Seven: Despair's Quickening
The Ecumenical Council kept word of it suppressed, but the Flood spread. And it spread, and spread, and spread. World after world fell, and Precursor artifacts started coming alive in the heart of Flood-controlled territory, now called "Burns". The Fleet had only encountered the artifacts twice so far, star roads both times, but John had been able to "see" the Gravemind manipulating them, like the strings of a marionette. He had waited until the last minute, then reached out and "snipped" the "strings", took control of them himself and redirected the artifacts for just long enough for the Fleet and the others with it to escape.
Even so, it grew more and more difficult. It felt like a shadow of the Flood was spreading through the fabric of space-time itself, making Slipspace grow dark and strange, difficult to traverse - nearly impossible for Forerunner ships if they outpaced the Fleet or fell behind. In the same way that they were able to redirect the Precursor artifacts, it seemed that whatever that darkness was, they were immune to it, projected a field of some sort that nullified the Flood's influence.
But that didn't mean they were entirely immune.
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'How the fuck are you still alive?'
[Training. Quiet.]
John ignored the rest of his Infected's whispers, focusing on blending in, smoothing his mental presence to almost nothing. It wasn't exactly something he'd had experience with, but drawing on his training, the sniper's stillness that Linda had mastered better than any other, gave him something like it, something to work with.
This wasn't the first time he'd been trapped behind enemy lines, but this was probably the most perilous of all time. The Gravemind knew he was here, somewhere on the planet, but not specifically where, and it was hunting him. His own Flood presence was writhing in his mental grip, desperately trying to escape, trying to reveal him to the enemy Gravemind, spitting and snarling. The rest of the Fleet was helping keep it chained up, but it was fighting hard, spitting the foulest curses and threats against them and everything they loved.
The Gultanr at least did not heed it. Their people were long gone, long safe.
Qe'rid and another of the Tuavan, Qi'krith, communicated without words, just images - Knife in the Dark was coming to get him, but to avoid the attention of the Gravemind, it had dropped out of Slipspace well away from the star system. On impulse engines, it would take five days to reach him, but once he was on board, the ship could do an emergency jump away on a randomized vector a la the Cole Protocol. John acknowledged, also without words, and kept walking.
He was high in the mountains in the far north of the planet, relying on the extreme cold to keep most of the Flood away, though he could sense pursuit behind him, closer than he liked. He could feel the icy chill even through his armor as he trudged through the snow, but it was doing its job - for as long as it could, anyway. The atmosphere was changing rapidly, spore mountains spewing huge clouds of particles into the sky. He didn't know how much longer the thin protection of this planet's Arctic would last.
The Spartan stilled when the Gravemind's awareness swept past again. Where are you, brave little warrior? Your defiance amuses me; I shall enjoy adding you to the whole. I will make you stronger, better - join your voice with mine, and sing victory everlasting…
When it moved on, he did the same, but he also noticed something odd about the snow up on the slope on the sides of the valley ahead. [Déjà.]
'Scanning.' After a moment, the ancilla came back with, 'The snowpack has several weak layers, likely due to the Flood incursion. The atmospheric changes initially caused a slight melting, but subsequent alterations have resulted in higher accumulations faster than usual.'
[Show me.]
She laid a map on his HUD, and he broke away from the center line towards one side of the valley. The ascent was nearly sheer, but he did it anyway, zigzagging up the cliff face. The Flood was good at jumping, not climbing, but this was a leap not even they could make. The combat forms followed far below.
John dispensed with stealth for the moment and activated one of his plasma swords, changing the color to a deep violet. As a result, the blade was so hot that it didn't even need to make contact with the snow to sublimate it, concealing him in gouts of steam, but he kept the tips of the sword lowered anyway as he started sprinting along the plane.
'Spartan…?'
[Quiet.]
He was almost halfway across when he heard the first cracks start, and he picked up the pace, starting to angle up and away from the better part of the snowpack towards a ridge of stone dividing this valley from the next.
He scrambled up onto the rock just in time. There was a deafening whump behind him that rose to a roar, and he turned to see what seemed like half the mountain sliding away down the valley. As if to add insult to injury, the seismic shifts the massive avalanche caused set off another one from the other side of the valley, sending a tsunami of snow rolling down the slopes, burying the army of Flood that had been coming up behind him.
The Gravemind shrieked somewhere in the distance. John allowed himself a short laugh, then scrambled over the ridge into the next valley.
