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This fanfiction article, Comrade, was written by Actene. Please do not edit this fiction without the writer's permission. |
| This article, Comrade, takes place in a canon-following story in an alternate universe, and it should not be considered as part of any official timeline. |
As Talitsa falls to the Created, a small contingent of Sangheili hold the line against the Prometheans.
“Keep pressing forward!” Tuka’s voice was loud and clear even over the clamor of battle echoing in the background. Stray could practically see the young warrior in his mind’s eye, standing tall alongside the other Sangheili even as the Prometheans closed in from all sides. “We came this far together. We can still claim victory!”
“There’s no winning this,” Stray snapped into the comlink. He glanced at the refugees around him. A few were armed, but most held only rucks and survival gear. They stared back at him and the Cleansing Blade warriors with perverse hope. They’d never make it to the evacuation shuttles alone. And even then they’d need Shinsu’s fighters to escort them off Talitsa. “That Guardian’s closing on your position, Tuka. Pull out, now!”
“If our line breaks, they’ll come straight for you!” Tuka insisted. “I won’t let them through. We both know what needs to be done. You can still take back the Kru’desh. Take back everything we lost!”
Stray’s grip tightened against the machete. “Get out of there!” he practically spat so furiously that some of the refugees and even a few of the Cleansing Blade flinched. “You hear me? Get out!”
“Do not worry, brother.” Tuka’s voice was amazingly calm. “My life is yours. I will not fall here. There is still so much left to do.”
“Tuka—“ A great crash echoed in Stray’s ear and the line went dead. He stood in place for several moments, feeling slightly ill. Maybe it was Tuka. Or maybe just his stims wearing off. Stray stood upon Talitsa’s tundra, up to his ankles in snow, and stared down at the silent link.
Do not worry, brother. What the hell…?
It struck Stray in that moment that out of everyone he’d ever fought beside, everyone he’d ever counted as a friend, Tuka was the only one he had never betrayed. And Tuka, in turn, was the only one who had never betrayed him. He had always been there, from Philadelphia to the Kru’desh, a constant figure following along faithfully in his wake like a loyal dog. And now once again he held the line behind him, refusing to back down even as a Guardian plummeted towards him.
He’d never expected much of Tuka, and Tuka in turn had never expected much of him. They’d never needed to.
Why the hell was he just realizing this now? He should have turned back an hour ago.
“You, you, and you,” Stray snapped, pointing at the first three Cleansing Blade warriors he saw. “Get these people to the ships and get out of here. The rest of you, with me.”
They hesitated, but only for a moment. “Move!” he snarled. The Sangheili sprang into action as he turned back towards the distant battle. Even from this far away, he could see a dark, winged shape emerging from the clouds. His mouth ran dry and he knew they would never make it in time.
A sheet of fire lit the horizon.