Is it worth it?

Disclaimer: Bungie and Halo's original character kick ass. But I don't own 'em.

Author's note: -Exasperated sigh- "All right, okay." -Can be seen with a small amused grin and an eyebrow raised- "No yaoi slashy whatever nonsense in this chapter either. So yeah, you guys can relax now. But if anyone has any suggestions, feel free to bring it."
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"This is not my day." Master Chief muttered darkly. Talk about an understatement.


Releasing the death grip he had slung over his bruised, possibly broken ribs, Master Chief wracked his brain for a plan. Any plan. Elites hot on his tail. An impossible amount of Flood at his doorstep. Holding back the urge to hurl, the Spartan whirled and sprinted to the nearest cluster of 'rocks'. It was the closest thing to a defensive wall that he could find.


Before he reached it, however, a few of the flood came up for an early hello. Which was gladly responded with Master Chief's fists and kicks. Despite their inhuman strength, the Spartan was more than able to dish out a few moves of his own. He had, after all, been designed with durability, strength, and speed in mind. Finding a few of the combat forms a bit too close, Master Chief slammed his fists forward before delivering his elbows with an equally devastating force to the flood behind. Ducking the leaping attack of one, the Spartan pivoted and rammed an upercut on the nearest unsuspecting combat form.


"How the hell do you guys eat, anyway?" The Spartan chatted idly during a pause in the fight, crouching to retrieve a few 'misplaced' weapons. The combat forms waved their arms around wildly, either confused or merely continuing with their brainless movements. One of the flood rushed forward, possibly to answer said question. Unfortunately for it, the Spartan blew a large hole in its chest with his newly acquired shotgun, stating with obvious distaste, "Actually, nevermind. I don't think I wanna know."

----
"Does the Demon's supply of energy never cease?" Ghlariknee asked, a degree of awe in his voice.


"He is like a machine. Fit only for fighting." Drajha-Lee commented, with a side-long look at the Elites under his command, "He has survived this war thus far, after all."


"Leader, why is it that we cannot kill the Demon?" One of the Elites questioned, "He has committed many crimes-"


Drajha-Lee cut him off, "against the Covenant." He paused a moment to let the statement sink in before continuing, "We no longer uphold their beliefs or laws. He is their enemy now. As unexpected as it seems, that Demon is now our ally."


"Little though he seems to agree." Ghlariknee scoffed, turning back to battle ahead. He was ready to fight. As soon as his leader gave the word, the red Elite would fight for his life's worth. Whatever qualms he had with the Master Chief he could put aside for their cause. To fight against the nation that had broken them, led them, and filled them with lies. Betrayed them.


"Think, Ghlariknee." The golden-clad Elite reasoned, "He has been stranded. All alone. He is wounded, more so than he has shown or even knows himself. What else has he to rely on than his instinct to defend himself and survive. His suspicions of us will not be so easily disregarded."


"I wish you had told me this sooner, Drajha-Lee. I might have tried harder to convince him." Ghlariknee commented with a sigh.


"Yet it is not your fault, Ghlariknee. If any is the blame, the fault would lie with me. I desired a chance to face off against such a fighter. To test him, before I would ask of him his assistance. But none of that matters now. Not if he is vanquished by the flood which faces him now." Tapping quickly into his communicator, the golden-clad Sanghelli surveyed the battlefield before calling for reinforcements. His mandables formed into a wry grin, Drajha-Lee turned back to the major Sanghelli under his command, "Now go, my warriors! Cast aside your grief and anger and defeat the parasites which wish to consume our potential newfound ally!"


Bringing forth their infamous battle cry, the Elite warriors rushed forward. Their doubts were gone. They would gain the Demon's trust through action, if words alone would not convince him.

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The shotgun had run out long ago. Instead, the Spartan stood wearily, both arms draped around two battle rifles. Though they had not been designed for one-handed use, the Master Chief just had to make do. Gritting his teeth each time he pulled the trigger, the Spartan could feel sweat on his brow, despite the temperature-regulated lining in his armor. But it wasn't the heat that brought about the sudden shean of sweat. It was the pain. An arm came swinging at him. But he was too tired. His dodge was too slow. The armored soldier barely braced himself as the blow connected. It was difficult but he managed to keep his feet even as he skidded a few yards away by the force of the hit. A dagger-like pain bloomed in his chest. That's when the Spartan knew something had broken. Master Chief coughed inside his helmet. He tasted blood.


