Garcon grunted, firing the DMR into the Zealot's skull, forcing it to the dried up dirt for eternity. He twisted around, slamming the barrel of the DMR into a Grunt's skull, flinging it a few yards with a bashed skull, blue and greenish blood spilling out. After sending the Grunt off to it's fate, he fired the rest of the clip onto the six incoming Grunts. They all fell at the deafening impact that slammed their necks and skulls.
"Damn Covenant." Garcon mumbled, pulling the trigger many times and met with multiple irritating single, brief sounds of click! that annoyed him truly to the bone. He dropped the DMR and pulled out the SRS-99 Sniper Rifle, narrowly dodging a weapon's blade that was in the claws of a Brute.
He aimed the barrel of the rifle at the Brute, pulling the trigger with an emotionless tick. The Brute's head turned into a purple mist, his body flopping over and slamming onto the dirt. The final Grunt screamed, "THAT WAS MY BEST FRIEND!" before firing the plasma pistol at the SPARTAN.
"Idiotic little nuisance." Garcon growled, shifting the rifle onto the Grunt.
The shot pierced the skies as the bullet slammed through the Grunt. He fell limp, balancing on the triangle casing of gases it had, laying in the dirt. Garcon dropped the SRS and took out the Magnum, firing it aimlessly at the second Brute. Two shots had grazed it's left arm, one had slammed through his left thigh and the last one had took off a nice chunk of his jaw. The Brute fell back with a scream of agony, firing the gun into the air.
"Fuck!" Garcon yelled, dodging an Energy Sword of a Zealot Elite. He stopped rolling, grabbing a small cylindrical purple knob, flicking it and forming into a plasma Energy Sword, a replica to the Zealot's before him.
The two were locked in a stalemate match. Whoever would collapse to exhaustion would prove the victor.
Parry.
Block.
Stab.
Block.
Parry.
Lunge.
Slash.
Hack.
Block.
Dodge.
Repeat.
This order of attacks, dodges, and blocks ran through the SPARTAN's mind, occasionally getting punched in the right part of the helmet. Courtesy to the Zealot. Eventually, Garcon had broken the cycle. Slashing the Zealot's left waist off and finishing him off with an impaling stab in the chest, and ripping it back out. The Zealot had fell, a pool of purple and blue blood filling around it's corpse in the dying dirt.
He turned around and slashed the Energy Sword diagonally across the chest of a mindless charging Elite, forcing it to the ground and grabbing and holding it's wounds in pathetic attempts to stop the pain. He looked at the final Zealot Elite, who was observing his ways of attacking and movements. Studying his every move like an open book to a bookworm.
Garcon wheezed and panted. Perhaps he should run away? No. This Zealot could make it back to his forces and even assist in massacring five or ten more innocent humans. He bent his knees and angled his arms, the Energy Sword starting to blink and sputter. It was at it's last knees for staying alive. He charged without a second breath, slashing at the Zealot who sidestepped to the right. Garcon ran the Energy Sword to the right in a quick swipe in an attempt to hit the Zealot.
The Zealot leaned back, narrowly avoiding the deadly attack that would've took his head if he didn't do his maneuver. The Zealot leaned back in and caught the jetpack of the SPARTAN, lifting him up and jamming the Energy Sword through his squirming body.
Garcon let out a scream, the Energy Shields reduced to an orange shield, briefly trying to reform, to no avail. It was just a useless orange ray of plasma and energy, sputtering and blinking around the SPARTAN. The Zealot laughed, twisting and turning the sword inside Garcon's chest. Finally, pulling it out delicately, he raised the SPARTAN higher and threw him aside, leaving him rolling in the dirt without an inch of life illuminating off his corpse.
Darkness was all Garcon could see. An Abyss of trillions of balls of gas sextillion miles away in varied colors. Was this death? Just, floating in an abyss that looked abruptly like a peaceful galaxy? Maybe this was his punishment for killing so much. Maybe this was his punishment for all the "sins" he committed. Solitary. Purgatory. Silence.
He held his chest, looking at the vertical slit with additional slashes and twists that damned sword caused.
"This.. is.. death..?" He looked back up in awe, looking at all the colorful stars that were seemingly advancing on him. He tilted his head. Wait, the balls of burning gas WERE advancing on him! The SPARTAN shook his head and took out his magnum, aiming it at the seemingly nonstopping approach of these burning balls of gas.
He fired a shot. The bullet slowly zoomed forward in a slow motion fashion. Soon enough, it began to start losing it's straight angle and began to spin and turn in multiple directions, phasing through the beautiful threat.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck." He alarmingly muttered, firing the whole clip until an irritable click! was heard, and the bottom of the clip shot out of the magnum.
The bullets did the same process as the first one. Some missing and some phasing through. He placed the magnum on the magnetic holster on his thigh. Garcon began to turn around and started to perform a swimming motion, trying to get away. He felt a burning sensation on his legs, and turned around to see these balls of burning gas attach to him.
He screamed, soon enough, the balls of burning gas attached to every visable speck on the armor, burning through and completely torching the defenseless SPARTAN. The last thing he saw before returning to a dark place was the technicolored balls of burning gases latching onto his visor, burning through and soon shredding through his face.
What kind of twisted nightmare is this?
Garcon woke up instantly, yelling briefly. He stopped, his bloodshot eyes scanning the area alarmingly. Not giving his surroundings a second to stay out of his vision. His.. body felt unusual. He looked down to see he had hooves and legs. His armor was next-to-identical to his human state's, but just modified to a.. four legged animal's body.
