RWBY: Relcaimer

Chapter 1: Heroes Arrival

1030 HOURS, AUGUST 7, 2557 (MILITARY CALLENDER) / SOL SYSTEM, ABOARD FORERUNNER COMMAND VESSEL MANTLE'S APPROACH, IN ORBIT ABOVE EARTH

The vessel shook under the combined fire of the UNSC Home Fleet. Though, even with all of its ships and Orbital MAC Platforms, nothing passed the Mantle's Approach's nearly impenetrable energy shields.

SPARTAN-117, John, looked over the edge of the blue hard light bridge, watching as the Ur-Didact fell into the storm that was the Composer's Abyss—A Slipstream space portal underneath the Composer itself. He watched as the Didact's body fell and was soon consumed by the storm, hoping it would be the last he saw of him.

He turned his attention towards the Composer, its scarlet beam shooting out and stabbing into the earth, demolishing a city or too. John shifted his gaze down towards the HAVOK tactical nuke a few meters from him.

John stood, took a few steps forward, and collapsed on the light bridge. Out of all the days of none-stop fighting on both Requiem and on Ivanof Station, he felt exhausted, perhaps even more exhausted than from the Battle of Installation 04 or the battle on the Ark all those years ago.

Though, he didn't let his physical limitations get to him. He can't. If he did, then thousands would be composed into the Promethean ranks, and he can not let that happen.

The Master Chief summoned what little strength he had left and slowly crawled towards the HAVOK nuke while mentally blocking the pain.

Once he reached the nuke, he rose to his knees and began to arm it.

He knew that he couldn't escape the blast of the 30-megaton nuclear device. Even if he could, how could he get off the ship? He didn't know where the lifeboats—if those even existed aboard this near-indestructible ship of ancient times—or the airlocks were located. He could try and jump into the Composer's Abyss, but for all he knew he could be from the nearest planet to the farthest star in minutes, perhaps even hours—or days. If he was going to die, he would rather it be on his terms instead of on anyone else's.

John took one final glance up at the Composer, watching as its scarlet beam pierce the clouds of Earth. He looked down at the HAVOK, and took a deep breath. And with one final cry, he slammed his hand onto the nuke.

A deafening boom was heard and whiteness covered John's VISR. He felt his body warming up. The only thing that was in his mind was all of the SPARTAN-II's and UNSC personnel that he had the honor of fighting alongside with before the white faded, the warmth of the nuke turning into a freezing cold, and darkness covered his vision.

————

Darkness. That was all he could see. He couldn't feel or do anything but watch as his consciousness drifts off in the land of darkness.

John never really thought that much when it came to the intricacies of death. He and many of his fellow Spartans were Atheists, one who never believed in a God. He had seen many people, and some of his fellow Spartans, keep their faith. It was one of, if not the only thing that kept them going, and John understood and respected that like many other Spartans did. He understood the intricacies of faith and why people believe in them. But now, at death's door, he didn't really know what to expect. Everything was so dark. He thought that this was what his fellow brothers and sisters in arms, along with civilians, had experienced when they died. It was so . . . sad, and a bit disappointing. At the end of his life, at the end of his service to humanity, the thing he is given isn't retirement, it isn't an opportunity to integrate into civilian life, it isn't even Heaven or Hell, but the cold darkness of nothingness.

He felt bad for those who—

—He felt something.

He felt something.