//------------------------------//
// Emile VS The Magic Of Friendship: Haunted Pasts and Failure Lasts  
// Story: Prophecy of the Six - Earlier Than Expected 
// by Wolfram Alpha 
//------------------------------//

Nightmares

Now that was something Emile was familiar with. Isolated nightmares are normal; waking up once in a while from a bad dream is expected, and some physicians argue that it is healthy for the victim; even going as far as saying that a few nightmares might help in working through traumatic events. 

Of course, this wasn't the case for our deadly SPARTAN. He was haunted with recurring nightmares; often it left him with severe anxiety and a feeling of strong terror afterwards. He was practically border-lining a mental condition called Nightmare Disorder. He keeps his emotions in check constantly, but that doesn't change anything. No one knows of this, no one must ever know, and he was thankful that Carter wasn't willing to pry in on what was bothering him when he found out.

Closure was what he needed; a way to move on. But, as fate would it, the closest he could ever get to closure is denial. He refuses to come forward for help; he believes there are others who are in more need of help than he does. As a means of coping, he denies that particular memory had happened. He buries himself in his work; he wanted to forget, to never again continue to feel the pain that ate away at him everyday. He had denied it for so long, he wholeheartedly believes that denial was the only way he could ever move on; to finally have some form of peace within his soul. 

He pretends to be okay, for the sake of everyone around him. Like he said, there are others who were more deserving of help. He did not need anyone's pity; not from a psychiatrist, not from his friends, and certainly not from the ponies either. He will cope, he will find a way, and he will move on, just like everyone else has. Like Carter said:

"Just remember. If you want to move on, you gotta let go of the past first."

Letting go. That was the magic word. Emile knew how to let go. It's just that "knowing" how to let go is a lot harder than actually doing it. It's like he has a pure inability in doing so. 

His fears, his worries, his memories; all were bundled up and multiplied by ten whenever he sleeps. There were a lot of things that fueled his nightmares; the death of his friends, the death of him, a Covenant victory. And yet, they paled in comparison to the one memory; the one that brought him an unimaginable amount of regret and sadness. The longer he dwelled in his past, the more painful it became. It was like his mental state was ready to give; Emile had been carrying that heavy load in his heart for far too long. His nightmare forced him to relive the awful, most devastating moment of his life, and it was completely all his fault.

His nightmare, was a failed promise.





Emile jolted awake. The sheer suddenness of waking up disoriented him; his vision was blurry and all he could hear was a persistent ringing noise in his ears. His nose detected a faint smell of smoke, and his entire body was wracked in pain. From what he could feel around him, he was sitting down on a seat. On a pilot seat, to be exact.

His hands fell on a control panel in front of him. He grunted in pain as he moved; instinctively, he put his hands on his sides, seemingly the source of his misery.

The blurriness went away, but the ringing had not. He looked around; albeit with small difficulty. Despite the small haziness, he was able to discern small details. He was currently in a crashed Pelican. Exposed wire stuck out in every direction, dangerously sparking from time to time. Looking back, Emile spotted a giant, gaping hole where the ship's left wing should be. Parts and debris were scattered everywhere; it was a mess.

The ringing in his ears persisted; this time, Emile began to grow irritated of its presence.

"Can't... hear... shit."

He attempted to get up, but he did it too suddenly, leading him to clutch his side as pain shot throughout him.

"Fuck! Need... to... get up!"

He attempted it again, but found himself unable to due to the pain. Sitting back down, he put the hand he was clutching his side with to his face. It was covered in blood.

"Need... a medkit."

He looked around again, searching for a medkit to use on himself. It didn't help that he felt woozy, but he managed. Turns out, there was already one in front of him.

He grabbed the medkit on the controls and popped open the lid. He grabbed the biofoam from the kit . Aiming the nozzle at his injured side, he sprayed the substance unto the wound.

True to many people's word, the stuff was extremely painful to put on. It was like a thousand fire ants were crawling inside, biting at every bit of exposed flesh on him. He squirmed in place as the foam's numbing effects quickly took action. It felt like a bitch, but with every passing second, Emile began to breathe easier.

As the blurriness and the ringing went away, his mind began to process the events happening around him.

"I was... commandeering a Pelican. Then I crashed."

He tried to remember anything else before the crash, and he was met with a painful headache.

"Great. I got amnesia. Dammit..."

He holstered the biofoam in in one of his extra pouches, just in case he needed it again in the future. As his strength returned, he got up and grabbed a pistol from the floor. He pushed a button on the control, opening the Pelican's back hatch. 

"At least that's still working."

As it slowly opened, he analyzed his surroundings, and he was presented with a familiar eerie sight.

Oh, this sight was far too familiar for Emile's liking.

"L-Luxor? But... Eridanus was glassed years ago! This can't be!"

He was frozen in place, surveying his current environment. Apparently, he was in his home city. It was in shambles; everywhere there was smoke, fire and destroyed buildings as far as the eye could see. It was like the entire city was set alight, burning brightly and with vigor. It was almost beautiful, in a way, like it was a piece of art, should one not count the debris and the dead.

Emile was astounded to say the least. The city looked exactly like the way he left it all those years ago, when he was but a child. And by the looks of it, it hadn't changed one bit.

He made his way out, and then began to travel along the deserted streets with no sense of direction. He could hear the sounds of distant gunfire, but other than that, he was alone. Bodies; both Covenant and human, littered the ground. He gave the Covenant corpses nothing but a look of contempt; they were monsters, they always have been, and they should be treated as such.

His HUD began to fill with static; none of his usual indicators were showing. He slapped the upside of his helmet; hopefully returning his HUD to its normal working state. First, the ammo indicator for his pistol slowly came to view; followed by his shield indicator, health indicator, grenade indicator and motion sensor. Emile began to breathe easier, knowing his motion sensor did not pick up any enemies; his pistol only had two clips to begin with.

Suddenly, another component of his HUD came to life. It was a friendly indicator; usually it shows when a friendly tag is nearby. It pointed to the east, and to say Emile was surprised was an understatement. The tag not only gave Emile the rough location of a friendly, it gave him a little hope.

B-312

"That's Six's tag!" he thought.

Emile ran to the tag's location, overjoyed beyond belief. For all he knew, Six was the only remaining SPARTAN alive in Noble Team. He pushed himself to run as fast as he can; an impossible grin plastered on his face. He practically flew past the wrecked vehicles and even more bodies, but he did not care. He was too preoccupied on seeing a familiar face once more.

