Spartans Never Die

Spartan 259, #008080
"Ignore this tall demon, brothers. I wish to take the pleasure of cutting him down myself! " He heard calling out. No one could see the psychopathic grin that had spread like a disease upon his dark skinned face. It was probably...a good thing.

That's when he heard it. That sweet noise of agony at what he held in his possession. It wasn't the pike. No, no, no. It was was the skull dangling from his hip. It enraged him. It was an affront to their kind. It was heresy of the highest order. It was, it was sick! Humans were insects to be exterminated. Spartans were demons to be slain. But 259 had become an affront to the Covenant. He'd become a monster. A soulless being that defiled even the dead and honored. He'd become a perverse being that honored no such worthy enemy--he would desecrate their bodies and brandish their heads like trophies. Yes, the Sangheili reacted to this more often than not. Being creatures of honor and discipline, how could they not?

But 259 didn't have a place for "honor". The only thing he wanted was another skull. Another trophy. That was because of Kylie. She hadn't so much taught him to collect trophies; remnants of skirmishes with heavily armed and armored opponents, as her death triggering the impulse to do so. It was true, he was a Spartan. He was perpetually calm and collected; austere. Emotionless. He was every bit the machine they had wanted him to be except for one thing---he fell in love. He hadn't just grown up with Kylie, he loved her. The strain of training, the challenges Deja had set out for them mentally, being their teacher while Chief Petty Officer Mendez brutally worked them physically. They were pushed and they were broken; dissected like frogs in some lab experiment.

Their bones were harder, their muscles stronger and reflexes faster. Not everyone made it. But Kylie and 259 had. They were then field tested, and once subjected to the fitting of their MJOLNIR power armor. Their armor was significantly different than most other Spartan-III armors; including motion sensors, energy shielding, VISR technology, and a prototype Active camouflage module. The active camouflage system could only be sustained for three to five minutes and diverted power from other systems while it recharges. This made it more advanced and allowed for Spartans like 259 to last behind enemy lines.

But just because his suit was suited for espionage and silent kills, didn't mean the Spartan wearing it agreed with that method. Indeed, 259 wasn't exactly suited for the silent kill lifestyle. No, this larger than life warmachine was made to get dirty. However, he had adapted the suits camouflage capabilities in a more than interesting way.

"That's it...come to me..." Still standing tall, the Spartan clenched the shaft of the pike, before twirling it deflecting a Needle Rifle's homing explosive in mid trajectory.

The cut so clean that when the remainder hit his metallic body, as his shields hadn't yet fully recharged-- it just shattered without exploding. There were Unggoy, and Mgalegolo between he and his quarry. With both sides firing, 259 charged headlong it seemed, suicideally at the the enemy. However just before he reached the first Unggoy, he vanished startling the Grunt. But a massive, invisible hand--like the hand of God his self latched onto the terrified aliens face mask lifted him while pivoting sharply and launching him into the collective group--with plasma grenade attached and lit to blow in one fluid motion.

Seconds later, a blue fireball erupted sending Unggoy body parts were flung every which way while the Spartan continued on his way forwards bursting through the flames like a hound of Hell. Visible for all to see until he got near the Hunters. Rather than face the Hunters, in amazing feat of athletics; reached out to the right shoulder of one while ran side ways along the wall allowing him to slip past them. He would take one of their spines, if they hadn't turned around yet--tear it off and lob it like a javelin towards his enemy, the Elite commander, narrowly avoiding his head and plunging it into the wall meanwhile, engaging the Sangheili from the opposite direction; bringing the bladed end of his pike from the left shoulder to the right hip in a diagonal slashing method. Once again he was visible.
​
 