He screamed, placing the armored hooves on his helmet, which it's black visor was still there.
He sighed of relief, until hearing a familiar voice.
"HAHA! I FUCKIN' WON! FUCK YOU COVENANT!" The ecstatic voice yelled, stomping on three Sangheili corpses. Garcon raised an eyebrow. He turned around and slowly walked, getting used to these.. additions. He looked to his left and saw the Grunts he had managed to slay, and the Brutes next to them. He looked to his right and saw the two Zealots.
He looked to his chest and saw the rip and slashes the final Zealot had made to him, fatally ending his killing spree of Covenant.
"Didn't expect I would see the ones I killed before my demise." His accent, sounded like Jun's accent with a taint of Jorge's deep voice.
Emile looked over, "Another fuckin' SPARTAN? Jesus Christ, what the fuck happened to us?" He looked at himself, disgusted. Emile.. looked like his normal armor, modified to a pony, but had a horn sticking out. Garcon had felt his own helmet but felt no horn to his avail. He cleared his throat in a mannerly fashion.
"Brigadier Grade Two, Garcon-A172, SPARTAN III. You?" Garcon wanted to get the names down before they started anything about survival and knowledge.
Emile nodded, "Warrant Officer, Emile-A239, SPARTAN III. It's a pleasure." Emile looked behind Garcon.
"You killed those fuckers?" Emile asked. Garcon nodded. Emile had whistled, "You sure did a fuckin' number on'em, yeah?"
Garcon shrugged his shoulders, "I didn't get the last Zealot. Elite managed to impale me. He didn't stop there though. Kept tugging and turning the blade to make sure I felt the pain, before making sure I was dead and tossing me aside. I bled out a few seconds after." Garcon said, placing a hoof on the dents and slashes on his chestplate.
Emile growled, "Fuckin' Covies. I was about to save the Pillar of Autumn from demise against a Corvette. Three Elites, Zealot classed, jumped me." He smiled beyond his helmet, "Got'em though, at the cost of my own life. I just hope Six got the Pillar out of there."
"Six..? As in.. Noble.. Six..?" Garcon tilted his head, completely in confusion. Emile nodded, "Noble Squad. I believe all that's left of it is Six and maybe Jun. I don't know about Six or Jun.. But I can say we're all MIA or KIA."
"Hm. Well, I go by the 'Merciless Wrath' of Imperial SPARTAN Squad. I assume you are Emile, the Merciless Wrath of the Noble Squad?" Garcon questioned. Emile nodded again, "Wait, wait. Hold your fuckin' horses. Imperial SPARTAN Squad? That other Spartan group that assisted us before Thom's death?"
Garcon tilted his head, "Thom died? Fuck.. Who was the replacement of the first Six?"
"That lone wolf. The hyper, lethal vector. He was the replacement." Emile said.
"Well, saddle up, Emile. UNSC's Merciless Wraths are in a new world, and are on a quest for Covenant blood." Garcon folded his hooves, leaning against a tree.
"Something tells me that this'll be fun. Really. Really. Fun." Emile laughed darkly, pulling out his kukri and sharpening it on the giant shoulderplate, smiling gleefully at his hobby.
"I will tell you everything I know about my predicament and how I got here, Emile. Until then, give me a full story after Thom's death and up to your's." Garcon commanded, looking to the thick treeline.
Emile started to talk about everything leading up to almost all of Noble Squad's deaths and their missions and why this or that happened. He was about to get on about Carter's sacrifice so they could finish their mission, but Emile was interrupted with a gathering of six voices. Garcon quickly grabbed his SRS-99 with his hooves awkwardly, the SRS-99 was recolored differently. It was spraypainted black, cyan and red. The design was simple -- recolored it all black, ran a red streak across the gun and outlined the red streak with the cyan blue. He also carved 'HP:A172's' on the scope.
Garcon aimed it at the bushes.
"Get out before Head Popper here does what it's name says it does." He ordered, and stood before him as they walked out, were 6 colored ponies defensively, and fearfully staring at his visor. All except one, who was light pink on the body and vibrant pink on the mane and tail. She bursted up to Garcon.
"Ohmygosh! An alien! It's-so-cool-I-need-to-throw-it-a-party-and-make-sure-it-has-lots-of-cake-and-balloons-so-it-doesn't---" She was interrupted when he finally managed to pull the trigger. The bullet slammed into the grass before her, a few inches of dirt sprayed across her face. She jumped back, cowering behind the purple one who's horn was illuminating a purple hue.
She struggled to even lift Garcon an inch off the ground as he was surrounded in a purple circle. It popped and blinked momentarily before sputtering into nonexistance. She panted heavily, looking back up to see the barrel of the sniper pointed directly at her face.
Emile walked over, "Uh, A172. We've seemingly landed in a fuckin' house, but we're facing a fucking forest. There's also a fucking crowd of technicolor bullshit PONIES! DOESN'T THIS SEEM LIKE WE'VE JUST TOOK A MOTHERFUCKIN' HALLUCINOGENIC? WHERE THE FUCKING SHIT ARE WE, BRIGADIER?" Emile screamed at the top of his lungs, placing the kukri back on his shoulderpad and taking out his signature M45 Tactical Shotgun. He too, as well as awkwardly holding it with his hooves at the encircling crowd.
The cyan colored pony with a rainbow mane and tail yelled, "WHAT ARE THESE THINGS?!"
"..Fuck." Garcon said in a monotone voice, being forced by the crowd to be backed up into a corner of a destroyed house, being accompanied by Emile.