He rounded a corner, and found himself standing in front of an entrance to a park. Six's tag has not yet moved into a different location, meaning he must've been hunkered down somewhere in there.

"Gotta be careful. Park's an open space; easy to get surrounded in."

He replaced his happy demeanor for a cautious one. One wrong move, and he may find himself in a trap. He aimed his pistol in front of him, and slowly he walked down the set path of the park. It had rows of rows of pine trees. It was a lush environment; a peaceful one, but now all of it just stood there; barren, burnt or both. Either way, it gave Emile the creeps; the destroyed trees seemingly gave off an aura of discomfort.

As he walked towards Six's position, he'd check over his shoulders; just to check if something was behind. He grew more paranoid for every second that passed; the trees looked more sinister, the air grew colder, the shadows grew longer. It wasn't night, but it might as well be with the dark clouds overhead, blocking most of the sunlight. He had a lingering feeling of fear on the back of his head, but he dispelled it. His duty as a soldier and to the remainder of his team overcame his needless paranoia. Still, he kept his guard, mindful that this place was potentially dangerous. Wherever the Covenant went, death followed them very closely. 

What intrigued Emile at this point was the casualties the Covenant sustained while he made his way to Six. As he approached the center of the park - in which he assumed was Six's position - the number of dead alien bodies grew. There were even a few wrecked Wraiths lying around. Wherever Six was, he must have had some crazy firepower or at least some form of support with him. 

If that was the case, then why were there no human vehicles, or even human bodies to begin with? Not that he was a pessimist, but to have no casualties in a skirmish with the Covenant was unheard of.

He finally reached his destination; the center of the park. As the trees cleared, his eyes widened in surprise.

It was a massacre; scores of dead aliens littered the open field. Elites, Grunts, Jackals and even a few Hunters lay there, devoid of any life. Dumbstruck, Emile walked past these corpses; examining them down to the last detail as he passed by. Whoever did this, they did it with frightening amount of brutality and efficiency. Some had stab wounds; it was obvious that they were killed swiftly. Some had long, deep gashes that ran across their bodies; their innards spilled unto the open ground. Some of the corpses weren't even in one piece at all; they were chopped up like they were placed in a blender. On one occasion, Emile knelt next to a dead Elite Zealot. It lied with its face down on the ground; the pool of blood underneath him had already dried up, hinting this one had been dead for a while. Its head was also completely severed; it was lying a few meters away from the body. A clean cut, by the looks of it.

In the middle of it all stood a Covenant Anti-Air Gun, destroyed beyond recognition. It looked like had been forcefully ripped in half; the main gun had fallen off the the foundation and laid uselessly on the ground.

Emile eyed every single detail of his surroundings; undoubtedly awestruck at the spectacle. It was nothing short of a massacre. Once again, he failed to find any human corpses lying around. Emile racked his brain for an explanation, but none came to mind; or rather, no reasonable one did. 

There weren't any explosives residue on the ground, other than the decrepit AA gun's immediate area, ruling out the possibility that this place was bombarded with explosives to kill them. Besides, all the wounds the dead had suffered were made by a melee weapon of sorts, but that just made it more confusing. The only weapon capable of doing such damage to the body was an Energy Sword, but it was even more unlikely that the Covenant would turn on their own. Plus, even if the Covenant did fight each other, then why did they all suffer wounds from a melee weapon? Surely a Grunt or a Jackal would have used their plasma weapons, and Emile wasn't even sure a Hunter would even consider wielding a melee weapon; they already have that big shield that they carry around. That thing would crush you, not inflict deep slash wounds.

All points suggested that one figure did this, on his own, and probably with a melee weapon of sorts. But that was ridiculous, one man cannot possibly hope to counter such a force; with a only melee weapon no less. Emile wasn't even certain that a SPARTAN could do this. They were war machines, yes, but even they had their own limits; as powerful as they were.

Unless...

He was so caught up in the bodies, he didn't even notice that he had already reached his destination. His HUD displayed that Six's tag was right in front of him, yet the SPARTAN himself was nowhere to be found. His realization was delayed, and now he wished he didn't find this tag in the first place.

His held his breath; preparing himself for what was to come. He begged - pleaded even - that it wasn't true. He wanted to deny it, but the facts were right there. He forced himself to look down to his feet, where his tag indicator pointed towards.

He was greeted with the sight of an empty assault rifle, some dogtags, and an empty, broken helmet; belonging to none other than Noble Six.

Emile sank to his knees, and sighed in defeat. He stared at the helmet blankly; the helmet stared back. He wasn't particularly sad, or mournful, or even angry. He was just... tired. He was tired of fighting, he was tired of running, he was tired of seeing his friends disappear, never to be seen again. He considered his friends - Carter, Kat, Jun, Jorge, Six and even Thom - the original Noble Six, all of them were his brothers and sisters. They were family to him. They were all he had left when the Covenant took away everything he held dear when he was a child. Seeing them die, just like that... it can really take its toll, even to someone as broken as Emile.

He wanted to be sure. He grabbed the empty helmet and grabbed its memory chip; found at the back. Taking out his own memory chip, Emile inserted Six's chip into his helmet; intent on seeing Six's last moment in life. Did he die a quick, meaningless death, like Kat did? Or did he sacrifice himself for the greater good, similar to Jorge and Carter before him? Did he live? Was he still alive? He needed to know.

Once the memory chip had synced with his helmet, Emile searched the video archives for anything recent. Everything a human soldier sees is recorded; a method implemented by ONI as a means to retrieve and collect data from the battlefield when a soldier is debriefed from a mission. So, it was a surprise for Emile to find that there was only one recording in the archive. He asked himself if he truly wanted to see his friend's fate, before proceeding and pressing play.

The video started off quite normally. Six was piloting a Hornet, along with two marine gunners. Emile could see other squadrons composed of Hornets and Pelicans flying with Six. Everything seemed to be going smoothly.

Then Six reached for something. Some shuffling noises could be heard in the background. The shuffling noises ended, and Six held up whatever he was looking for and put to his face; examining the objects in his hands. It was all five of his team's dogtags, including Emile's. He seemed to be staring at them wistfully; he hadn't uttered a single word yet since the start. With a heavy sigh, he put the tags away, and once again, Six was left alone to his thoughts. Finding no valid reason to keep watching, Emile fast-forwarded the video.