Last edited by a moderator:
Hearing the announcement through the intercom Raegan sighed, they'd be losing another station to the Covenant once again, but at least most of it's residents had made it. Through the seemingly endless onslaught of needler rounds Raegan managed to see 259 doing what he did the best it seemed; killing the covenant like it was nothing. She moved from cover to cover firing off volley after volley of return fire from her battle rifle, taking out as of the grunts as she could during the process. Then she saw the body of one of the grunts glowing with the familiar blue plasma color of a plasma grenade, she just barely managed to duck behind one of the UNSC barricades as it went off eliminating a large number of the grunts that seemed to be swarming into the area now. There was a considerably few grunts remaining though, and she thought for a moment before an idea came to her... There were rumors that if napalm grenades detonated alongside an standard one, it would produce some rather spectacular but deadly "fireworks". The still large number of grunts swarming into the area would definitely provide ample "test subjects" to prove that rumor right or wrong. Making sure 259's engagement with the elite was out of the blast radius, she took out the napalm grenade and the frag she always carried around putting down her once again empty battle rifle for the time being. With one swift movement she pulled both of the pins of the grenades at once with her teeth and lobbed them into the middle of the group of grunts. As she picked up her battle rifle again and looked towards the group of grunts, she could just barely suppress a little laugh as they tried to dive out of the blast radius of the two grenades in a rather comedic fashion. Then, a large bang was heard as both of the grenades went off spraying fire around which ended up killing off a good portion of the grunts that were within it's radius. Thankfully enough, there were no fusion coils or any other volatile explosives laying around, so the fire from the explosion quickly petered out. Reloading her last magazine into her battle rifle, she fired at the few remaining grunts killing them off with ease, but not without a few survivors fleeing out of her line of sight. She figured she'd take care of them later, and turned her attention back to defending 259 during his little "brawl" with this particular field marshal, it seemed to be brimming with rage at the large array of "trophies" 259 was displaying... "I wonder who'll win this one." She thought observing their brawl, taking note of the two hunters 259 had previously vaulted over, and trying to locate the source of that needle rifle shot she saw traveling towards 259... That was definitely the work of an elite with active camo, but thankfully and rather impressively 259 had managed to slice the shot right in half before it got to him thankfully enough, but if she saw it correctly afterwards, he practically disappeared for a brief moment right before that "grunt bomb" flew past her head.
 
Last edited:
Lak was doing rather impressively against the demon, despite it wearing a brothers' head as if it were a trophy. It enraged him, and frankly, it enraged Toha. It is fine to kill them, yes. But to desecrate their bodies and further humiliate their death by wearing their head as a trophy? That goes beyond sick, that truly is something horrifying all on its own! No Brother would ever do that. Ever. I guess 'demons' was the correct term for these people...
Toha was now concentrating his fire upon one of the demons, not the one fighting Lak, but another one. It looked like a female. And it looked like she was being a huge pest on our effort, also giving cover-fire and sending Unggoy parts flying with a burst of fire and...sparkle? Away from the matter, he thus fired at it, rather precisely too! It was going straight for her head when she sliced it in half! the two pieces split and flew right by her head. Hopefully she did not see where he was despite his presence in active camo active camo but just in case he continued to fire at her and only her, demons are by far the hardest things to kill, but like Lak was with his, Toha was determined to kill this demon. He tore down his active camo whether she saw him or not. He recharged his needle rifle and proceeded to fire his volley at her and only her. In the most accurate way he can.
 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mortumee
Lak growled, and grabbed the pike on it's metal portion, his hand grasping inches from the Spartans.
He swung his sword in mid air so his closest hand could grab the pike, catching it with his left hand with flawless swordsmanship and swung it towards 259, the attack was sloppy and simply grabbing his wrist could stop the swing- if you were strong enough. Lak was, like most field marshals, zealots and generals, he was muscular. Strong as a spartan- natural muscule that felt like crushing steel plates. He had once gotten into a fist fight with Thel Vadamee for a good spar and training match- but accidentally wounded Thel and could have killed him. He was ordered to keep te incident hush hush, in response his keep would get new females to the blood line. Thel himself was also incredibly strong- to demon levels, also. He was just a little slow to the punch, quite literally.
All the while, he positioned his leg in between the Demon's, preventing him from getting a superior foothold that would allow him to simply overpower the Sangheli leader. He was smarter than the average sangheli- despite such a sloppy slash he had attemped so he could prevent his own skull from becoming a trophy on the demon's belt.
 
Last edited by a moderator:
Orussa had never seen such a human move so swiftly, he hade barely time to react as he felt one of his razor sharp spines being torn from his body. The sensory mechanism was removed with an almost blinding pain as the brothers continued their charge. Lak had claimed his quarry, and they wouldn't dare go against the Field Marshals orders. They instead, chased down a small squad of the Helljumpers that separated from the others they had pinned down. Colgava stood by his bloodthirsty brother and kept the others pinned down by the entrance.
Orussa was in his prime, crushing one soldier beneath his feet while he bashed another into a pulp until bullets impacted his chest plate and he felt a searing sensation, followed by a warm numbness, in his right limb colony. A swarm of DMR rounds had embed themselves deep into his right arm. He immediately lifted his shield up to protect his body, and was unable to lift his cannon above his hip.
Brother! My arm! He symbiotically wailed, his first real injury sustained in a firefight. He lifted himself from his crouched position and move back to his brother.
"Grenade out!" yelled a human, the explosive device dropping a foot away from the wounded hunter and showering him with metal fragments.
Orussa! Colgava audibly roared, slamming a crate across the room and kneeling his shield next to his brother.
 
