Ruins of Greivstor

PROLOGUE

All he remembered was falling from out of the sky, his ship in flames. The ship burned as it broke through the atmosphere. His whole body trembled as he recalled the sensation, recalled his body wanting to rise to the roof but the straps and buckles kept him pinned in place. In his mind he barrelled towards the ground over and over again, repeating forever.

He awoke inside the ship. Everything was black. His limbs were contorted and there was some blood around, but on the whole not much damage to him. He was groggy, his mind not back up to full functioning power just yet. It needed time to reboot, like a machine. Ironically it had been machines that had led him there to begin with, if only in part.

He spied a small blue flash from the corner of his eye. It re-appeared again before fading once more. Grunting with the effort he untangled one arm from behind him. He fought with the jumbled nest of wires and cables than hung down like vines and reached for the small blinking light. It was the ship's locator.

"It's still on." He ripped himself free from the straps of the chair. He was vaguely aware of smoke coming from the back of the ship. He didn't know how long he'd been there, but he didn't care. He cared about getting out of there.

Eventually his clumsy attempts to release himself paid off, and he managed to roll away from the remains of his chair. He looked past all of his instruments and dials to a cracked windscreen. He cast a glance behind him to see the rest of the ship a crumpled ball of burning metal.

"Damn Purple-Fighters." He crawled over shattered glass towards a panel on the far side of the cockpit where there was thankfully a panel still flashing as it should. He closed his eyes to calm himself, suppress his shaking hand, and managed to input his command. After a second or two, the computer came back to him saying that outside was breathable. He smiled to keep some kind of morale up rather than from actual joy. There wasn't any joy here.

Stumbling to his knees he crawled to the port side of the ship. The Halo-Core had been smashed, still a small whiff of smoke trailing from it like a cigar's ghost.

"Halo will kill me," he complained. He found a pole of ripped metal that looked like it wouldn't snap under pressure. He pushed it into a small hole in the hull and yanked as hard as he could. No movement. He pushed and pulled, trying to force the thing to move even an inch. Eventually it gave ever so slightly, and then it cracked open. Finally, with one almighty crash the door opened up and a ray of shining daylight bathed him in its glow.

The man tossed the pole aside. From down the side of his seat he rummaged for his personal Halo-Core and mercifully found it intact. He stuffed it into a pocket and crawled his way back towards the door. He managed to heave himself from the wreckage of the downed ship and into the fresh air. Under his feet was stone, and as he stood up he saw a sight that made him shudder.

"So this is what Greivstor looks like from below." Above him he saw specks and shots of brilliant light. He heard gunfire rattle in his ears and he knew that the fight, somewhere up there, was still raging, as it was down here.