AN: Holy crap, I want to shoot my neck through a noose.

Long time no see! Sorry for the long wait, but college had been a particular pain in the ass for the past few months, and I hadn't been able to go around writing as much as I used to pre-college days. Also I got gym membership, so that gives all the more motivation to stop being a total lazy ass now haha. However, I digress. As you can tell, this chapter is noticeably shorter than the previous ones. Don't fret. This is just a portion of the main chapter I'm working on currently, a sort of "preview" to show that I have no intention of abandoning this story (as the last time I updated was damn September, nearly a year ago). Anyway, I hope you enjoy, and much thanks to all who had the time and patience to stop by and read the story. It really warms my heart and soul.

Feedback, reviews, etc, will be greatly appreciated. For those wondering about the cover art, it was made by ZenNiibi2. Go check her out on DeviantArt!

Also, for those who saw the E3 Halo Infinite trailer...the Chief is BACK! No gameplay though :(

Exitus Acta Probat

Chapter 4: An Act of Grace

Location: 'Wakefield' Village

Date: [March 28, 2559] [10:15 UNSC Standard Military Time]

The trap was almost ready to be sprung.

Placing the C-12 charge against the surface of the stone wall, Jerome proceeded to reach into his rucksack and retrieved two objects from the side pouches: a pair of remote detonators. He inspected them with the care of a surgeon before jamming the devices' back prods into the malleable mass of the explosive. Pressing a few buttons, the Spartan waited for a moment as the detonators armed themselves with quaint 'beeps', the devices linking the detonation code via a COM signal to his neural implant, as well as a backup one to Alice's.

If complications get in his way somehow, then she will take the reins.

Stealing a final glance at his work, Jerome stood up calmly and blew out a faint sigh. That was the last of the charges. The rest were placed in strategic locations all around the perimeter.

More specifically, in the likely areas where the hostile forces might be rearing their ugly heads.

It was a dicey gamble, especially given the amount of C-12 dedicated to the cause. Just a tiny portion of the explosive could obliterate a five story building in mere seconds. The full five Red Team had scattered as ad hoc bombs were more than enough to blast a large hole through the side of a Marathon-class heavy cruiser. As overkill as it seemed, however, the Spartans were not taking any chances on utilizing less.

Their concerning odds had persuaded them as much, after all.

As he swung the now empty rucksack onto his back, Jerome connected a COM channel to his distant teammate, "Alice, status."

"Just finished up on my end, Jerome." The calm voice of Alice answered back instantly, "What now?"

The leader of Red Team hummed in satisfaction, "Head back to the defensive line. Assist Sunray with the locals." Pausing for a moment, the Spartan redirected his gaze towards the looming distance of the town beyond.

"Don't wait on me. There's something I need to do." He added in.

"Roger, wilco." Alice responded.

There was nary a question in her tone before she closed the channel with a click of faint static. Left to his devices, Jerome pressed his lips together as he let his eyes drift up to the roof of the building right next to him. The structure itself was about three stories tall, barely dwarfing the other one or two-story buildings surrounding it.

Good, that should provide a more than efficient vantage point.

Using the massive space behind him, the Spartan began to step back a few paces. He eventually stopped just as he positioned himself into a distinct imitation of a runner's stance. Then without a moment's pause, Jerome took off into a nimble sprint, his augmented muscles and the liquid crystal layer within his MJOLNIR doing most of the work for him.

In the time it would have taken a person to even blink, the Spartan had already reached the proverbial finish line.

Halting just an arm's length away from the wall, Jerome pushed off his dominant leg to leap high into the air. As he sailed upward, the Spartan shifted ever so slightly, allowing his left foot to gain solid purchase on the edge of an open window sill. Now came the second phase. While the weathered stone began to strain and crack from the sheer weight of his armor, the Spartan proceeded to mentally activate one of the MJOLNIR's few but very fruitful features: a rear-integrated thruster pack.

This useful component had served him well during his prior engagements with the Covenant. From jumping over plasma fire to stomping the heads of the aliens unfortunate enough to be in his path, the thrusters certainly provided the unorthodox but nonetheless welcome means for carrying out certain tasks.

In this case, however, the thruster pack will serve his needs in a much more...elementary capacity.