Spartan 259, #008080
Narrowly missing his quarry, the Sangheili field marshal. The Elite swiped at him from the right with his energy sword. It as a move ruled by anger. It was no doubt impart to the skull hanging by his side. However, as soon as he saw the Elites arm lifted, hoisted and and prepared to strike; 259's left hand relinquished control of its position on the staff--but not his his right. Instead, his right arm 'tucked the rod in between it and his metal limb while his body pivoted; left foot sliding back, rotating his hips so that--unfathomably his back to the Elite. However, his right hand still clenched the staff. The Elites initial attack was to his body, which he had diverted. Once the Elite realized he had missed his intended target he'd have withdrawn his arm giving 259 ample time to let go of the staff with his right hand attached, pivot sharply, and bring his right foot down on the lowered pike.

The effect was a 'spring board' with a metal rod of the staff aiming right for the Elites face with enough force to break two of his mandibles if not give him a terrible, terrible headache.
​
 
Last edited by a moderator:
  • Like
Reactions: Maddeline
Ducking into cover once more Raegan remembered her Battle Rifle was still empty and unloaded the now useless magazine making sure to catch it before it hit the ground and gave away her position. Putting down the discarded magazine on the ground softly, she took one one of the 3 remaining magazines she had left and loaded it into her Battle Rifle before peeking out of the cover just in time to see an elite appear and fire at her. She pulled the trigger of her own weapon on instinct at almost the exact same time and the resulting bullet had managed to catch it's needle rifle round right in the middle and sliced it rather cleanly in half with the now separated parts of the round flying past each side of her head. As she switched her Battle Rifle to it's "default" 3 round burst mode and looked around, she realized the elite had probably engaged it's active camouflage. She started to scan around the area looking for something that resembled a "glass-like" elite when the rapid sounds of a needle rifle caused her to turn towards the noise and duck into cover again, some of the rounds had hit her helmet in the process but thankfully her shields had absorbed them. Then she peeked out from cover again centering on the barely visible form of the once again camouflaged elite attempting to lock onto it's position and began to fire at it whenever she felt she had targeted the right place. "So is this what my superiors meant when they said I needed to see more action?" She thought to herself as she ducked behind one of the military barricades again to reload.
 
Last edited:
  • Like
Reactions: Nue
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mortumee
The sangheli could see the incoming brake-neck blow from a mile away, but he couldn't counter it at it's current speed. So, the elite tensed his mandibles into a near solid bone mass, flexed his neck muscles and turned his head to go with the inertia of the punch. Most sangheli would feel dishonored to take a punch, but the field marshal knew when to pick his blows and when to be more honorable. The punch felt like a freight train, and did cause a hairline fracture across his lower right mandible, but his too mandible was just left sore.
The marshal went with the force of the blow, twisting his body into a serpentine roll to the left. In a twirl of limbs, he was back on his feet and within a different strike zone of the demon. The sangheli, however, was still recovering from the roll. To counter his disorientation, he sent a clenched fist towards the large human mutant, intending to disorient him or at the least, knock him back and get in a sloppy strike. Given the fact that the spartan was good in CQB and had an energy pike, it was unlikely that he could get a mortal wound off of such a warrior- at least, not in the early portion of the fight, where his goal is to out pace an opponent or simply tire them out with bad blows they have to counter or by dodging his attacker until they can barely move.
"Hunter brothers! Retreat!" he said, hearing one of them wail in pain. Normally he wouldn't say this to any of his underlings, but he saw potential in the hunters. They seemed to be closer than most, or at the least, stronger than most he had dealt with. Though he hadn't had many hunters under his command due to the prophets preferring most ships to have only a specific number, and unless they were carriers, little in the way of ground forces were needed.
 
Last edited by a moderator:
  • Like
Reactions: Tribulation
Spartan 259, #008080
259 began pacing, the energized beam at the end cutting into the metal of the deck like an arc welder. The floor glowed vermillion where swathes were being carved by the plasma emissions. 259's free hand furled; clenching it into a tightly bound fist. The Titanium-alloy was dented proving the force he'd used was no laughing matter. He could flip every bit of a sixty ton Scorpion tank, and catch a speeding Warthog with his bare hands and derail it. So, for him to have caved the back plating of his hand and break a knuckle while doing so--proved his mettle all the more. He wasn't going to let this alien, the Covenant scum step one foot further.

There were metal slugs, and highly-condensed razor sharp explosive shards being flung around the both of them. 259's shields reactively flickered from glancing blows. The hand that held the staff weapon behind his self; muscles in his body tensing like an animal ready to strike at a moment's notice. Project: CHRYSANTHEMUM made Spartan-III's what they were. Better. Cheaper. The fibroid muscular protein complex intensified the muscle density. Meanwhile, sorting rotors accelerate calcium ion concentration in the sarcoplasmic reticulum, increased a Spartan's muscle speed several-fold and multiplying the damage they inflict in melee combat. Muscle strength was also amplified with ionic polymeric gel myofibrils that allow the soldier to push and lift extraordinarily heavy objects.

