Inferno

There was no thought to it anymore, just memories, muscle and otherwise.
He twisted under the jab, the white hot blade of the energy dagger whizzing overhead as he plunged the knife deep into the Sangheili’s torso and yanked it sideways. Purple blood sprayed outwards as he pulled the blade free through the alien’s abdomen, leaving its stomach cut wide open. 
Kicking away the howling warrior Callum sidestepped to avoid impalement on the prongs of an energy sword. Retaliating with a savage chop he painted the gray walls of the ONI facility a purple hue with the alien blood.
But all Callum could see was red.
At the end of the hall he saw it, the same one from Reach, sword ablaze, mandibles agape in shock as the Spartan carved through his warriors. He didn’t know it was him yet, but he would, Callum would make him remember.
He remembered Dan’s words, how he warned him that all of his hatred would one day burn him, but that day had come and gone, and now he was an inferno. Another elite fell as the Spartan exchanged one blade for his shotgun, the weapon thundering almost as loud as the screams echoing in his mind.
He heard Marcella screaming as her arms were burned away, and Abdul as his cries for vengeance went silent in an instant. He heard Detrick scream for him to run. Another blast drowned out the noise taking a chunk out of an elite’s leg, which Callum followed up by smashing it’s head with the butt of the weapon, a wet crunch following as the alien’s skull was pulverized between the nearby wall and Callum’s crushing blow.
As he pumped the shotgun, he smiled, the look of bewilderment in his prey’s eyes as it stared him down. The jaws etched into his visor looked as if they had just bitten into the neck of one of the warriors underlings, their blood dripping down the carving as he charged forward leaving nothing but death in his wake.
Tomas had been defiant, quoted some movie before the monster the end of the hall took him and cut him apart. Abigail had yelped in surprise when she’d been run through, just like the elite that stepped in his way did when two successive blasts left it with a gaping hole in its chest. Dan had sworn, cursed feverishly as he danced around the blade, only to let out one final expletive when he was eviscerated. Tanya had yelped in pain as she lost her arm, and quickly fell silent when it took her head.
Callum could’ve saved them, but he’d been stupid. 
Erik roared like a lion before he fell, battering the elite with whatever he could find before a swipe of a blade cut his throat. And Hastings, Hastings hadn’t said much of anything, he just sprinted in and attacked the monster. He tackled it off of Callum, stopped it from finishing him, no witty remark, no taunts, just silence, and then he too was gone.
It was all his fault, even if it wasn’t he refused to not blame himself for them, all of them, Bravo and Feudal. He had failed them when they lived, but he would not fail their ghosts. He fired again, and again, quickly sliding the weapon back onto his back as it ran dry and once again he drew his blades.
The one at the end of the hall, the zealot who’d killed Feudal, a leader in the race that had robbed him of Bravo, of Beta, of his parents, of his home, stepped forwards. It barked something in its alien tongue, and suddenly its underlings retreated.
There was something different in the way it looked at him now; it twisted its mandibles into a smile as its eyes gleamed in recognition. It knew who he was, it knew why he was here, and it laughed at him. 
Beneath his helmet he gritted his teeth, his eyes glaring at the elite with bottomless anger. How dare it laugh at him? Perhaps it saw this as a hunt, saw Callum as just game to be killed and mounted on a wall. Callum would show it how grave a mistake it was making.
Gently he sheathed the knife and reached into one of the pouches on his armor, slowly beginning to circle the zealot as it began to do so to him. He thought of saying something, of declaring his vengeance or some other stereotypical bullshit, but he was far too enraged to speak in any civilized manner. 
From the pouch he pulled a small injector, and popped the cap. For a moment he stopped, he ceased his circling, as did the zealot. This was all he’d wanted since Reach, and here on Earth his wish had been granted, another chance. Looking down at the gleaming needle he wondered if this was what they wanted. His mind flashed to TORPEDO as he crawled through the sand, and to Reach as he’d staggered through the burning streets, and for the smallest instant he swore he could hear their voices, he could hear Bravo cheering when he’d won his first fight, he could hear Feudal laughing over a meal after a successful op, he could almost feel them there with him. Then, it was all clear to him.
He slammed the injector into his veins and let the rumbledrugs flood his bloodstream, in an instant the additional augmentations to his brain kicked in, he snapped the point-defense gauntlets to life and whipped back out the combat knife, he roared like a rabid animal, and he charged the son of a bitch.
Category:The Weekly