As the video forwarded, his mind had finally caught up to speed with his situation. According to the video, he was dead; Six had his tags, as well as all the rest of Noble Team. He reached for his collar, only to find nothing. And most importantly, his... location. Eridanus II was glassed years ago; Emile had witnessed it himself in his childhood.

"I must be dreaming..."

He couldn't bring himself to believe that thought. He could still feel fatigue, still feel pain; everything seemed much too real for it to be a dream.

His thoughts were cut short as he paused at a random interval, playing the video once more. From Six's perspective, the surroundings have changed; no longer was he flying through the clouds, but rather he was flying through the city. Six masterly flew his Hornet; destroying small gun placements and Banshees as he traveled from place to place; completing small objectives given to him by a commanding officer. Destroy a jammer here, save a couple ODST's there, he knew the drill. The Marines that were with him whooped in joy for every Covenant structure they destroyed, and often the group received thanks from ground forces below for relieving some pressure off of them.

//Thanks, Lieutenant. Thought we were fresh meat from that Banshee if it weren't for you.//

Six silently acknowledged them, and went on his way. As another objective appeared, Emile could hear the two Marines on the gunner seats conversing. He could only listen in, as Six was facing the windscreen.

"Whoo! Did you see that? I just destroyed a motherfucker with another motherfucker!" one exclaimed.

He heard the other one scoff, obviously in amusement. 

"That was dumb luck, Jermaine. How could you possibly know that the Banshee you destroyed would crash straight into the other one?" 

"Who fucking cares? That was awesome! Momma would be proud..."

"Yeah, yeah, just shut the fuck up, wouldja? You'd be doing my ears a favor. Keep an eye out, too. These buildings are pretty damn close to us."

"Yeah? Well, why don't YOU shut the fuck up, focus on YOUR gun, and then we can all go home, have a cup of tea, an-"

The conversation was cut off abruptly. Following the interruption was a garbled sound, and then silence. Six turned his head to the side, trying to listen in on the commotion in the back. When nothing was heard, Six faced forward, and presumably resuming to fly the Hornet to his set objective.

He was presented with a Stealth Elite on his windscreen, with an Energy Sword in hand; poised to strike.

The Elite lunged at Six, his sword breaking through the glass. Startled, Emile held his breathe, expecting the worst. Six twisted sideways; barely dodging the searing blade. He grabbed the pistol from his side and aimed it at the broken windscreen.

The Elite was nowhere to be found.

He kept the pistol aimed at the windscreen, just in case the Elite had stealthed itself. He needed to act quickly; an invisible Elite was a dangerous Elite, and it was somewhere in his vehicle. He sat down on the pilot seat, and to his dismay his control panel and dashboard were destroyed; no doubt it was from the sword aimed for him. Before he can even think about finding a way of fixing this mess, a loud noise found its way to Emile's ears. It was akin to that of long fingernails scraping across a chalkboard, only much, much louder. He winced at the intensity of the noise, and Emile could see Six was alarmed as well; he was using what remains of the control panel to find any form of damage in his ship.

Suddenly, the vehicle lurched to the side and spun uncontrollably; Six was practically holding on to his life and to his seat. Despite the video spinning uncontrollably, Emile could discern a torn Hornet wing falling past the windscreen.

"That fucker tore off the wing?!"

It would seem to be the reason why the Hornet was falling. Six tried his best to at least level the Hornet, but to no avail. The Hornet continued to spin, and then crash into a building. Six was tumbling all over the cockpit at this point. With the the ground mere meters away from him, Six locked his armor and hoped for the best.

The video cut off; replaced with static, the audio was the only thing working. Emile cringed as he heard loud sounds of metal smashing into concrete, as well as Six's grunts of pain. The noises dispersed, and then eventually stopped altogether. Emile grew increasingly worried as the silence continued, until the static slowly cleared, and Emile could see through Six's perspective once again. The video had returned to its normal state, showing a broken windscreen and some smoke. The vehicle stayed stationary; disoriented from the crash, Six unlocked his armor, and began to finally move from his awkward position in the cockpit. Finding the controls unresponsive, Six forcefully kicked the hatch, allowing him to get out. He did some stretches, and then he examined his crashed Hornet.

It was definitely never going to fly again. The right wing was gone, and by the looks of it, it was from the Stealth Elite's sword. He looked up, curious to how the Elite managed to get on the Hornet. As Six thought quietly, the gears in Emile's head turned; he too was trying to solve this puzzling event.

"Keep an eye out, too. These buildings are pretty damn close to us."

That was it. Six flew too close to a building, and one of the more zealous of the Covenant must've jumped on when the opportunity presented itself. Six shook his head and sighed; disappointed in his own ignorance.

As he looked around, he found a dead Elite nearby; chopped in half. In his overzealous attempt to take Six's life, the Elite lost his own. Both Six and Emile payed it no mind; they see gruesome images like these all the time.

As Six went inside the wrecked Hornet to salvage anything of use, his radio crackled to life.

//Mayday, mayday, mayday! This is Pilot Lachlan Khan of a civilian evac ship requesting assistance! There's a Covenant Type-38 Anti-Aircraft Cannon out there, and it's dropping our ships like flies! Does someone copy?//

As Six pulled an Assault Rifle from the debris, the speaker's voice grew more desperate.

//Anyone?! Please! I have civilian families on my ship, and I can't take off without that gun taken out! There are Covenant are pushing to my position right now! PLEASE, CAN ANYONE HEAR ME?!//

After examining the gun for a few moments - and ensuring that it worked properly, Six activated his comms.

"Pilot Khan, this is SPARTAN-B132 of Noble Team, ready to assist." he responded.

//A-a SPARTAN? Oh, thank God! There's a Tyrant Anti-Aircraft Cannon in East Pines Park, and it's preventing me from taking off!//

"Stay calm. I'll get rid of it."

//Oh, thank you, thank you! Please, hurry! I don't think the Marines here can hold out much longer!//

Six cut his comms and rechecked his gear. Knowing that he was all set to go, he ran to the city's park; East Pines.

Once again, Emile fast forwarded the video. This was it; Six was heading to the park, where his helmet was last seen. Maybe, just maybe, he was still alive. There just had to be a reason why Six would take off his helmet. It was possible, wasn't it?

He played, and waited at the metaphorical end of his seat. Six was now in the park, and was currently in a firefight. He could hear a deep rumble in the distance; Emile presumed that it was the Covenant cannon the pilot was so desperate about. Six had engaged a small scouting party, as well as... a Wraith? This can't be good.