Jerome pushed himself off the window sill, shattering the weakened stone that was underneath his foot in the process. As the Spartan soared upward once more, the thrusters flickered for just a split second before roaring to life with bursts of hot flames. Forming a pair of small, fiery wings, the thrusters worked overtime to propel him at a distance higher than before, augmenting his initial leap with efficiency and grace that would put even Olympian jumpers to shame.

To say the least, the extra boost provided more than enough leverage for him to reach his target.

Jerome let out a faint grunt as his right hand shot out in front of him. With a grip comparable to that of a hungry python, he grasped onto the edge of the rooftop, his lower body briefly making contact with the building before swinging back with uncontrolled momentum. Fortunately for the Spartan, whatever made up the material of his purchase wasn't quite as brittle as the window sill down below, allowing him the luxury to dangle over three stories of height like a small child hanging off of monkey bars.

The thought of such a thing tickled his mind with humor, if only for a fleeting moment.

Grabbing onto the ledge with his other hand, and pulling himself up with a brief burst of strength, it didn't take long for Jerome to gain what he had so restlessly desired: an effective vantage point. From his place upon the rooftop, he began to quickly but clearly make out every inch of the surrounding village...including the pillars of smoke ominously inching closer and closer towards his direction. The Spartan frowned slightly and zoomed his HUD onto the smoggy anomalies, hoping to get a better view of what he was up against.

A few seconds later, Jerome got his view alright. What he saw, however, was starting to paint a rather unpleasant picture.

Bulldozing through the settlement like locusts in a garden, the hostile army appeared to have set it upon themselves to cause as much mayhem and destruction as possible. Sounds of intense battle and devastation began to reach his ears, while screams of pain and suffering seemed ever so prominent throughout the afflicted areas.

The feminine ones, especially, stood out the most for the Spartan.

Jerome narrowed his eyes darkly, trailing his gaze onto the individual monsters with hawk-like attention. To say the least, the details provided by Major Vaughan were pretty much spot on and accurate to a tee. Filling up the bulk of the force were the 'Orcs', beasts that appeared to be an amalgamation of muscle, fat, tusks, and a lot of ugly. Complementing them were a similar number of smaller creatures, such as the 'Imps' and 'Goblins'.

A smorgasbord of other monsters made up the rest, some of which even surprising the Spartan due to their vaguely familiar nature. Minotaurs, ogres, hellhounds, etcetera. Creatures that belonged in ancient Earth mythology were somehow very real and alive, causing all sorts of unwanted trouble right in front of his face.

At this point, Jerome didn't know whether to feel amused or concerned by the incredulous situation.

The Spartan shook his head, promptly steeling his focus as he started to calculate the amount of time it would take for the hostile army to eventually reach the estate. The process took about a total of three seconds in real time. Judging from their slow, methodical, but somewhat constant pace, it wouldn't be much longer until the monsters made due their intended arrival.

Around twenty minutes by his rough estimation, a time he synchronized quickly to his HUD's timer. Jerome let out a low hum. More than enough time for his allies back at the estate to properly prepare.

For what was to come, at least.

Disengaging his zoomed HUD, Jerome was already on the move and stopped to peer over the edge of his improvised perch when he heard something that stiffly tensed his body like a statue. Screaming...feminine and very close to his position. The Spartan's golden visor set itself sternly towards the looming ground below, studying the distance between himself and the floor as if he was preparing for an Olympic dive. It took no more than a second for Jerome to acquire his point of interest.

One which chilled his blood immediately upon discovery.

Deep in the alleyway below, a lone woman was struggling in vain to fend off a group of green, child-like creatures. Goblins, the Spartan recalled quickly, appearing no less grotesque and inhuman than the Orcs his Warthog had flattened beforehand. The little monstrosities let out a chorus of lustful cackles as their spindly hands held down the screaming woman, tearing apart her clothing and proceeding to fondle her bare body with undisguised eagerness. For the Goblins, it seemed as if they were having the appetizer before the main course, the time of their pathetic lives.

The sheer terror and hopelessness coming from their sobbing victim said otherwise, however.