This was where a Spartan could easily tow a car by his self. Ionic polymeric gel myofibrils were also woven into the leg muscles, increasing the speed at which a Spartan could run and climb, the height they can jump, meanwhile reducing the damage they receive from falls. Carbide ceramic ossification catalyst meant their bones were nearly unbreakable--Well, for ordinary humans at least. For a Spartan to "break" a bone, he would need to exert so much force as comparable to bending vanadium steel girder with one's own bare hands. Not a feasible feat for 'normal' folk. Human bodies were made to bend; Spartan bodies on the other hand---were made to never break.

He was unhinged like a starving lion and this was his coliseum and he wanted blood. He could see it smattered over the walls. He could smell burnt flesh plastered all over the deck. But the taste. It made him salivate; just the thought of ripping that field marshal's skull from the rest of his disgusting body made him want to drool. With each rotation of the staff it hummed; rhythmically, the blade sparking as it touched, and carved through the metal of the floor. Suddenly, he broke into an all out sprint. Like a cheetah chasing its quarry he let nothing get in his way. Metal boots with a more than three tons of muscle and bone trampling dead carcasses.

The sounds of the bones of the Unggoy and Kig-Yar snapping, would be nauseating to anyone unfamiliar with the scene of carnage. The glimmer of black armor like death his self were making haste towards the Sangheili that had been once smited and struck on his lower jaw. The staff behind him and at an angle, clutched firmly in one hand. There wasn't much time left before the ship left dock. But that didn't mean 259 couldn't have 'fun' in the meantime. Even at early age Alpha-259-Dorion had a particularly violent demeanor. He saw everything as a challenge. One to be conquered or overcome. When he was subsequently kidnapped and placed in boot camp--he loved it. Most children sat around confused and whining, he found the biggest meanest kid in his group other than his self and beat the hell out of him and took his chipped tooth as a trophy.

It was true, disciplinary action was seemingly a requirement with him. But truth be told, he got shit done and there just was no wasting SPARTANS. To make matters worse, they placed 259 with a partner to supposedly...curb these tendencies. That plan backfired. Violence was a contagion; it was a plague, a disease. Easily contracted through the right means. Kylie was a Spartan. She'd shared the same trials and tribulations as he had. Her head shaved. Her body stripped bare. She'd had her genetic make-up tampered with and her resolve tempered like elegant steel. In a spar she'd once tore a man's rotator cuff and dislocated his arm without a moments hesitation. He loved it. He loved her.

Her spark of life. Her tenacity. Her vigor.

Her 'death' came at the hand of a Sangheili Zealot. He'd been cloaked and once she'd turned around, the creature impaled hed her. It lifted her up high with one hand, one strong arm. Kylie still had cradled the artifact they'd been sent to retrieve. One, that like her, many perished in the name sake thereof. Spartans never died. At least, not on paper. Their legend was that they always seemed to go missing in action. This built a myth around them. That they were invincible. But when he held Kylie's limp body in his arms. When he saw that glimmer of a fighting spirit die out like a vanquished flame snuffed out all too suddenly, he'd realized all too late that they weren't as invincible as everyone made them out to be.

Nevertheless, when he laid Kylie down he did so with purpose. When he broke the Elite's legs on that murky world, and then, with his own two hands ripped his head straight from its gauntly appearing body as it stared up at him. He could only think of one thing: Spartans. Never. Die. And, as he carried Kylie's body, with the artifact nestled in her blood drenched arms against all orders; voices ringing out of both of his ears. He could only hear the words: Spartans. Never. Die.

Twirling the staff around in a mesmerizing way, the straggling Unngoy were dismembered. Limbs and colorful blood spewed forth painting his black armor. A Skirmisher stood in the way of his warpath. Shield raised, the bird-like creature 'plucked' away with tiny bolts from its plasma pistol. The Spartan stood fast, halting his footwork to a dead stop before bringing one leg up and exerting every bit of three tons into one massive kick. The shield wasn't enough to block the blunt force trauma as the Kig-Yar was sent sailing like a bullet through the air--past the field marshal, slamming into the wall. Every bone it had could be heard snapping in on sick 'pop' as it crumpled to the floor.

