259 scoured the lumps of dead heaps on the ground; kicking the bodies over one at a time; rolling Kig-Yar and Unngoy. Their bodies flapping; Kig-Yar's weren't particularity formidable enemies unless in groups of sniper teams with either focus rifles. The MJLONIR armor and it its energized shielding could a some sustained fire from the one of the jackal's favorite weapons:
The Type-52 Special Application Rifle or fire teams of Kigs with Type-31 Needle Rifles. When Raegan had caught up with 259, the Spartan--now without his protective helm revealing his well-groomed back coarse hair; dark complexion revealing a plethora of scars but it was his eyes; remorseless, cold-distant that seemed to perpetrate the sense of daunting dread when facing him. Eyes, which even behind a visor could be felt on locking on to you. In his left hand however, was an almost dreadful sight. Almost.
It was about a foot-and-a-half long. Though by most standards, it would normally be considered a short sword and not an actual 'knife', the Headhunters had very...unique weapons.
Their combat knives were more like 'machetes'. He held it back handed and as he stalked the corridors, stepping by the fallen bodies both human and covenant. The red and purple blood coursed like rivers, deep enough that when the Goliath set his metal foot down, even in the softest manner, it splashed as though a mere puddle water. It swirled together forming some kind of magenta hue or mauve. The blade wasn't serrated as some knives were known to. Those teeth like protrusions that made a blade more saw like. No this blade was long and smooth. Keener than any edge out there.
Yet, despite its well-polished surface, one that gleaned with haunting effect, it was scarred just as heavily as he was. Scrapes and scratches; gauges and what looked like something having raked talons against its surface--or fingernails. 259 moved slowly, eyes scanning in saccadic movements like they were reading a book. With each step, he seemed to send out a death knell. Whist hunting, h began uttering something very…it was like he were taking out his thoughts. Some would be puzzling. Others, would be even more questionable.
"Who oh who want to be my next trophy, hmm? " 259 inquired. "I got a nice new suit I need to break in."
That's when the Headhunter stopped. He'd found what he'd wanted, what he was looking for. Most Spartans only killed when ordered to 259 on the other hand, looked for excuses; excuses for extremely violent behavior. Rather the UNSC liked it or not, it wasn't that hard to find one. Perhaps being extremely intelligent was their own undoing. He was simply using the tools they had given him.
A blue Elite Minor struggled to crawl its way to a Covenant Carbine, purple blood oozing from several bullet wounds. It was heaving breaths, on its last legs but its religious fervor was spellbinding; it was captivating how fanatical these beings were. How much their zeal carried them. In a way, 259 admired them. With his knife gleaming, 259 advanced just as the Elite grabbed the rifle and turned to aim.
259 immediately responded, kicking the weapon upwards and sending it crashing down the hall along with the alien's helmet. Now its true face was revealed. He then slammed his foot down on the creature's chest causing it to howl in agony. It gave 259 satisfaction enough that the slightest twinge of his lips produced a slight smirk. It was a sadistic simper, one made by a person that enjoyed ripping the wings off insects and watching them crawl and writhe whilst being eaten alive.
"You my friend have earned quite the honoring job." The Spartan said with no emotion, just a tensing of his leg which made his massive metal foot grind just that much more into one of the bullet wounds.
"You get to be my next trophy." 259 flipped the knife in hand with great finesse pointing the gleaming razor sharp edge towards the Sangheili. The Alien garbled, spewing insults in its native tongue while blood dripped between its split jaws.
"I'm glad you asked;" 259 responded. "I used to look of myself and try and find someone else, someone who's willing to die as to watch you crying for help. But bullets tend to strip a man of reason. I know that blood will be spilled and if you won't then I will; my grave will never be filled it's either kill or be killed. So let heaven be told that some may come some may go. Where I'll end up I don't know but I'm not dying alone."
He lifted up his free hand, fingers bent slightly as though holding something. "So tell me Sangheili, am I a man or a beast? Is this Mother Nature at least? You're about to watch as my humanity cease to be, because after all its our human 'disease'." 259 remarked before viciously bringing his left forwards to trample the Sangheili's right arm. Its forearm was crushed; its hand now flapping like a snapped limb on a tree. He then knelt down sharply, driving his right knee down on the Elites left bicep breaking it as well.
"This might hurt a little." He said, while gripping the Elites throat he began to saw through tough muscle and bone. The alien twitched, spasamed and convulsed. Gurgled screams were noticeably more pronounced after it had gone silent. Standing up, he gripped the Sangheili head; blood dripping from the knife and his fingers as well...
"I guess I am a devil..."
***Finished***
