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Scott was on him fast, pummeling the inverted torso of the Elite, his fist rabbit punched into the neck and face of the Elite until he finally drew back a purple gore covered gauntlet. Scott looked for his broken weapon, it would do him no good, and it was then that he realized he still heard the guttural alien tongue speaking. "Translate." He commanded, but found no answers from his suit's infiltration software. It was then that he saw the silver armored elite descending from the dais, its plasma sword ignited. On his armor intricate designs wove around him, glittering a purple veins that flowed to his crown like head piece. The alien eyed him as its slow menacing steps led it down to the level of the room.
The silver Elite was trailed by one hunter, walking with a slow limp dragging an orange crusted leg behind its massive girth. Scott eyed the situation; the hunter was charging his fuel rod gun, Scott had no weaponry to take the juggernaut on and even hindered by its hurt leg, he wouldn't be fool enough to fight the hunter in hand to hand. His knife was hilt deep in another corpse outside, his sniper rifle in the hands of Colin, his pistol molten steel, and his assault rifle cut cleanly in half, no grenades, his options raced through his mind.
Scott quickly rolled to the ground and snatched the silver hilt of the plasma sword, fumbling with it as he sprung from his crouch towards the Elite and Hunter. The Elite expected him to him to ignite the sword in time. It was barely two seconds before he had closed in on the pair and still hadn't figured out how to ignite the sword, the hunter's fuel rod gun glowed a neon green fully charged, but it was wary to fire it. Scott snapped his wrists upward and the hilt flew from his hand towards the Elite catching it in the face. Disoriented its arm flew out of the prone ready position, the blade was up and would have no time to come back down on him as he closed. The hunter stepped to the side, clearly wishing to engage him.
Scott turned the Elite and placed his leg in the crook of its knee, his hands raced to the arm of the creature and wrapped it around his own, the Elite was off balanced, and Scott slammed his helmet into the alien's head. The shield failed, the cracking of jaw bones could be heard, and the hand holding the plasma sword went limp dropping the ignited blade. He released the alien grabbing the blade before it hit the ground, the hilt was expanded now, hidden switches that required an alien grasp to manipulate, no wonder it was so difficult to wield. The blade refused to bend near his body; it always held a plane exactly with his forearm to make a deadly extension of his hand.
The hunter was surprised by the SPARTAN, but never expected to see its commanding officer flying backwards bleeding profusely from its face, and the human rushing at it with a lit plasma sword ready. The fuel rod gun fired but went wide exploding in a green flare against the links of blue wall; the Hunter knew it would join its battle brother soon. Scott leapt on the beast and pushed the plasma blade through its face, letting the orange flesh tear and sear around the alien weapon, his sword of fire. "Alight with vengeance..." he heard in his helmet in a rough horrid voice.
Time was slow, life was slow, he way dying inside, angry, hating himself, full of fury. The bodies slid to the floor, he killed the Elite, cutting its head from his body. The voice droned, his vision was blurry but he could feel he could see his goal clearly. Scott followed the voice, followed the blue stairs under the arching metal triad to the top of the dais. Behind the dancing lights of the projectors sat the robed figure, speaking, chanting in an alien tongue. Its black eyes watched him as he ascended to its level, hidden beneath robes of gold and red, the chanting he could hear still, "squelch comms." He ordered his suit again, there must have been a malfunction, and must have been an explanation. "You have killed our saint..." the voice echoed, and Scott let the blade hesitate for a moment, as the alien watched him commanding, praying, and chanting in some unknown voice.
Scott let the blade disengage from his hands; it turned off before it hit the ground. Something told him he could breathe, he wanted out of the suit, he waned to be free. He had wasted his life in a fruitless pursuit. He was blight upon the universe; he existed only to destroy, to burn, to wreak havoc upon all of creation. That was when he heard the tone in his helmet and saw the acknowledgement light of communications gear "malfunction cleared, communications deactivated." Scott picked up the alien plasma sword and reactivated its blade. There was no moment of pity this time as he raised the sword and let it fall upon the alien. His HUD was filled with winking warning lights, communiqués from the rest of the SPARTANS.
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