Standing there looking at the heap, his helmet then turn towards the marshal. It only took a few seconds. But Spartan time was 300% faster than a normal man's. Either way, it saw him sprinting towards the Marshal before kicking off one wall and bringing the staff full circle and aimed it for the Marshal's throat.
​
 
Last edited by a moderator:
Well, and least she couldn't see him.
Toha still stood there continuously trying in an effort to pin her down until some backup came in to finish her out, preferably the hunters. Eventually, she ducked under a barricade, and he took the time to move to another cover to continue his barrage, but he really did not need to, for he just had to wait for her to stick her little head out again for him to blow it clean through.
Frankly, Toha was quite nervous, it's been a while since he got to attack a demon. The last time he did it...ended not as planned. He did not want to have this same situation happen to him again, not with another demon again. The hunters were more focused on Lak's demon then they were on Toha's, which is sufficiently great for Toha, it makes him that much more un-noticeable. That demon was going to show her face any moment. and then some more soldiers came in and blocked the barrier. Four of them in total, as stupid as they were, they mustn't been helping her in her cover. the longer they stood there, the more of a chance she could leave, and that would not be good if she did. He had her in a very good position; pinned behind a barricade. He took them out in the quickest way he could. He shot the first two clear through the head, and their blood and chunks going all over the barricade, he crippled the third by shooting his legs and right arm, and he went to the ground, writhing in pain. He did this so just in case anyone would come over to help him...they would die first. The fourth he did not care for accuracy, he just unloaded his clip into it until it dropped to the ground, bleeding out. Surprisingly, it was still alive. But it was doomed to die eventually. He reloaded quickly and popped back into his sights to see if she was still there...
 
Plasma and lead whined and hissed all around, but Colgava heard nothing but the field marshals orders. Orange blood stained Orussas body armor and seeped slowly onto the deck of the human vessel, with Orussa growling and vibrating in his efforts to drag himself back to the ship.
Damn these humans and their weapons
Damn their demons
Damn this ship to holy fire!
He cursed as his brother dragged him to another spot of cover. A small pack of grunts ran by scurrying like their scrub grubs, with little squealing voices and arms flailing until Colgava stomped in front of them.
Give us cover fire, or you die whelps!
The grunts stopped in their tracks, one visibly shaking at the towering behemoth. "Sir yes sir!" They all barked, scattering around to make a perimeter around the hunters; they began firing their plasma pistols in a barrage while yelling out cocky sayings. Colgava and brother finally made it back to the boarding ship and took cover behind a large human crate with two grunts.
"Maan I didn't sign up for this!" One grunt cried, hands over his head, the other one gave him comfort by patting his head and squatting next to him.
 
Isaac had disappeared as soon as the news of approaching Covenant was given. One of the sniper's most important strategies was to keep moving and remaining out of sight. The Lieutenant had a plan; get as high as possible in the ship with the widest range of view. Even if it meant doing a little climbing.

While scaling the walls Spartan 287 would hold on one handed to stop on occasion, using his silenced M6C and pull off a few quick shots, hitting the occasional Grunts and Jackals clean through the head that were preparing to ambush the marines on the ground floor. That is, until his clip emptied. That's going to have to do it for now. At least he had managed to make it most of the way up the wall unnoticed. A few stray bolts of superheated plasma began to fly his way. More Grunts, undoubtedly. They were always such terrible shots. Still, they were bound to draw the attention of the competent aliens. This height would have to do. Finding the closest spot to support himself, the Lieutenant quickly reloaded his sidearm before pulling out his favored SRS-99.

"Hold tight, Spartans! I'm in position." Isaac radioed his team. While it wasn't his ideal location, he would certainly make due. The grunts who were still pathetically lobbing energy shots his way were the first priority. Poking out of the scaffolding the sniper lined up his sights in no time, taking out all three in just as many seconds. Indoors however, the sound of his rounds echoed through the ship. His hiding spot wouldn't be so secret for long.

Another cluster of grunts, huddled around what looked like a pair of hunters in retreat. Odd. Hunters rarely took cover like that. The other races tended to use them for mobile cover instead. Even his high powered rifle couldn't pierce their thick armor. Trying to peek out to check on him team, Isaac had to quickly duck back into cover. A flurry of pink needles flew past his helmet, hitting the wall behind him and shattering on the solid steel. Shit. That didn't take long. One thing the Covies certainly weren't lacking were numbers. With eyes everywhere, they were bound to see those vapor trails left by his sniper rifle. "Scratch that. I'll need a minute."
 