With no suitable cover, Six dodged and weaved the Wraith's mortars, but the open space proved to be easy for the infantry to take pot shots at him. Six needed to take them out quickly, otherwise his shields would give out from the pressure.

He switched to his pistol and aimed for some heads, but found himself unsuccessful in his efforts. The Elites dodged and weaved - as always, the Jackals hid behind their shields - as always, and the Grunts hid behind both of them - as always. Despite being the most expendable and easiest-to-kill units in the Covenant Empire, these ones were doing a pretty good job of staying alive.

His efforts were futile; Six was wasting precious ammo. He hid behind a dead tree for a breather, as well as stalling to formulate another plan.

He was given none of these, as another mortar shot was fired. Six barely had enough time to dodge it, and once again he was out in the open. More plasma shots came his way; his helmet began to emit a ringing noise, signifying his shields were done for.

Then, he saw his opportunity. A Grunt had strayed a small distance from the group; it was right out in the open. Six aimed with his pistol, but to Emile's bewilderment, he put it down. Instead, he grabbed a blue grenade, and threw it.

It all ended too quickly. The plasma grenade stuck to the Grunt's forehead. It panicked, and it ran towards its group for help. He detonated dead center of the group, taking out all the other Grunts, the majority of the Jackals, and the Elite's shields. With the group scattered and dazed, Six took advantage of their confusion. 

He dropped them, all in one clip.

Emile was impressed. If he was in Six's shoes, he would've just shot the stray Grunt and continued to whittle away at the enemy with what ammo he had left. It was a gamble, and Six hit the jackpot; he counted on the Grunt's cowardice and inexperience to do his work. 

The roar of an incoming mortar caught Six's attention, and once again he dodged the giant ball of plasma. Initially, this video had Emile's curiosity. Now, it had his attention. He wondered how Six would face the Wraith. He had nothing powerful enough to destroy it, and he would run the risk of being run over if he gets too close. Decisions, decisions...

Six dodged every shot, slowly making his way to the Wraith. As soon as he got too close, the vehicle suddenly lurched forward; its driver intent on squashing him like a bug on a windscreen. He dodged to the right; the Wraith missing him by mere millimetres. The driver was too slow to react; Six climbed onto its back and primed a grenade. He jumped off, and it was all over. As he dusted himself off, Emile himself was smiling.

"Top job, Six." he thought.

Still holding on to his pistol, he examined it, only to find it with three bullets left. He approached the slain Elite and took its weapon; replacing his pistol with it. Its charge was less than half, much to Six's dismay.

"Less than half Plasma Rifle, and an empty Assault Rifle." he muttered to himself.

He sighed; he'll just have to play along with the cards dealt for him. As he holstered the alien weapon, his comms came to life again.

//SPARTAN, you there? Have you taken out the gun yet?//

"I'm almost there." he replied. "Don't take off until you get my signal."

//Got it! Just hurry!//

He ran to the center of the park, where the gun placement resided.

"This is it." Emile thought. "The moment of truth."

He dreaded this part. On one hand, Six was alive and well. On the other hand...

He dreaded that part especially.

Six had finally arrived. Right there in the center, stood the cannon. It fired bolts of superheated plasma to the sky, swivel in another direction, and repeat the process over again. With his mission in sight. Six cautiously approached the gun placement.

Something was wrong. The entire field was empty. No Covenant, no defenses, nothing. It's like the only living soul in this park was Six. There were defensive positions around the gun, but no-one to man it. It's like they just went up and abandoned the enormous weapon.

The entire place screamed "trap", but Six went in nonetheless. The SPARTAN knew his duty, and knew the consequences of failure to complete that duty. He was determined to see it through; Emile could only hope for the safety of his well-being.

Six had reached the centre of the gun, where its core resided. Six knew the drill. He punched at its energy shielding, exposing the vulnerable power source. Using his second-to-last grenade, he threw it in the chamber and ran.

The gun immediately stopped firing. Loud, blaring sirens came from the inside, but it was overshadowed by the sounds of metal snapping and breaking as its systems began to fail one by one. Six made it out, and just in time to witness it burst into flame; the gun was snapped in half from the resulting explosion, and it fell uselessly to the ground. As Six watched the inferno and the destruction, Emile felt a small chill in his spine.

He didn't feel it, he just knew something was terribly wrong, the moment Six had stepped foot into the field. 

"Six, get out of there!" he warned; he was so caught up in what he saw, he momentarily forgot that everything was recorded, and that he cannot do anything to change the events.

Six opened his comms and spoke.

"Pilot Kahn, the gun is offline. Proceed to exit now."

As soon as he said those words, he turned to see a ship taking off. Six could see why the pilot could not take off; the Covenant placed the gun nearby the take-off and landing platforms of civilian transport ships. From his position, the ship was just a few blocks away. As Six watched it take off, Emile was screaming in his head.

"Six! Get the fuck outta there! Get out!"

Crack!

Six turned sharply, startled at the noise. He put the Plasma Rifle in front of him; he was in a compromising position. In a clearing, surrounded by trees with no cover, should one not count the wrecked Tyrant. He kept an eye out for anything.

Then, he saw movement. Directly in front of him was a large group of Covenant, marching from the treeline. Six backed away from them; he was in no position to be in a firefight with what little he had. He turned, only to see another group of Covenant; this time, a pair of Hunters marched with them. He looked all around him; Covenant broke away from the trees, marching towards his position.

As Emile had predicted, it was a trap.

"Goddammit listen to me! Run!"

But there was nowhere to run. Six was completely surrounded, with no help and almost no ammo. The situation was dire.

Strangely enough, the Covenant did not fire any of their weapons at him. They all stopped a small distance; creating a circle around him and cutting him off from any escape. Six aimed his weapon at all of them, but it did nothing to ward them off.

Every second unnerved Emile. They made no sound, they made no move, they did not fire. They just stood there and stared, scrutinizing every bit of movement Six made. 

One member stepped forward; an Elite Zealot. It walked towards Six in an eerily confident manner; Emile couldn't help but feel that the Elite was smiling like a child on Christmas morning under all that armor.

It stopped in front of Six, who still kept the Plasma Rifle aimed at it. It made no sudden movements; instead, it  grabbed something from its sides. With a press of a button, it revealed them to be two Energy Swords. It held them in both hands, displaying them right in front of Six.