'Great.'


Dazed, Master Chief had barely swung his arms around to continue firing before he felt the sting of several blows combined into one. He was once again seeing spots in his vision. When his mind rolled through the pain and exhaustion, he found himself down on one knee, lifting his arm weakly to continue his resistance. A group of combat forms rushed him. He took them down with a barrage of shots, but the ones that fell were replaced by triple the amount. And they had no pity for the soldier whose strength was slowly leaving him. A blink of an eye later, he found himself flying through the air, ironic as he found it hard to breath. What seemed like hours later, he reconnected with the ground with a bone-jarring landing. Groaning, the UNSC soldier tried to push himself up, only to cry out in pain as he found himself collapsed once more. He had tried to push himself up with his arms, too weak to get up any other way. Only to discover something that was sure to spell his death.


His left arm was dislocated. One of his legs had lost all feeling.


"SHIT!" He cursed aloud, knowing his luck had run out.


Yet even with that knowledge, the Spartan would not die facedown in the dirt. Ignoring the screaming pain from his two useless limbs, Master Chief drew himself up onto his one good leg. Against his will, he felt his fingers unable to keep a hold on the battle rifle. The only weapon he had on him clattered to the ground a heartbeat later. Locking his gaze with the lumbering foes around him, Master Chief waited. He waited for his death.


Shots filled his hearing. But looking down at himself, he was confused to find that his armor wasn't riddled with holes. His shields were down, after all. It had been unable to recharge during the relentless barrage of attacks. As he looked up, the Master Chief met another odd sight. All around him, the flood combat forms were falling down. Dead.


"Lean on me, Demon."


With a start, the Spartan swiveled his head to look beside him. He was too numb to express any shock. Thankfully, Ghlariknee didn't need to hear the question to know what he was being silently asked, "I am here to help you. We are here to help."


Master Chief swayed on his feet, trying to focus his eyes on the impossible sight around him. The red Elites, even the one gold one, were there. Surrounding him. But not to kill. They were.... defending him. So many warnings and questions filled the soldier's head. Ghlariknee took a step closer and Master Chief felt his body tense. Ghlariknee stilled.


"I am not here to hurt you, Demon. Lean on me. We will help you heal."


"...no more... than that?" Master Chief barely managed to gasp. He instantly regretted it as his throat threatened to close up against the overwhelming pain. But he had to say it. Had to make sure.


"No," the red Sanghelli shook his head, "we wish to discuss something with you, but that will come up later."


Master Chief eyed him warily, despite his senses shouting at him to accept. To get away from the battle and allow his mind to slip under the thick blanket of unconsciousness. Rest. Live. Those were what his body needed. What he needed.


"I give you my word. You will not be harmed." Ghlariknee darted a worried glance at his comrades. They would not last long against the parasites. There were just too many of them. Turning back to the Demon, the Elite took a deep breath to still his distraught nerves, "You must... trust me, Demon."


What seemed like hours later, Ghlariknee got the response he had hoped for. With nothing more than a nod, Master Chief stepped towards the Elite. Immediately afterwards, he stumbled, though Ghlariknee was quick to catch him. With a short hiss of pain, the Spartan straightened himself before draping his good arm across the Elite's shoulders. Shifting the sudden weight he had to help hold up, Ghlariknee was instantly grateful his comrades would be protecting them. He needed all his focus to keep the colosal weight of the Demon and his armor up and walking.


The muscles in his bad leg spasmed suddenly, making Master Chief cry out and almost drag Ghlariknee down with him. But the Elite quickly righted them, trying his best not to cause more pain to the Spartan than necessary. Noticing them on the move, Drajha-Lee commanded his warriors to keep following. They were stationed in a tight circle, trying their best to protect the Demon and the fellow Elite within. Yet, a few of the combat forms managed to land inside. With a curse of his own, the red Elite supporting the Demon drew up his plasma rifle and fired 'till only burning twitching bodies lay around them. Raising their alertness higher, the Sanghelli managed to keep Ghlariknee and the Demon relatively safe after that. But Master Chief was no longer able to express his gratitude. Somewhere along the way, he had suddenly found the clutches of consciousness too hard to hold on to. His mind welcomed the darkness that rushed to envelope him.
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Well.... huh. Hope Master Chief's okay.