Raegan remained behind her cover this time waiting for a while to attempt to figure out a way to get out of this jam; she was quite obviously pinned down by an almost invisible elite. "Damn! This definitely isn't a good start to my first real battle." She thought, but just then, 4 marines were heard moving around and before she could pop out and warn them, she heard the sounds of a needle rifle firing followed by the thumping sounds of two marines falling. Realizing they were already doomed, she ran out of cover and headed for a better, more concealed cover. A crate could be seen from her position almost perfectly blending in with the wall and she ran towards it ducking behind it again, the sounds of another volley of needle rifle rounds fired followed by the agonized screams of the 3rd marine followed by the rapid gunfire and the resounding screams from the 4th as he too went down. "Is this how they killed my family too? Damn them... Damn them all to hell!" She thought angrily to herself getting up out of cover again in a swift and rather rough motion, this time she spotted the glass-like form of the elite not too far from the cover she had previously been hiding in. With anger fueling her actions now, she started emptying her clip of her battle rifle with deadly precision aiming to kill the damned thing with a little luck.
 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mortumee
As the airborne spartan came hurdling after him, the elite reacted with years of training. He twisted his legs, arched his back, and then tore out his left wrist blade. He swung his sword at the staff, while raising his left arm to come down in a cutting motion. This would divert the like downward and his energy dagger would cause the pike to embed in the hull. All the spartan would head, would be,
'Usta ga norameee!!!', which roughly translates to "For Glory" as he performed this move, figuring if it failed and he reacted too slowly he would die anyway.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Kov and Carpenter

Jeremy slid across the bulk head, twisting the neck of the grunt. He spotted the field marshal and 259 dukeing it out but he couldn't intervene without potentially harming 259, and in CQB with an elite commando, the slightest shield loss could mean death.
Instead, the spartan ran to the cargo doors and pulled a lever.
"Spartan Faith! other handle!" Kov said, setting a nav point on the handle across the bay. Pulling both would cause the cargo doors to begin shutting- either cutting off covenant reinforcements or causing them to get back on the station and leave the ship.

Faith nodded at the order, running across 250 meters in a few mere seconds, before an elite zealot rolled from the shadows. Dual wielding plasma rifles, the split jaw lit her up. Within a fraction of a second her shields were fried and the plasma rounds began to make her flesh boil and skin burn in agony. As she fell backwards, she flung her DMR up and was able to get three lucky shots in. The first weakening the shields, the second weakened them further and the last tumbled through the elites mouth port, killing the elite without shutting off it's shields. The wounded spartan drug her self across the bulkhead and pulled the lever before leaning against the wall and passing out, her head slumping over in a position that most marines died in- but her vital signs were still strong, albeit in the red zone on her teammates HUD.
 
Spartan 259, ##008080
259, a Spartan fueled by rage; a monster created by convenience, a killer made mandatory. It was from sheer desperation that the project that was then called ORION got off the ground. Back then, it was to fight the separatists. Now Spartans were their only hope at humanity's survival. But as durable as they were, they weren't invincible. Plasma still burned their metal suits and their flesh as easily as it had for anyone. In the end, they were still Human. In the end, they bled and died like anyone else.

But...they always made sure to take as many of the trash out as possible.

The elite had countered his lunge; diverting the forward momentum he'd brought, by adding a second, smaller blade. The lance sprayed sparks every which way as plasma met plasma. The searing hot element made the area around the two combatants glow as their ionized gas met each other briefly. The light would be blinding to most. Nevertheless the force the Elite had exerted, diverted the staff weapon down at angle. Its super heated tip easily bit into the wall. For most, they would try to retrieve the weapon out of some misguided, panic stricken thought that made them want to back track. For a Spartan, there was only one choice.

The snapped the staff in half, not stopping his relentless assault. However, he knew now he'd be on the defensive end and as he pivoted he brought one half of the spear up to block the incoming blowing he knew was coming. The Elite's sword understandably cut through the metal rod. The tip of its two pronged assault cutting into the helmet of 259. Cold grey eyes stared forwards; one a mere centimeter away from being gouged out of his skull. The spherical orb reflected the luminescent glow of the sword even as it burned a scar over his right eye while it continued to cut a swathe downwards. His chest plate was the next thing to be critically damaged, but fortunately the slashing blade was pulled away.

Moments passed and 259 simply stood there, stuck in position. Arms held outwards, hands gripping a destroyed pike. Helmet cleaved and his armor sundered. He appeared to have died on his feet. His massive frame simply standing there until a shocking revelation occurred. His hands willed the damaged suit to move despite being badly damaged. He was now carrying the suit as opposed to wearing the damn thing. His hands dropped the two pieces of metal, gripped his his damaged helmet and tore it off. Black strands of hair moved freely in the air now. His dark complexion was free to see to everyone and everything. And yes, even the scar now burned into his face covering his right eye. The eye stared with ferocity at the field marshal before he arched his arm back and flung the helmet at the Elite.