He gripped the rifle tighter; his breathing grew quicker. Six was getting nervous; he was at a clear disadvantage. A small bead of sweat rolled down Emile's face as he continued to watch; anticipating the last showdown. Both stared off, before the Elite did something unexpected.

It turned off one of the Energy Swords, and threw it at Six.

Six reacted quickly; he holstered the rifle and grabbed the object from midair. Emile could tell Six was confused; he stared at the deactivated Energy Sword and tilted his head. He looked at the Elite again. This time, it raised its arm and aimed the sword at him. From there, Emile put the pieces together.

The Elite was challenging Six to a duel.

"Of course." Emile realized.

According to the eggheads back on Earth, the Elites followed a code of honor similar to the Bushido code; a code of honor followed by ancient Japanese samurai. This one, apparently, wanted the honor of besting a SPARTAN in a fair match. The surrounding reinforcements are just to assure that no matter the outcome, whether the Elite wins or it dies, the SPARTAN is made sure to never leave alive.

There has been one report of a SPARTAN seen surrounded and horrendously outnumbered by enemy forces, only to find themselves challenged by an Elite to fight it with an Energy Sword. That report has also listed the SPARTAN in question as MIA.

Things just keep getting better and better.

Six had readied himself, also aware of the challenge. The Elite let out a dark chuckle as Six activated his sword, as if it was waiting for this moment its whole life.

"The exact moment that I fall, do not hesitate to kill the demon." he commanded to the others.

Moving attention from Six almost proved to be a fatal mistake. The small lapse in time where the Elite faced the crowd around them was more than enough for Six to close the distance and attempt a quick kill. By instinct, the Elite blocked, only for Six to send him tumbling away with a boot to his chest quickly after. Six then ran full speed towards the Zealot, intent on ramming him with his shoulder. With his mass and the speed he's going, something's bound to be broken.

Six stopped, and just in time. The Elite had recovered faster than he had expected; he got up and aimed the sword right at Six. If he hadn't stopped charging, he would've been impaled.

Taking advantage of Six's sudden stop, the Elite lunged at him. Six parried the blow, albeit a little clumsily. The Energy Sword was the only weapon any SPARTAN has yet to master, mostly because finding one in the firing range was practically non-existent; in the battlefield even more so, as the Elite think of their swords as a "holy weapon" that mustn't fall into enemy hands. The only real practice Six has had with the weapon is whenever he grabs one from the ground, and it doesn't help that the sword itself doesn't last very long. The Zealot must have had years of training with the Energy Sword, while the only strategy Six has with it in combat is "lunge, hack, slash, repeat".

The two clashed against each other; energy crackling in the air as plasma met plasma. Neither could gain an upper hand; both combatants had an advantage of their own. Six was stronger and faster, but the Elite had more a lot more experience in this field. Emile silently prayed for a deus ex machina, as Six began to lose more and more ground in the fight for his life.

The Zealot sliced downwards, forcing Six to put the sword up to block the attack. With Six too preoccupied with blocking, the Elite used his free hand and slugged a punch to his guts, properly knocking the wind out of Six's lungs. With the latter busy trying to get his breathe back, the Zealot once again put his weapon up, ready to strike the final blow.

In a last, desperate attempt, Six grabbed his holstered Plasma Rifle in one hand and unloaded the entire thing at the Elite. Seemingly knowing Six's move before he even did it, the Zealot put the Energy Sword in front of him, blocking every plasma bolt shot.

"I didn't know you could block projectiles with that." Emile thought.

Six kept firing until his gun overheated. Rendered useless, Six attempted to charge again, but the Elite effortlessly swatted his sword away. He gave Six an almighty kick, sending him to the ground. Before he could even get up, the Elite grabbed Six by the neck and pulled him up to the air. The Elite was at least two feet taller than Six; he grabbed hold of the Elite's arm, trying to stop him from strangling him and to make him let go. The Elite only scoffed in amusement.

"I have bested you, demon." he spoke. "Now, you die."

He raised his sword mere inches from Six's face, poised to strike. Six squirmed even harder, desperate to escape the Elite's clutches. 

"No, NO!" Emile begged.

"On the blood of our fathers, on the blood of our sons, we swore to uphold the Covenant!" the Elite roared. With those words, the Elite had roused the Covenant around them into a frenzy; they were cheering loudly, demanding blood.

As the Elite pulled its arm back, Emile closed his eyes from the video. He couldn't bring himself to witness the death of another close to him. He could already hear it; the noise of plasma cutting through metal, the sound of Six dying, the absence of-

"SNAP!"

"Was that a... twig?"

Emile slowly opened his eyes, unsure of what would be presented. From the video, Six was taking in gulps of air, trying to recompose himself, while the Elite was clutching onto the arm he used to grab Six. Said arm was bent in an unnatural angle; the bone had broken the skin, and it was protruding out his arm. It took a moment for Emile to realize what Six had done to save himself. Out of shock and surprise, the Elite had dropped his own sword.

With the Elite screaming in pain, Six wasted no time. He immediately made a grab for the Elite's fallen sword, and it all happened too quickly.

Six dashed to the Elite, spun for momentum, and sliced his head off clean from the body.

The result shocked the surrounding onlookers; the quick turn of events had frozen them in a state of disbelief. A fatal mistake on their part, as Six capitalized on their confusion; he grabbed the other Energy Sword he dropped, and dove right into the crowd.

What happened next was a mass of confusion and a frenzy of violence, as Six turned into a whirlwind of death; hacking and slashing at everything in his range. Emile watched in awe as Six mowed down the Covenant forces, with the latter unable to properly repel their attacker. They were too bunched up; the lack of space proved difficult for anyone to raise their weapon - save for Six himself; he didn't need to worry about hurting any allies. This was his last stand, and Six was determined to bring down as many as he could.

As awed as he was, Emile could not help but hold a small measure of fear as Six let loose his full lethality. Six did not laugh at the carnage, he didn't taunt the enemy nor did he say any final, desperate words. As he killed, he just.. stayed silent. And honestly, the silence was far more frightening than anything Emile had heard in his life. It was like Six was no longer there, and a monster had taken his place. A silent, cornered monster, who's only objective was to survive, no matter the cost.

Seconds have passed, but it felt like hours for Emile. He had lost himself in Six's perspective, in utter shock and awe at the gory spectacle. His mind was unable to form coherent thoughts as his vision was filled with the screaming, the dead and the dying.