A frown graced Jerome's hidden features. His hands, which had relaxed by his sides moments prior, were tightening into stiff fists at the horrifying sight before him. It appeared that there were a few stragglers still wandering about — some even meeting a hapless fate such as the woman down in the alleyway.

How...unfortunate.

Jerome let out a deep breath and loosened his fists. If the creatures were just as single minded as they appeared, then the atrocity below him was just one of the many currently taking place throughout the settlement. It was a bitter pill to swallow, even for the Spartan, but it was one that only served to reinforce his desire to quickly end all of this mayhem before it got out of hand.

Before more people become victim to the overwhelming chaos.

Jerome felt his body completely relax, his breathing remaining as serene as ever. Nobody will be left behind, he promised — to these people or to himself, he didn't know. His golden visor zeroed onto the woman down below, who by this point had accepted her fate with whimpers and tightly shut eyes.

Nobody...

So without pause or prompt, Jerome proceeded to calmly plunge straight off the rooftop.

To say the least, the journey towards below effectively made his entire body akin to that of a speeding MAC round, most likely as a result of gravity and the MJOLNIR's weight. This sudden change in velocity forced the Spartan to brace himself seconds early, once the ground made itself quickly apparent and closer than he had expected. A prick of weightlessness overcame his spine as air resistance whipped against the armor's form like winds from a powerful hurricane.

With mere moments to spare, Jerome tightened his muscles just in time before his feet finally made contact with the awaiting ground.

'Boom!'

Upon contact, the floor held no resistance as it practically shattered into a small crater underneath his feet, sending pieces of dirt and trash flying in every direction. A gust of wind also surged from the impact point, scaring off a couple of rodents and even a stray cat sneakily attempting to make a meal out of them. Their startled cries began to die off into the distance, including the windy disturbance that had frightened them in the first place.

As for the Spartan's quarry...

The goblins, who had prepared to delve deeper into their debauchery, were now focusing on the disruption in a mix of shock and agitation. However, their anger quickly dissipated into dread once the dust cloud departed, revealing the sight of Jerome standing up slowly from the crater. Beady eyes watched in stunned silence as the Spartan's titanium-covered form sauntered slowly out of the impromptu sinkhole, a display most appropriate for the Greek God of War himself.

With the Goblins' attention now diverted, their would-be victim had the chance to scoot away from her would-be assailants. Distancing herself safely, the woman had the breathing room to observe the surprising turn of events, her teary gaze darting between the Goblins and the approaching Spartan apprehensively. A choking silence swept the alleyway, none of the creatures daring to let out a sound as Jerome continued to inch closer.

That was until one of them made what was probably the worst decision of its entire existence.

Either out of stupidity, bravery, or perhaps a combination of both, the goblin in question released a battlecry and started to charge at the Spartan with a rusted dagger. For the untrained eye, it would have looked like the goblin had crossed the distance in mere seconds, the dagger in its hand poising to strike where his heart would be. For most others, unprepared and all, it would have been game over right there and then.

Jerome, however, was not like most others.

Synthetic and natural adrenaline flowing through him, his body's augmentations provided most of the work when time began to slow at what seemed to snail's pace. As a result, the charging goblin appeared as mobile to him as a Grunt trying to waddle its way through a field of quicksand. Whatever chance the creature had at surprising him, whatever advantage it thought it had over him, was negated in a matter of milliseconds.

Spartan Time, he knew offhandedly. Good...it was time to show this thing the error of its ways.

The goblin, unaware of its impending fate, let out a vainglorious sneer at Jerome's unchanging advance. The creature jumped high into the air, lunging at the Spartan in a way reminiscent to the many Covenant Jackals that had attempted to pounce on him in the past. Within mere moments, the dagger would have made contact with his armored chest-plate.

'Clink!'

That was when a golden barrier suddenly appeared at the point of impact, stopping the blade a mere inch away from its target. At the same time a foreign entity shot out quickly from underneath, firmly grasping onto the goblin's wrist before it could have time to react.

And just like that, the attack had been foiled completely.

The goblin let out a confused "Rah?", puzzled by the lack of blood or even a puncture wound. Blinking, and feeling whatever was left of its confidence wither into nothingness, it took note of its captured wrist before slowly looking up towards its newfound captor. Greeting the creature back was its own reflection, a startling golden mirror that conveyed its ugly features — and the sheer terror slowly developing on its face. To say the least, the goblin's thought process became overwhelmed by a single course of action, one that it thought was very appropriate at that very moment.

