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This fanfiction article, Halo: Where Spirits Still Dwell, was written by Stellar Elite. Please do not edit this fiction without the writer's permission. |
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The author of this article, Halo: Where Spirits Still Dwell, urges anyone who reads it to provide feedback on the quality of the article. Thank you! |
| Halo: Where Spirits Still Dwell | |
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|---|---|
| ''Left behind by those once trusted, lost where old spirits still dwell.'' | |
| Protagonist | SPARTAN-103 |
| Author | Stellar Elite |
| Story Series | Stel's Short Stories |
| [Source] | |
Halo: Where Spirits Still Dwell is a short story detailing crucial parts of Douglas-103's story on Kholo, when he was abandoned by the Office of Naval Intelligence, and subsequently, the United Nations Space Command, due to Kholo's glassing. Left on the planet for the space of almost four years, he teamed up with a local militia to help beat back any Covenant forces still left on the planet.
Story[]
Prologue[]
Dust.
Nothing but dust, sand and misery for about kilometres on end.
A battered and scarred Warthog drove across the glassed, dusty, desert surface of Kholo. The glass on its windshield cracked and several gashes in its side, it clearly bore the scars of a battle long past. For almost four years had Douglas-103 resided upon this damned planet, condemned to the grave by the alien grasp of the Covenant Hegemony, which turned the planet to a raging inferno. Yet some people survived the glassing, and as scattered groups formed by abandoned Marines laid all about the planet.
The SPARTAN-II pulled the Warthog to a halt as he stopped right outside an old, abandoned mining facility and nearby warehouse. He'd gotten word that there was some leftover Covenant soldiers still on the planet, abandoned by their superiors as well. Mostly Unggoy, but the odd higher-ranking Sangheili or Jiralhanae was not unheard of. His helmet laid underneath his arm, exposing an untidy beard and a recently shaven head.
He brought the helmet upon his head and sealed it, before unholstering an MA37 and creeping inside, his eyes pried for any hostiles. Of course, the Covenant leftovers were not the only reason he was here. There had been some leftover UNSC tech, perhaps something that could be converted into a distress beacon.
It was his only hope of getting off this planet.
Part 1[]
Blood.
Chaos, plasma bolts, bullets and the screams of the dying littered about the battlefield.
Doug-103 thrust his hands forward and heaved a large chunk of cement from on top of his armour, breathing heavily. Damn splitlip, he thought, having just fought with a Sangheili officer who bested him only by virtue of the floor collapsing beneath his feet.
Dusting his armour off he brought himself to his feet and retrieved his battered M247H heavy machinegun from nearby, an unmodified variant that he tore off a tripod earlier, sparking several retorts from a Marine who was previously using it. I probably should have apologized.
"Or perhaps you shouldn't have used a terrible heavy and unwieldy weapon as your main armament, Douglas."
What seemed to be an invisible voice came from his helmet, electronically, and soon a hologram of an orange-hued feminine robot emerged from a tiny projector on the side of his helmet. She had her arms crossed, which gave the egg-like automaton a somewhat exaggerated look.
"Nice to see I didn't lose you when I fell on my ass, Madeline."
He said, adjusting his helmet and hefting the turret up. He strolled out of the ruined building, musing that he shouldn't have dueled with a Sangheili on such unstable terrain.
Finally he emerged, gazing out into the battlescarred terrain as he saw a Sangheili wielding a pair of plasma rifles sprint past him, releasing a torrent of bullets upon him. The lead shattered his shields and broke his armour, sending him down in a bloody heap.
"Status report, Mad. How's the Marines been doin' since I decided to take a nap?"
"Let's see here...United Nations Space Command ships are pulling out." Doug perked upwards. "Kholo looks like it's bust. They're in a rush, too. Covenant's hitting the place hard."
"God damn. I'd prefer to hang back and save everyone, but..." The Spartan activated the magnifier in his visor, zooming in. He spotted a distant Pelican, but given the Marines' retreat, it was unlikely he was to leave here any time soon.
Damn, damn, damn. The SPARTAN-II shook his head. He would have to be left here, to survive. Would ONI retrieve him? He was a useful asset, after all. Then again, knowing how slippery the Office of Naval Intelligence was, it was either lacking in the intelligence area, or it simply didn't care. ONI cared about one thing - itself. He closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling, and exhaling.
"We stay. We get everyone we can. We do what we do best, Mad. Save people."
"You sure? You do have three hundred skeletons in your closet."
"Ah, shut up."
Doug began moving again, turret poised at the ready. He was confronted by a pair of pillboxes, firing anti-aircraft cannons at the overflying Phantoms. A Marine laid upon the ground, impaled by a Sangheili warrior wielding dual energy swords. Bracing himself, Doug began firing round after round of heavy machinegun fire, a firey plume exiting the barrel of the weapon and thundering in his hands.