As Six plunged the sword on his left into yet another Hunter, the sword flickered before dying. Six groaned in annoyance as the Covenant forces finally managed to maintain some distance from him, allowing them to finally fire their weapons freely and without fear of hurting allies. Six lunged an Elite and took his rifle, but Six just wasn't as efficient as before. His shields gave out as he was hailed with a spray of plasma bolts from all directions, and still he continued his rampage; lunging from enemy to enemy as fast as he could.

The sword on his right finally gave out as well, leaving Six with only a Plasma Rifle against the army. He continued to fight for his life, even through the hailstorm. His helmet began to crack under the pressure; Six's movements became more sluggish and heavy as his suit was showing signs of malfunctioning. As more cracks appeared in his vision, Six ripped off his helmet and cast it aside; in his haste, he had grabbed his dogtags and threw that away as well.

Emile watched in horror as Six grabbed another Plasma Rifle from the ground and began to fire wildly, whilst under the pressure of Covenant fire. Anyone that got too close to Six was immediately met with plasma; bodies started to fall closer and closer to Six. Because he had discarded his helmet, Emile was forced to watch from the sidelines, as Six was tackled from the side by an Elite Minor. Six wrangled away from the Elite's grasp and unloaded everything on him, only then to find both weapons empty. With his luck finally run out, he grabbed the empty assault rifle from his back and swung wildly; bashing heads and crushing skulls. It was a miracle he had survived this long, but not even another one can save him.

"Jesus..." Emile finally managed to think.

It all fell apart. Six was once again tackled from the side by another Elite. Six attempted to get away, only to be stopped by other Elites. They all piled on him, rendering him trapped. Six was still fighting, but Emile could no longer see him amidst the mass of bodies holding him down. 

Then, he saw his hand. It shot out from the mass, holding a very familiar blue grenade.

"The last grenade!"

With no option left, Six crushed the blue orb in his hand. The plasma grenade exploded instantaneously, filling the video with a brilliant blue light. Multiple explosions followed, and Emile shielded his eyes as the video became too bright for his liking. Once he opened them, an empty spot was all that's left of the Elite pile on, with smoldering bits of flesh in the sidelines. By detonating his own grenade, Six had detonated the Elites' grenades as well.

Emile ended the video, and removed Six's memory chip from his head. He placed it in his spare pouches, and then he was left alone to his thoughts.

That was it. Without a doubt, Six was dead. He went out fighting, just like so many other SPARTANs out there. The last man in his team was dead, and Emile couldn't help but feel like he should be too.

He continued to sit there, continuously staring at Six's empty helmet, caring not for who saw him or for the danger around him. He couldn't care less, he just wanted everything to end. What use was he, now that everything he knew was gone?

As he watched the empty helmet, he remembered Six's onslaught. He remembered how he didn't back down, how he didn't allow himself to go down silently. Six knew he would die, and yet he fought like he had never fought before.

And that's when he realized.

Six, Jorge and Carter, they didn't back down. They didn't run. They did what they had to do. They did their job, and that was being a SPARTAN. They stared down death, fought it and embraced it. They didn't give up.

And neither would he.

Emile got up, ashamed at himself for even considering... that. How dare he give up? His team died for a good cause, and here he was, thinking about throwing his own life away. What was he thinking?

A wave of regret washed over him, but so did determination. His purpose was clear. He would live on and fight, to honor the memory of Noble Team. While he can do nothing to bring them back, he knows now that he must never lose hope that one day, he will bring them peace.

"I'll keep going, only because you'd want me to, Noble." 

As he was deep in thought, he suddenly heard footsteps approaching behind him. Emile acted quickly; he whipped around, raising his pistol and facing his assailant . Whether it be a Grunt or a Hunter, his would-be attacker will be the first amongst many who will die under Emile's hand, in memory of his late friends.

So, it was surprise for Emile to find that his "would-be attacker" was a little girl.

Emile lowered his gun, slightly disappointed that he did not get to kill anything. Through observation, Emile noticed that the girl had a dark complexion like he had, with long, curly black hair. She had green eyes, as well as visible tear stains that ran down her face. She looked no older than four years of age. A pink shirt with overalls was all she had as clothing, and she wasn't wearing any shoes. She had gone through a lot, based on the slightly ripped clothing she wore and some traces of dust and grime on her face. She looked absolutely terrified; Emile was unsure whether it was from whatever she had endured or from the fact that he basically dwarfed her.

Both faced each other without saying a word. Emile wasn't known for being good with civilians; that was Jorge's job. With the big man gone, Emile had to make do with the skills he had.

He approached her slowly, as to avoid frightening her even more.

"Are you okay?" he asked as he kneeled down to her level.

She didn't answer; she just continued to look at him.

"Maybe she'll respond to a different question." he thought.

"Are you hurt?"

Thankfully, she answered with a simple shake of the head.

"Alright, where are your parents?"

She shook her head again.

"Are your parents... gone?"

Nod.

"Are you lost?"

Nod.

"Well, that's all I've got." Emile thought to himself. "Hmm... one more thing."

"Can you speak at all?"

Head shake.

"Great, she can't even talk."

Emile sighed, unsure of what to do. He was lost as well, and he had little to defend himself. His only option now was to look for any UNSC presence in the city, if there were any left.

As he pondered his options, the little girl had approached him. She tapped at his armor, capturing his attention. Opening one the pockets on her overalls, she grabbed a small object and gave it to him.

"What's this?"

It was a simple keychain, with a little nametag attached to it. The words on it were crudely written, but Emile could make out most of it.

ANNIE

"So, your name is Annie?" he enquired.

She nodded, a small smile forming on her lips.

"Annie..."

Emile looked at Annie, observing her again. She was just that - a little lost girl, and yet Emile could not help but feel he had known her before. 

"Just who are you, Annie?"

The dark complexion. The long, frizzy hair. The green eyes. The pink shirt with overalls. The fact that she couldn't speak. He definitely knew her, but he had no clue why. What was it about her that unnerved him so much? Who was she?

Annie

He backed away from her; troubling memories he had worked so hard to bury over the years had resurfaced in matter of seconds. The world around him spun, and he felt sick to his stomach as fear settled in his mind. Scenes of the past flashed before his eyes, overloading his senses and sending his body into a nervous breakdown. He had curled up into a ball, trying desperately to regain control and compose himself.

"It can't be. It's impossible. She shouldn't be here she shouldn't be here SHE SHOULDN'T BE HERE WHY IS SHE HERE?!"