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In a matter of hours, the weather turned to a whiteout, doubtless a result of the Gravemind's rage. John wasn't too worried; it had been focused on pursuing him rather than fanning out to search the area manually - a little bit of laziness from it that he hadn't expected but took full advantage of. It would take it hours more, maybe even days to get troops back in the area to search for him, but even Forerunner ships couldn't fly in this weather and the combat forms would only last for so much time with their breached armor.
But even with his armor and its warming, the cold cut through to the bone. [Team, better insulation in the future. Déjà, how deep is this?]
'Six meters.'
[Any weakness?]
'Likelihood of avalanche is three percent.]
[Good enough.]
John started to dig. Despite the snow continuing to pile itself upon him and the wind shrieking around him, he was able to make a trench with roughly his dimensions, and then proceeded to bury himself in it.
Now that he was out of the wind (save for an air hole for circulation), it was much warmer, and with his armor's life support and the snacks he carried, he would be able to survive long enough for the Fleet to reach him.
He hoped.
The Flood would come, sure as death. But whether it would find him… that was another story.
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The vision struck without warning, same as the last one.
Halo.
The first Array, the full complement of twelve was all together in one place. But they were splitting up into two groups. Seven of the rings were still lined up, one after the other, but five of them had separated, formed a pentagram in space, their background a terrible black emptiness, as if all the stars directly behind them had been snuffed out. Energy was building at the center of each of the rings – they were preparing to fire all at once –
Then, voices that weren't voices, ancient and alien: The enemy is almost upon you. Closing in from all sides, moving faster than the light it snuffs with its passage; time echoes with the news of destruction. History winding back upon itself. Waves of an army march your way in unison; suffering and corruption are its battle cries.
Wake up, Spartan.
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Where are you, little warrior? I have something for you.
John opened his eyes but maintained his silence.
Won't you come and see?
Bit by bit he inched free of his trench.
The valley - what was left of it - was carpeted in Flood. The Gravemind seemed to be keeping them warm by sheer active volume, raising the local temperature by several degrees. But there was something…
[Déjà, give me something with a scope.]
She pulled the data and energy from his armor and materialized a binary rifle out of golden flakes of hard light. He squinted through the scope.
The Flood had found survivors. Just three, an adult and two children from the looks of it, as yet uninfected, but it made him freeze.
A hostage situation. He hated hostage situations.
The Gravemind wasn't fast enough to pinpoint his location, but it sensed the brief disturbance of his calm. Now you see. Come and get them, if you dare.
John didn't need Déjà to run the numbers for him. The odds of successfully retrieving all three of them before the Flood could take them and snap the trap shut around him were miniscule at best. The odds of them all surviving to see extraction were even smaller.
'Chief-!'
[Quiet.]
He pushed himself up out of the trench and moved along the ridge, looking back occasionally to check his position. The Gravemind seemed to sense him moving away, because it rumbled, Where are you going, little warrior? You have no way of escaping me, and no way of rescuing them if you run. There is no realm, no barren moon where I will not find you in the end. This-
While he wasn't Linda, John was still a Spartan.
The first shot caught both Manipulars at once, one through the head, the other through the torso, and their bodies dissolved into flakes of hard light. The Flood shrieked, momentarily stunned - clearly the Gravemind had not had his full measure, had not expected him to fire on the hostages - but whoever they were, the remaining Forerunner was either without hope or without fear. They took advantage of the momentary disruption, but instead fleeing, trying to hide from him or the Flood, the Forerunner ran towards him, arms outstretched.
A bigger target.
John shot them through the upper torso with the second round. There was the briefest transmission on all open channels - "Thank you" - before the Forerunner fell back, already disappearing.
But he had given away his position, and now the Gravemind took advantage, roaring and flinging combat forms after him. John threw down the rifle, turned, and ran.
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By the time Knife in the Dark arrived, the planet was completely overrun, and the enemy Gravemind had put the planetary defense grid on high alert for anyone who would try to extract him, ready to fire on a moment's notice. John could have transferred his consciousness away at any time and just left this body behind, but it seemed to understand that he had some sentimental attachment to this one – his first body, his native form.
'Well shit.'
[Abort extraction and bring in Ring of Winter.]
'Spartan-'
[Do it.]
Nethalia read the path of his thoughts and nearly hissed,'I cannot in good conscience order an orbital bombardment on your position. You are the heart of us-'
[And this is only flesh, with our nature easily repaired and reformed. It has served its purpose, and now it will serve to lure this Gravemind into a trap, letting us destroy it and weaken its hold on this sector. The rest of the galaxy cannot wait for us to fight our way through. Now, abort extraction and bring in Ring of Winter.]
'…As you command.'