It began to freak the hell out.

As the goblin kicked and flailed in the air with the occasional screams of frustration, its fruitless struggle sparked a flash of entertainment within the Spartan. Jerome indulged himself with the faintest trace of a grin as he watched the creature continue its vain attempt to wrestle a way out of his grasp. It was a sight that seemed like it was attempting to escape scolding discipline rather than desire for personal survival.

However, like all good things, the amusement was only short-lived, and it was promptly wiped away along with the smile on his face. My turn, the Spartan thought. Then his vice-like grip started to apply even more pressure before...

...'Snap!'

The horrendous sound of bones breaking echoed through the alleyway, along with the piercing wails of the unlucky goblin. Utter agony began to emanate from his victim, its struggle becoming even more violent and desperate in response to the newfound pain, but Jerome could honestly care less. A broken wrist wasn't enough to deter him. No, there was one more thing he wanted to do.

To put it simply, the next moments became nothing more than an unexpected blur.

Before the rest of the goblins could snap out of their horrified stupor, much less react fast enough to help out, their unfortunate comrade had found itself already on the move. Shrieks of absolute terror, eclipsing even its previous pain, erupted from the goblin as the Spartan suddenly bursted into action, who swung his prey upward with a single rush of motion. For what seemed to be an eternity, the creature floated over his head like an angel's halo.

Then Jerome proceeded to hurl the entire weight of his living flail towards the floor below.

'BAM!'

The ground cracked — no, crumpled — from the projectile that was the goblin, the dirt shattering around the impact point like shards of broken glass. The creature itself fared no better, a broken wrist definitely the least of its concerns at the moment. But while the goblin's mind fell into a state of shock, too overwhelmed by the pain to give a damn about everything else, the Spartan decided to finish it off with a small measure of mercy. He had done far worse to those greater than it, after all. And so using whatever momentum was left, he lifted his senseless victim into the air once more.

And went on to slam its body into the adjacent wall with no small amount of force.

'BOOM!'

Stone, flesh, and bone were pulverized in a heartbeat, the impact leaving nothing unbroken in the process as a dusty cloud began to erupt from the point of origin. And once the Spartan finally let go of his quarry, letting the lanky arm drop listlessly, the film of particles left from the collision eventually parted to reveal a rather grizzly sight: A goblin-shaped indent pressed deeply into the stone, streams of blood flowing down the wall like some twisted depiction of a mural.

The goblin, in this case, was not so much the artist as it was the art itself. Mangled, unresponsive, broken. Nothing of its former self remained, the creature's cause of death best left to the imagination. By some miracle, the dagger was still held tightly in its hand, undamaged and unlike its poor owner.

A firm reminder of what the goblin had tried — and failed — to accomplish before its demise.

Letting out a satisfied huff at his handiwork, Jerome eyed the bloody carcass for a moment before his attention was caught by what seemed to be the sounds of low murmuring. The Spartan turned towards the source, his gaze settling on a rather unsurprising sight.

Standing from afar, the remaining goblins did nothing but stare at him, not once moving from their original spots. Their eyes bugged and bodies trembling, they shifted their attention from Jerome to what remained of their comrade in an apparent display of shock and horror. Evidently, they had been expecting an easy fight, not for the shoe to be on the other foot. And judging from the shaky hands, which held the weapons that provided their confidence, the goblins were losing their resolve with each passing second.

The trembling grew even worse by the sounds of approaching footsteps.

Completely ignoring their previous prey, the goblins could only watch in muted terror as Jerome continued his slow approach towards their direction. He deliberately took little effort in his strides, the MJOLNIR armor displaying nothing more than nonchalant ease. To a third party, it looked as if he was taking a simple stroll on the beach.

To the goblins, however, the Spartan appeared more akin to that of a grim reaper. An ominous and unstoppable entity, ready to steal all of their souls.

It seemed to be an eternity before Jerome finished his journey, who halted mere inches from the goblins themselves. The shadow produced from his massive bulk forced the creatures to look up, craning their heads back to compensate for the task. Once they took in the Spartan's considerable height, however, their stomachs collectively sunk to the floor. It didn't take a genius to figure out the size difference between the two parties.