He was babbling nonsense, unable to think clearly as anxiety took a hold on him. He was so confused, so afraid. He had no control. Everything was wrong.

Something was shaking him, trying to get his attention. He looked up, only to see Annie kneeling next to him with a mix of confusion and concern etched on her face. As he saw her, more flashes appeared, sending him spiraling down into madness again. Unable to gain a response from him, she grabbed his hand and allowed it to hold hers.

If Emile didn't know any better, this girl was trying to help him.

He didn't know how long he was in that state. It could've been minutes, hours, or even just seconds. He just laid there on the ground, holding on to nothing but the little girl's hand. Over time, his breathing slowed, and fear and anxiety released its grip from him; allowing him to finally calm down.

He sat up, feeling like he had been rolled over by a Scorpion tank. He felt numb; his mind was still reeling from the shock he received from his panic attack. He looked at the girl who tried to help him. She sat next to him quietly, seemingly content that he was back to normal.

She was the cause of his shock, and still continued to be. He was afraid of her, because of his failure that cost her. She had haunted him in his dreams, and now here she was, sitting next to him.

"Is it really you?" he whispered.

She tilted her head, puzzled at his strange question. When he received no response, he asked a different question.

"Annie... did you have a brother?"

She gave a simple nod.

"Is he... around?"

A frown was her reply, as well as a look of deep sadness. She sighed and shook her head. He must've meant a lot to her.

"He's here you know."

She looked at him, confused. Before she could even ponder over Emile's cryptic answer, he removed his helmet; earning a gasp from her as he revealed his face.

"It's me."

She was confused, and proceeded to inch closer to him to study him better. A moment had passed, and once again she gasped. She gave the biggest, brightest smile Emile had ever seen, and hugged him.

He was caught off-guard with the act of affection, but he returned it nonetheless. He was overjoyed beyond belief; tears of joy streamed down his face as he hugged her as hard as he could, afraid of letting go.

"I'm sorry! I won't ever leave you again, you hear me? I'll keep you safe, I promise. I'm sorry." he cried between his choked sobs.

"I'll protect you. I won't ever let them get you. Not again, I promise. I won't let them get you. I won't let them."

He didn't know how this happened; how all of this was real. All that mattered was Annie was safe, and words could not describe the feeling he was having. A person he originally thought lost, was here in front of him, in the flesh. The one person he had cared most about was alive again. He had another chance.

"I swear, on my life, I will keep you safe, no matter what."

Minutes have passed since their teary reunion, with figures having done nothing but cry and hug since their meeting. Time had passed much quicker than he had anticipated, as the sun was already setting in the distance.

As the sun continued to set, a loud screech was heard. The noise startled both of them, causing Emile to jump up into a defensive stance with his pistol.

"Annie, get behind me." he muttered. Nothing short of absolute hatred dripped from his voice, as he looked around for hostiles. He failed his promise to Annie before, and he is hell-bent on never letting history repeat itself. 

It was already getting dark, making it hard for him to see anything past the treeline. He squinted his eyes, attempting to make anything out in the distance. The darkness obscured his vision, causing him to turn on his HUD's night-vision mode.

A figure walked into view. It was jet-black, and its eyes glowed an eerie red. It was far away from both of them, and yet Emile could not help but feel disturbed by its presence. It definitely wasn't human, but he couldn't make out any other features. Gritting his teeth, Emile began to line up his pistol to its head, preparing himself. Covenant or no, this... thing looked like a threat.

It screeched.

If he had any doubts before, he definitely didn't have any now. It was unlike anything Emile had ever heard of. The noise pierced his ears, causing him to cry out in pain while Annie tried her best to cover hers. It kept on screeching, and if Emile didn't shut him up, he feared he may lose his hearing, or worse, attract other potential hostiles. Lining up his shot again, he aimed and fired.

The bullet flew straight and true; right between the thing's eyes. It fell forward with an audible thud, effectively ending its shrill cry. Emile sighed in relief, believing it was over. He kneeled down to Annie's level, checking her for any injuries.

"You alright? Can you still hear me?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Good. We need to get out of here, I've got a bad feeling about this place."

Another screech.

Emile shot up, looking all around him for the source of the new noise. Then another screech, coming from a different direction. More and more similar screeches were heard, and it sounded like they were coming from all directions.

He was being trapped.

"Annie! Get over here, quick!"

She did as she was told; she ran to him, confused and startled from the chorus of screams around them. Emile was too, but he put his fears aside, letting his rational side take over.

"We gotta get out of here."

Without warning, Emile holstered his pistol and grabbed Annie; carrying her in his arms. With everything in check, he ran from the direction he came.

He ran as fast as he could. He ran as fast as his legs could carry him, but the screeching continued. Something was following them, something bad, and it was coming for him and his sister. As he ran, Emile made the mistake of looking back.

The Covenant were chasing him, but they looked... different. More vicious. More terrifying. They all wore jet-black armor and had glowing, red eyes. A whole entire army was charging towards Emile with reckless abandon; their feral cries filling the air. It was like they all went mad, as even the disciplined Sangheili looked nothing more than savage beasts. They were more akin to wild animals than soldiers, and the thought alone made them all the more frightening.

They wanted blood.

Emile strengthened his resolve, forcing himself to run even faster. He looked down at his passenger; Annie had her hands on her ears, trying to block out the noise.

"I won't let them get you. I won't let them."

He remembered his promise, the one he made to her all those years ago, before he was a SPARTAN. He failed, and the cost was her own life. Now, here he was in that position again; he was the deciding factor whether she lives, or she dies.

He was given another chance, and he was determined to make it right this time.

He exited the park with his sister in tow, and ran without direction. Sprint, turn right, turn left, sprint again. He sprinted as hard as he could, desperate to get his only family left to safety. On the sixth turn he made, he looked back again.

There was no-one in sight. He sighed in relief; believing he had lost them.

He turned forward, only to see a pair of Hunters a long distance away from him.

Startled, Emile began to run the other direction; away from them. To his shock, another pair of Hunters were in front of him.

"How did they get here so quickly?"

He was on a two-way street, with a pair of Hunters on both ends. He had been surrounded, with no idea how the massive aliens have managed to catch up with him while the others could not. They were similar to the ones chasing after him; jet-black armor and glowing red eyes.

Emile could easily dodge them and their projectiles, if he didn't have a child in his arms. Nonetheless, his life as well as hers depended on it. He'll have to try.