Not wasting a moment, the Spartan 259 forced his body to move three ton suit that encased him with remarkable agility. He was upon the Sangheili before the alien would know what to do. A furled fist lifting, it aimed for the center of the helmet. He didn't have a shield anymore, so to blunt the force of his fist to keep from breaking it, to punch through the Elite's shielding he punched the helmet using it as a buffer. The helmet would shatter under the reckoning, allowing his metal fingers to grip whatever they could. It so happened they found a protruding piece of its 'crown'. Lifting his leg, he kicked off the Elite, snapping the metal piece off and careening away from it in the process. His bulky body was sent sailing backwards, first landing on his back, creating a horrid screech as metal raked on metal before he urged himself to roll over one shoulder.

Standing up he looked down at his hand and the piece he'd torn off. It wasn't the trophy he'd wanted--but there was a more important thing to do. Gripping it tightly he turned and ran towards Faith. Before bending down to pick her up,he grabbed for both sides of the heavy doors. Gripping them like they were windows, he pulled them close faster than they were shutting on their own. It would burn out the gears, but that was the least of their worries for the moment. 259 bent down, scooping her up in his arms and turned and trotted back into a safe distance, ripping a first aid off the wall as he did. In laying her down, he pried the molten metal off her suit, relieving her of her chest plate to assess the damage.

3rd degree burns. A common side effect of superheated ionic gasses given form. He first applied an analgesic, a painkiller before he began applying the bandages, letting her body lean against his as he held her up. He was careful not to let her near where he had been slashed, the metal had been peeled back, leaving a groove with jagged edges. He kept her laid on her back with her hips lifted so that the burn to her abdomen was above her heart. 259 remained knelt by her side for several moments before he forcibly lifted himself and stepped over to Kov.
​
 
Last edited by a moderator:
It was apparently confirmed that it was no longer behind the barrier as oncoming fire proceeded to come from the left of Toha, thankfully, he dodged out in time to only damage his shields. At this point, there was no point of keeping his active camo on, so he took it of for his shields to recharge faster. The oncoming fire never seemed to cease as he ducked and ran for the nearest cover. He took a brief moment to spot where she was hiding...then he looked for a way to distract her, which sadly, there was none. It seemed that it was very good at long-ranged fire, as is he, which isn't a very good thing for Toha. The only viable solution was to go straightforward and try to attack her at close-range, and see who was better at that. In order to do that, he has to lunge at it while she was reloading, since he was surprisingly close enough to do that at his new 'cover', and he also had to hope it is slow to react enough for Toha to come in and start fighting her.
He awaited his shields to recharge, and then listened intently for her firing to stop, and he made his charge. He pulled out his sword, leaped over the barrier and rolled to the side to make it slightly harder for it to possibly shoot at him, he ran straight for it now, and he became closer...and closer...and closer. He was actually doing it! A risky decision, but it was worth the while as he activated his sword and swung at the demon, finally at close range. He knows he is now in the same situation as Lak, as long as he kept fighting this demon, nobody would dare shoot at him, whereas if he still stood behind cover...he was a free target for everybody, and it's better to be fighting one, hard enemy face-to-face than all the enemies at far range. which is what he mostly did for his assassinations anyways, he almost always went in close for the kill.
And that is exactly what he intends to do for this one.
 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mortumee

The field marshal reeled back, the chunk of his helmet gone. He roared in retaliation, his wounded mandibles responding with flashes of pain. The elite tore his helmet off also, throwing it. The helmet hit the smaller, wounded small demon. He noticed the doors coming together faster than usual...
"Back to the human vessel! We mustn't die here. We will get back to the Divine Storm and chase the infidels into the blight of space!" The field marshal said, in a very stoic voice filled with anger, honor and faith.
The elite kept his sword out, using it to block stray bullets and actually save a few grunts and elite minors that were in the mix, before getting behind cover to wait for Toha to exit the ship and subsequently also leave once his last commrade was out.
 
Spartan 259, #008080
He picked up a dead Marine's assault rifle, checking the counter he reloaded the weapon with a fresh clip. He touched Kov's shoulder, telling the Spartan he was there before he picked up a second assault rifle and inspecting it's ammunition. Fearlessly he stepped out of cover, his shielding still on the fritz. If he had his helmet on, it'd be screaming at him by now. Raised both arms, tucking the butt ends of both assault rifles between his biceps and sides.

Each weapon was loaded differently. The rifle to his right was loaded with the standard M118 7.62x51mm Full Metal Jacket, Armor Piercing rounds. These rounds were designed to pierce body armor so the rounds were reasonably large, and were surrounded by a molded jacket of either steel or titanium, which enhanced its armor-piercing capabilities. The weapon on his left side, was equipped with 'Shredder' rounds. In terms of performance, shredder rounds would function similar to a jacketed hollow-point ammunition. The bullet consisted of several segments of a hard metal that had been welded together with a soft metal such as lead. The welds acts as weak points, so that on impact, the bullet should separate along the welds into component segments. This spreads the damage over a larger area, but it also decreases the penetrating power. These rounds are surrounded with a fluted or perforated metal jacket in order to provide optimal fragmentary habits, as opposed to a haphazard disintegration which would do less damage.

