Jackals, too numerous to count, charged in to the hail of gunfire the marine was spewing out of his heavy weapon. Splitting flesh and bone with a fury of lead, only pausing to attach a new box of ammunition to his gun. All the while the Spartan below weaved through the storm of plasma with grace not befitting the armors bulk, managing to slay Elite after Elite with precise shots.
Minutes or hours, it mattered little as brass formed mounds and corpses created impromptu obstacles for the still charging aliens. Burning wrecks of Banshees littered the field, the Spartan Laser discarded in favor of the closes functional weapon the Spartan could grab a hold off. Behind the Spartan, the marine discarded the now inoperable Machine gun, the barrel deformed from heat, replaced by a Battle Rifle that threatens to follow the same fate with every burst that leaves its frame.
In the blur of motion and ringing of ears, the marines mind focuses upon one thing, a single purpose. Rifle raised, it clicks as the trigger is pulled, giving the marine enough time in his distress to watch the Ultra he had aimed at fire upon the Spartan, cracking the helmet and forcing the Spartan to sputter in an attempt to not loss their footing.
No rational though crossed his mind as he threw himself over the slowly melting wall of his shelter, BR thrown to the side as he dives in to the open for the only other weapon in sight.
Six grunts as they are thrown to the ground, the pain of the Ultras kick barely registering over the flood of adrenaline being pumped in to their system. With a roar, the Elite raises the Energy sword in its grasp high above. The roar being silenced as a deep bark fills the air, the Ultras body thrown backwards as its head implodes.
Sixes head snapped back as a hiss registered. Looking upon the medic as he crouches in the open, sniper rifle held in his grasp, they lock eyes for a split second.
A split second, before the medic is violently yanked back as a clawed hand grabs a hold of his shoulder. Metal melts and flesh burns as two plasma blades pierce the man's chest, exiting from his back. The General raises the human to eye level, a growl leaving its maw.
A breathless wheeze, and the marine stares back in to the Elites eyes. A growl left the human as his left arm shot out to grasp the Elites shoulder, impaling himself further on the blade. His right connected with the Generals abdomen in a weak punch.
In an instant, the bough were consumed in a cloud of dust and dirt as the Fragmentation grenade the medic held in his right arm detonated. Six stared for a second, feeling dirt hit their now exposed face.
Sixes AR began firing before the Spartan fully stood up, cutting down several Elites that were attempting to charge the now lone human. Plasma was quick to burn in to Six, melting flesh and armor alike.
With gritted teeth, the Spartan replaced the spent magazine, holding the AR in one hand as the second one grasped for their Magnum. Firing at the closest hostiles, an Ultra weathered the hail of lead to knock the Spartan of their feet.
Swarmed, the Spartan retaliated against the first would be executioner with a kick, sending the Elite back, only for it to be replaced by another moments later, its energy blade narrowly missing as Six twisted out of the way, retaliating with a punch that nearly snapped two of its mandibles clean off.
Sixes breathe stopped in their throat as searing pain spread from their chest, the Zealot ripping the energy sword out of the Spartans chest after a howl.
Six stared up at the sky, watching the red sky, unblinkingly, pass by as their limbs refused any command to move. The Elites gazed at the human, hate filling their eyes as they turn, no longer dignifying the demon before them with their presence.
Six, out of the corner of their eyes, noticed a fading red.
An inhale.
The Spartan forced their body to obey, pain turning vision blurry, now lying face down in to the dry dirt. Blood slowly flowing form their mouth as the Spartan exhales.
An inhale.
The Spartans fingers dig in to the ground, pulling the rest of their body forward, leaving a trail of blood behind, as the cauterized wounds open. As Six exhales, their vision fades to black.
An inhale.
Six stares forward, vision clearing momentarily as the Spartan gazes upon what is left. The missing arm and lower body go ignored as the Spartan stares at the one visible eye the marine has.
The white armored, two toed foot that steps next to the Spartans hand goes ignored as well as the Spartan tries to grasp for the corpse just out of reach. Not alone, Six refuses to let him die alone.
A lurch, and the Spartans hand falls on to the marines shoulder, the clawed hand that had grasped the Spartans wrist retreating from where it came. Six stared at the Red Cross just barely visible from under their hand as vision fades, and the world turns black.
An exhale.