He believed the Hunters would start firing by now, but they haven't moved an inch yet since their unexpected arrival. Knowing from past experience, Emile expected the worst.

He didn't expect this, though.

The Hunters began to vibrate; what started out as small shaking snowballed into an uncontrollable seizure. Heavy clanking of their armor was heard as they looked like they have been possessed. They suddenly stopped altogether, and collapsed in a heap.

Emile instinctively backed away; unnerved by the actions of both pairs of Hunters. As he looked around for an exit, he thought he saw something move in the Hunter's empty suit of armor.

Like some sort of snake, the Hunter's body slithered out, leaving behind a trail of slime. Emile remembered that the Hunters, or rather Mgalekgolo, were a colony of Lekgolo; orange, worm-like creatures. Together, the worms create the mighty Hunters, but Emile had never seen them behave like this. All four Hunters' Legkolo wormed their way in front of Emile, building mass and reforming themselves. Emile was frozen in place, in complete fear of the thing right in front of him. The Legkolo had joined together into one body; turning four Hunters into one, giant, armorless Hunter staring down at them. Slime dripped from its body, falling onto the ground a few centimeters from where Elite stood. As the final worms slithered their way to it, it let out a primal, guttural roar.

Emile decided he had seen enough.

He ran away from the hulking creature, avoiding the massive fists trying to squish him and his sister like a bug. He was running the way he came, and he knew full well that he was taking the risk of meeting the savages wanting to tear them apart again. But as of now, all he could do was hope for the best.

He lungs burned as he sprinted, and adrenaline fueled him as he ran from the giant monster, who somehow had managed to keep up with Emile. He saw an intersection in front of him, and to his horror, the Covenant army was there. One of them saw him, and let out an ear-piercing screeches. Multiple screeches followed, and once again they gave chase to the SPARTAN. Joined by the enormous monster, more Hunters shed their armor and joined in, further increasing its mass. It was a giant now, completely dwarfing Emile. 

Emile felt like he couldn't run anymore. He was reaching his limit; he needed rest. But one look. One look at his sister in his arms, terrified and afraid of the events happening around them, was more than enough motivation to keep him running. 

Their feral screams grew closer; resembling distorted and demonic laughter. As they neared, they all drew their weapons and fired. Emile used his body to shield Annie from everything, grunting under the pressure.

He needed to get away. He can't outrun them, and he can't fight them. He can't run forever. He needed to lose them.

Upon rounding another corner, Emile laid his eyes on an empty house. He ran to it as fast as he could; charging shoulder first through its door. Putting Annie down, he instructed her to stay away from the doors and windows. Closing the blinds, he went down and stayed silent; telling Annie to do the same.

The screeching grew louder, and thunderous footsteps approached from the street. Emile prayed, pleading that the horrific masses did not see them run into the house. The screams grew louder, and then began to dissipate; signifying that they passed the house without a second glance.

Emile sighed; letting out a breathe that he didn't know he held. He was safe. Annie was safe. He can rest.

Thud

As if fate was taunting him, he held his breathe again. Something was walking towards the house, making clicking noises as it stepped closer and closer to the door.

He looked at Annie, who was hiding behind a couch. He signaled her to stay down, while he positioned himself behind an overturned table.

The thing had reached the door and stepped inside, sniffing the air. It was a Jackal, complete with black armor and red eyes. It made clicking noises in its throat every now and then, searching for any intruders. Emile positioned itself in his hiding spot, able to see the Jackal, while the Jackal could not see him.

The Jackal sniffed the air again, and it turned its attention to the couch; the one Annie hid behind. It sniffed again, and made a clicking noise as it aimed its Needler at the couch.

The Jackal has found Annie.

Emile burst from his hiding place, just as the Jackal had began to fire. As Emile held it down, the Jackal kept its finger on the trigger, firing wildly in all directions. Grabbing its neck with both hands, Emile snapped it, effectively breaking its neck.

The Jackal stopped firing and let go of its weapon. Emile stood up, as the danger had been eliminated. He surveyed his surroundings, taking note of the damage the Jackal had caused with its reckless spray of Needler rounds.

There were four holes on the couch.

Emile's eyes widened, and in haste, picked up the couch and threw it aside. He hoped it wasn't true, or that the rounds have all but missed.

His worst fears came true, as Emile looked down at Annie, who had been pierced in the side by a Needler shard.

"Oh shit..."

He crouched down; his mind in a panic. She was breathing, but barely. 

"Annie, can you hear me?! Stay with me, okay?"

He didn't know if she heard him. She must be in so much pain, she could not even whimper. She only cried in silence.

"Annie, I'm going to help you, but it's going to hurt. Stay with me."

He grabbed the biofoam he had used on himself. There was only half left, but it would have to do.

"Annie, this is going to help. Just breathe, okay? I'm going to pull it out. Just bre-"

The shard exploded.

Her eyes glazed over; her shirt slowly growing a red stain as blood seeped into her clothing. The shock stopped Emile in his tracks, as Annie's body slumped over. 

Emile caught her before she hit the floor. They stayed there for who knows how long, just holding her dead body, as Emile could not fathom the event.

She died. She died and it was all his fault.

"Annie? Wake up..." he whispered as he shook her.

He rocked her back and forth, cradling her like a little baby.

"I promised you. Please... wake up."

Tears streamed down his face, and he was on the verge of breaking down again.

"Please, come back to me. I promised you. Oh God, please wake up. Please." his voiced cracked as he begged. 

He was given no answer. Gently, he hugged her frail body, as he tried in vain to hold back choked sobs.

"I promised..."

He no longer held back. His mournful wails could be heard from the heavens, as he held in his bloody hands the only family he had left. The world around him fell into darkness, and Emile grew cold as he lost himself to his grief. His heart felt nothing but misery, and minutes had passed, just sitting there, holding on to his dead sister.

"Please... don't go."

He too, fell into darkness.





He awoke with a start. His breathing was ragged, and he was shivering. He looked around him, and found himself inside a purple bubble, in Twilight's library. It was barely morning; the sun had not even begun its rise.

"Another one..."

He forced himself to calm down, yet he could not stop his shaking. He was visibly shook up, as none of his nightmares had been so... clear. As he adjusted himself to what was real and what was fake, he swore he heard a deep, dark laughter.

He shook his head, attempting to pull himself out of his delusion.

Far away from the tree, a dark mist materialized into its physical form; a smile on his lips. 

"Pleasure doing business with you, Emile."