A difference if one were to compare a wolf with household mouses.

This fact didn't escape the goblins, especially when that very same wolf was staring down at them silently. The gaze was hidden by the golden faceplate, monotone and indifferent to the goblins' plight.

What was the intent? Was there callous judgement behind that glass? Was there perhaps just simple and utter malice, as demonstrated by the display with the first goblin?

The reflective surface made it difficult to tell.

For a moment, nothing but silence reigned the alleyway. Terrified eyes met the Spartan's faceless visor. The surrounding shadows, even the walls themselves, appear to close in slowly onto the goblins. The air became more tense, cold and suffocating to their lungs all the same. Claustrophobia snared their minds, entrapping them like captured fish in a net. Their growing fear contrasted Jerome's own calm, motionless demeanor.

With no one making so much as a step, the impasse would have lasted for a while longer. That was, however, until the Spartan decided to break the tense stillness first. Slowly, he lowered himself to their level, maintaining eye contact with the terrified goblins despite his still considerable size advantage over them. And, for the first time since his entrance, he spoke out in a soft but booming voice.

One which echoed not only into the alleyway, but also into the creatures' heartless souls forever.

"Boo!"

All hell broke loose.

Completely overcome by panic at that point, the goblins released a chorus of high-pitched screams and instinctively began to hightail from their would-be executioner. Prior thoughts of pillage and lust were swept away along with their bowel control, and the creatures made no attempt to see if the Spartan had followed them as they all flocked desperately towards the exit. Driven by fight-or-flight instincts, the goblins abandoned their weapons in favor of focusing on their own well-being, some resorting to even pushing and shoving each other until they eventually poured out of the alleyway like bats out of hell.

Their screams, even from a distance, were more than discernible to the alleyway's remaining occupants.

'All too easy.'

Jerome stood up and maintained his previous posture, watching indifferently as the terrified goblins scurried off to the outside world. He let out a quiet huff. Now that those annoyances were out of the way, the Spartan could finally attend to a more important matter at hand. Silently, he shifted his attention to the only other person present in the alleyway.

Against the far wall, the woman sat alone in a silent but quivering ball. If it was from her exposed body or the commotion, the Spartan didn't know, but he could easily tell she was frightened to the bone. The frequent sniffles and whimpers indicated as much.

A brief pang hit his heart at the sorry sight, but Jerome shook his head slightly and squashed it down just as quickly. There was no more time for pity. All that mattered at this point was the woman's safety, nothing more.

Someone else can do the sympathizing for him later.

So with a calm gait, Jerome made his way to the woman. She seemed to hear him perfectly despite her traumatized state, as her body flinched in near rhythm to each of the Spartan's heavy footsteps. Yet she chose to do nothing but continue hiding in her little shell, even when the behemoth eventually stood mere inches away from her.

"Ma'am?"

It took a moment before shaky sobs greeted in return, "P-please...leave me be."

The Spartan frowned, lowering himself to the woman's level, "I'm not going to hurt you." He said gently.

The woman didn't respond any further, and it seemed his closer proximity had provoked her to tuck her slender legs up even more tightly against her chest. Jerome resisted the urge to let out a sigh. He didn't have time for any more stubbornness.

"Those creatures are gone. You're safe now." Jerome insisted, forcing his voice to be non-threatening as humanly possible.

Finally, that was enough to draw out a reaction out of her. Momentarily shifting with obvious reluctance, the woman eventually brought her head up to meet Jerome's gaze. Her movements revealed tear-stained features, allowing the Spartan to take in every nuance and detail of her appearance.

Exotic.

That was a word Jerome didn't register in his mind, but felt was appropriate nonetheless. Chocolate skin, silky black hair, and a curvy body only genetics of the superior degree could provide. Alluring violet eyes stared back nervously, nearly matching in shade to the tattered remains of her clothing. Had he been anything but a Spartan, he would have been floored by the sheer beauty in front of him.

However, that was about as far as conventional features were concerned. A closer look at the woman and Jerome felt himself tensing up once he noticed something about the woman that stuck out like a sore thumb. Two of them, to be exact.

