Here's a short story I wrote for an application for a job as a writer at 343. Let me know what you think!
The Forerunner collapsed, the facemask of his combat skin sprung open, and his stomach revolted at that line of thought. He inhaled deeply and immediately tried to stop, but it was too late. The smell was even stronger without the combat skin’s filtration. His stomach evacuated itself a second time, and the facemask snapped shut before he had a chance to breathe the rancid air a second time.
Only then did the Heavenstride hear it. The silence hung in the air thicker than the stench of the twice-dead strewn around him. Nothing stirred, not Forerunner, not Flood, not even the wind. Heavenstride stood and searched the horizons for anything that moved. He was it, the only one left on the battlefield. He holstered his energy lance. His entire squadron had been wiped out by the Flood. Tears sprang unbidden to Heavenstride’s eyes. Reality made itself apparent in the most painful way possible. Heavenstride was driven to his knees once again; he hadn’t felt this useless since he was a mere manipular, when he felt trapped in his own body.
Collapsing once again, Heavenstride’s mind wandered to a simpler time of his admittedly short life. His father, also a warrior-servant, was scheduled to return home from his rotation of guard duty on Capital, and Heavenstride was excited for his return. He had so much energy that his mother had demanded that he attempt to burn it off in the woods near his childhood home. The woods were deep and dark, but Heavenstride had grown used to them, and had explored a great majority of the area. The manipular raced through the trees, listened to the scaled animals that flitted and squawked their way through the canopy, and became lost in the majesty of something so much larger than he could comprehend. The beauty of the forest astounded him, the life teemed around him, and he truly felt as though he was part of it. This is paradise, he thought.
When the hour arrived that his father was scheduled to return, Heavenstride was reluctant to leave the safety of the forest. He would miss it; the warmth of the soil, the cries of the native fauna, the dappled shade of the trees, but something inside him knew that he had to meet with his father, if only to say hello. As he left the comfort of the trees, he somehow felt even more at peace, knowing he was going to be with his father soon. His father would know just what to say to put him at peace.
Heavenstride dashed through the portal of his home, now more ecstatic than ever to greet his father. He heard his voice in another room, and he followed it as quickly as he could. There! He saw his father and cried out to get his attention before embracing him. The adult warrior-servant turned and returned the embrace, warmth emanating from his body.
“Welcome home, child,” his father said. “There is no more death here. Now you will know peace.”
Heavenstride’s eyes snapped open. The words echoed through his head again.
Welcome home, child, his father intoned, but it was not his father’s voice. His father never returned from that trip, he was killed by radicals on Capital.
There is no more death here. The tone of the voice turned sinister, the pitch deeper.
Now you will know peace. The voice was even deeper still, so deep that it shook Heavenstride’s skull.
He quickly got to his feet and glanced around. There was movement to his left; one of his squad mates was also getting up. Heavenstride yelled out, and the other warrior-servant turned, revealing a mass of flesh growing out of his combat skin. Instinctively, Heavenstride drew his sidearm and vaporized the newborn Flood’s head.
KNOW PEACE, the voice in his head screamed.
It was a command, and Heavenstride was barely able to fight it off. He now knew what was happening. His eyes fell to his sidearm, where the Eld was engraved. The Mantle strictly forbids suicide, but it also required the preservation of all life. Heavenstride was stuck at an impasse imposed by his religion. He knew that as a Flood combat form, he would most likely inflict even more death on his own people.
NO MORE DEATH, the voice bellowed, apparently desperate.
Heavenstride removed his combat skin’s helmet, lifted the pistol to his temple, and pulled the trigger.
The Mantle
The scent of seared flesh has a strange way of permeating everything near it. Even the warrior-servant’s combat skin couldn’t filter out the odor. Energy blade and bolt alike ruptured the perverted husks of his fallen comrades, interspersed with the occasional shorter, slighter figure of a human. Any remaining bodily fluids, more likely poisoned bile than blood, were vaporized on contact and Heavenstride couldn’t help but realize that he was inhaling—
The Forerunner collapsed, the facemask of his combat skin sprung open, and his stomach revolted at that line of thought. He inhaled deeply and immediately tried to stop, but it was too late. The smell was even stronger without the combat skin’s filtration. His stomach evacuated itself a second time, and the facemask snapped shut before he had a chance to breathe the rancid air a second time.
Only then did the Heavenstride hear it. The silence hung in the air thicker than the stench of the twice-dead strewn around him. Nothing stirred, not Forerunner, not Flood, not even the wind. Heavenstride stood and searched the horizons for anything that moved. He was it, the only one left on the battlefield. He holstered his energy lance. His entire squadron had been wiped out by the Flood. Tears sprang unbidden to Heavenstride’s eyes. Reality made itself apparent in the most painful way possible. Heavenstride was driven to his knees once again; he hadn’t felt this useless since he was a mere manipular, when he felt trapped in his own body.
Collapsing once again, Heavenstride’s mind wandered to a simpler time of his admittedly short life. His father, also a warrior-servant, was scheduled to return home from his rotation of guard duty on Capital, and Heavenstride was excited for his return. He had so much energy that his mother had demanded that he attempt to burn it off in the woods near his childhood home. The woods were deep and dark, but Heavenstride had grown used to them, and had explored a great majority of the area. The manipular raced through the trees, listened to the scaled animals that flitted and squawked their way through the canopy, and became lost in the majesty of something so much larger than he could comprehend. The beauty of the forest astounded him, the life teemed around him, and he truly felt as though he was part of it. This is paradise, he thought.
When the hour arrived that his father was scheduled to return, Heavenstride was reluctant to leave the safety of the forest. He would miss it; the warmth of the soil, the cries of the native fauna, the dappled shade of the trees, but something inside him knew that he had to meet with his father, if only to say hello. As he left the comfort of the trees, he somehow felt even more at peace, knowing he was going to be with his father soon. His father would know just what to say to put him at peace.
Heavenstride dashed through the portal of his home, now more ecstatic than ever to greet his father. He heard his voice in another room, and he followed it as quickly as he could. There! He saw his father and cried out to get his attention before embracing him. The adult warrior-servant turned and returned the embrace, warmth emanating from his body.
“Welcome home, child,” his father said. “There is no more death here. Now you will know peace.”
Heavenstride’s eyes snapped open. The words echoed through his head again.
Welcome home, child, his father intoned, but it was not his father’s voice. His father never returned from that trip, he was killed by radicals on Capital.
There is no more death here. The tone of the voice turned sinister, the pitch deeper.
Now you will know peace. The voice was even deeper still, so deep that it shook Heavenstride’s skull.
He quickly got to his feet and glanced around. There was movement to his left; one of his squad mates was also getting up. Heavenstride yelled out, and the other warrior-servant turned, revealing a mass of flesh growing out of his combat skin. Instinctively, Heavenstride drew his sidearm and vaporized the newborn Flood’s head.
KNOW PEACE, the voice in his head screamed.
It was a command, and Heavenstride was barely able to fight it off. He now knew what was happening. His eyes fell to his sidearm, where the Eld was engraved. The Mantle strictly forbids suicide, but it also required the preservation of all life. Heavenstride was stuck at an impasse imposed by his religion. He knew that as a Flood combat form, he would most likely inflict even more death on his own people.
NO MORE DEATH, the voice bellowed, apparently desperate.
Heavenstride removed his combat skin’s helmet, lifted the pistol to his temple, and pulled the trigger.