In essence, he had one rifle primed to deplete shields and another to rip through fleshy targets like butter. He started for his partner Raegan. He opened fired; spraying a mixture of armor piercing and hollow points. The hellstorm fell upon the retreating. The shredder round ripping apart any Unggoy stupid enough or unlucky enough to cross him. Emerging to Toha's left flank, crushing the skull of a grunt as he marched towards him--he began peppering the Elite with short accurate bursts from the AR that had had the armor piercing bullets which could deplete his shields very quickly before adding in a mixture of the shredder rounds.

It would leave the Elite with no other option: stay and get mutilated, or run and fight another day.
​
 
Last edited by a moderator:
As Raegan's battle rifle ran out of ammunition, she realized reloading wouldn't be ideal as the now fully visible elite was coming towards her... Thinking quickly she threw the now empty weapon at itin hope of distracting it, the rifle just barely missed it but she used the small window of time it just might have given her to draw her combat knife as the elite almost simultaneously drew it's own weapon; an energy sword. Usually only field marshals carried a weapon such as that but she had only heard of cases where other elites had wielded these weapons, often ones assigned with assassinations or stealthy kills. She just barely managed to dodge out of the way of the beasts sword as it swung at her, feeling the hot plasma of the blade cut into her chest plate as it tore right through her shields. In return, she managed to make a slash or two at the elites sword arm trying to ignore the burning pain that was now rather prominent in her abdomen before backing up to take out the SAW which was still thankfully secured on her back, but before she was able to, the loud rapid gunfire of two assault rifles caught her attention. Assuming they were marines, she turned towards the noise briefly finding the source to be 259 dual wielding the assault rifles she had seen the dead marines that had saved her carrying not too long ago. "Thank god he showed up." She thought figuring he had finished the fight with that other elite, and with that she pulled out the SAW aiming it at the elite whom was currently being peppered with assault rifle rounds and waited just incase that elite was about to try anything crafty, she preferred not to waste any ammo here, especially from a weapon she wasn't particularly skilled at in the first place.
 
Waiting in cover for a chance to strike normally wouldn't have been so taxing on Isaac's patience. With the safety of his newly formed team hanging in the air however, each second felt like agonizing hours. "Come on! I just need a few seconds for those needles to reload..." The sniper had been counting the rounds as they flew past his hiding spot, or collided with the distinct sound of shattering crystal against the beam to his back. Joining the sounds of battle, screams and gunfire came the strained sound of the large metal doors being forced shut. In the corner of his visor, Spartan Faith's vitals pinged red. Wounded. Critical condition. Shit. If he had a chance to cover them...

Before the maximum amount of needles were fired, everything ceased for a moment. The hell just happened? Taking his chance, the Lieutenant poked his head out from behind his cover. The Covenant were trying to retreat? Sharply trained eyes quickly spotted Faith; her armor peeled off to allow emergency treatment to her injuries. No sign of the others. The position he had been forced to take was not optimal. Things must have gone south quick. A field marshal came into view, Isaac raised his rifle on sheer impulse, having just missed him before he got behind cover. Bastard.

"Captain! The Covies are retreating!" Just when he was about to climb down to assist his team from the ground floor more needles flew in his direction. That Elite just wouldn't quit. Two shattered off of his shield, weakening it considerably and throwing enough pink shards into the air to affect his vision momentarily, allowing the elite time to move and reload. Shaking his head, Isaac scanned his eyes, finding the bright pink needles pop anew from the deadly rifle. The two drew on one another simultaneously, Isaac being the one faster on the trigger. The needle rifle dropped as the elite flew back. The 50. caliber round pierced the Elite's shielding, the armor over his chest and destroyed it's insides.

With the immediate threat to his surveying neutralized, it became clear that with the aliens in retreat his spot was rendered useless. Isaac jumped down from his perch. Landing with a heavy clang the Spartan rolled with his momentum to avoid injury. From the ground 287 was able to pick off a few stragglers, including another Elite that had it's back to him. As the bullet went through the back of the Elite's helmet it dropped, a terrified looking marine who had been about to receive a fatal blow of his own was now sprayed with it's blue blood. Thankfully, the Elites stood a good feet or two taller than most humans. "You." Isaac called to him as he hurried past him, slinging his SRS-99 over his shoulder to pull out his sidearm. "With me." The soldier nodded slowly, gathering his wits and nerves before preparing his Assault Rifle.

"Sir, I'm on the move and I've got a marine with me. Where are the others?"
 
You must log in or register to reply here.
Top Bottom
Back