'Her ears...'

They were long and pointy, nearly surpassing his index finger in length. Tucked behind her curly hair, the fact they were nervously twitching on their own accord more than confirmed their already peculiar nature. It was almost like they had a mind of their own...

Then as quickly as he could physically react, a sudden realization came over him.

'She's not human.'

The Spartan froze stiffly at the revelation. A friendly non-human. A honest-to-god non-human who wasn't actively trying to kill him. Quite the jarring contrast to those creatures from earlier, much less the Covenant.

Jerome narrowed his eyes slightly.

Not only was he intrigued by the discovery, he was momentarily stunned by it as well. For the first time in a while, Jerome was caught in a rare moment of indecision. His stern features hardened further as he let out a wisp of air through his lips.

What the hell should he do?

'She's not human...'

However, it seemed that time would only allow him the opportunity to ponder about it later when a series of wails suddenly snapped him out of his thoughts. The Spartan blinked once, noticing the woman had spontaneously erupted into a sobbing mess. Jerome watched in bewilderment as she pounded her heels against the floor frantically in an attempt to scoot back more, despite already touching the wall behind her. The utter fear in her eyes was unmistakable, tears trailing down her cheeks and quivering lips.

For a moment, nothing but pure confusion reined Jerome's mind. She was afraid of him? But why? He hadn't done anything except remain in place, standing still like a statue...

Then another wave of realization hit the Spartan.

Of course. She wasn't human. If her strange ears indicated to some sort of enhanced hearing, which she had demonstrated moments prior, then her other senses must be just as heightened — including her eye-sight. The poor woman must have picked up on his tense body language, and assumed the worst was about to happen to her. No wonder she seemed so frightened.

This time, Jerome let out a faint sigh.

Human or not, the woman was still an innocent, one unfortunate enough to be caught in the crossfires of conflict. Duty and personal morals already made her safety a paramount objective, reservations be damned. Any other option would be just unacceptable.

No more missteps. No more misunderstandings.

He spent seconds mentally repeating that mantra before returning his attention to the woman with a firm gaze, "Ma'am."

"Go away!" She screamed, continuing to push herself against the wall futilely.

Stopping for a moment, the Spartan began to try from a different angle, "I'm not going to hurt you." Jerome repeated, raising a hand towards her calmly.

That strategy didn't work either, since the woman responded by lashing out instinctively at him. She didn't even get past striking distance before another armored hand shot out from the side, ensnaring her wrist with a grip reminiscent to that of a cobra. Within the blink of an eye, the woman was now completely at the Spartan's mercy.

"Let me go!" She wailed at him while pounding on the titanium gauntlet to no avail, "Let me go! Let me go..."

Struggling against his steel-like grip for a while, the woman fought until she eventually lost the energy to resist any further. She slumped against the wall lazily, her body lax and unmoving. Despite her listless state, hot tears continued to flow down her face freely.

"P-please...leave me be." She sobbed, gazing at his golden visor fearfully.

When the Spartan didn't respond at first, the woman let out a few shaky weeps and hiccups before looking down at her feet. She closed her eyes shut, trembling as she did so, but nonetheless waited in silence for the inevitable. If she was going to meet her end, she might as well face it with the sliver of dignity left within her. However, whatever was supposed to come next, whatever horrible fate she had expected to fall upon her in that very moment...never came.

Instead, something quite different took place.

"Ma'am." Her ears picked up the Spartan's stern voice, "Look at me."

A part of the woman wanted to say no, to use whatever little spirit she had to defy her captor one last time. On the other hand, the more sensible part of her yelled otherwise, to do nothing rash as to not give any more incentive for the mysterious giant to bring harm upon her. It was an internal tug-of-war that seemed to last for an eternity, but eventually both sides gave way to just simple, growing curiosity.

Well...it wasn't like she had anything to lose anyway.

The woman would have sighed at her own brashness, had her mind and body been in a better state. Hit with a brief burst of courage, she opened her eyes and tilted her head up to meet the Spartan's gaze. At that moment, she had fully expected to see the same faceless mirror again. The very one that displayed her distorted reflection, as well as the one that brought terror into the hearts of her previous captors.

What actually greeted her back, however, was quite the pleasant surprise.

Instead of the usual golden surface, there was nothing but a clear, translucent glass — and beyond that was the upper half of a face. A human face, the woman realized quickly to her shock. Despite her blurry, tear-filled vision, she could still make out some of the Spartan's exposed features, from his unhealthy pale complexion to the numerous scars marring his youthful skin. Everything was within plain sight for her to take in completely.

Including his eyes. By the Goddess, she had never seen such silver eyes before.

Cool, calculating, temperate. Those were what they embodied perfectly. Not only did they radiate stern intelligence, they also seemed to pierce right through her body as well as her soul. The cold, neutral nature of his eyes was pretty much in line with what the woman had expected for someone so intimidating.

However, there was something else.

Alongside the frigid essence was a certain...gentleness, so subtle and imperceptible she just barely noticed it. It was quite the strange contrast for sure, but one that somehow complemented the mysterious giant so well. Add to the fact it was all directed at her — and her alone — the woman began to experience sudden feelings of warmth and security she hadn't felt in such a long, long time.

Yes, she felt warm. She felt safe. The woman didn't know why, but she wanted to trust the Spartan, trust him with her life. It just felt...right, to say the least.

So caught up in her mesmerized state, she didn't realize her trembling had stopped nor did she notice her lack of tears. She didn't even realize the grip on her wrist had lessened considerably as well.

"See, I'm human. Nothing like those creatures." Suddenly her attention was snapped back to the present by Jerome's voice, "I can help get you to safety. Please, trust me."

The woman bit her lip at the offer. Just moments ago, she had been assaulted and nearly violated by a group of Goblins, but it seemed fate took kindly upon her struggle by sending a stranger in equally bizarre armor to her rescue. It sounded almost too good to be true.

"You..will?" She asked timidly.

The Spartan nodded, his exposed eyes gazing at her patiently, "Only if you allow me, Miss...?"

Had the woman been less jaded, she would have laughed at his show of politeness in such a situation. So instead she settled for a small but amused smile, which lasted only for a moment as she made up her mind and moved to answer his query. It was the least she could do after what the Spartan had done for her.

"Campbell. Grace Campbell."

Jerome hummed, apparently satisfied by her cooperation, "Okay, Miss Campbell. Get ready." He said while his visor changed back to its original, polarized state.

Grace felt a tug of disappointment by the fact she couldn't see his face anymore, but it was soon overtaken by confusion as she attempted to figure out what the Spartan had meant.

"'Get ready?' Get ready for what..."

Grace didn't get a chance to ponder further when she felt a tingly sensation along her back, and the woman found herself suddenly lifted off the ground with such speed, she couldn't even react. Letting out a brief yelp, she flew in the air before landing gently in the arms of the Spartan, who began to carry her bridal style. Grace recovered quickly and looked up to glare at Jerome, but her displeasure was short-lived upon meeting his neutral, faceless stare.

It wasn't hard to know why, considering the position she was in.

Checking to make sure the blushing woman was secured in his arms, the Spartan proceeded to scan his surroundings with one mechanical sweep of his helmet. Every crook and cranny was noted down to the tiniest detail, even his latest kill on the wall, while his attention shifted to the motion tracker every now and then.

It wouldn't do good to have unwanted observers, after all.

Detecting nothing out of the ordinary, Jerome allowed himself to relax. He let out a quiet sigh. It took quite a bit of time, longer than he would have liked personally, but the Spartan felt satisfied enough knowing that he had just knocked down two birds with one stone — and with plenty of time to spare, according to his HUD's timer.

Now it was about time for him to rejoin the fight.

Jerome humored himself with a moment of tranquil silence before his gaze was casted towards the direction of the estate. A feeling of determination washed over him, and the Spartan wasted no more time dillydallying by shifting into a runner's stance again once more. A staunch expression hid behind his visor.

One breath in, one breath out.

Tucked in his arms, on the other hand, Grace felt a strange change in the air. She looked up at Jerome again, but this time with a nervous but curious raise of her brow. Absolutely oblivious to what was about to happen next.

"H-Hey, what are you doing—"

Then as if a switch had been flipped, the Spartan suddenly took off in a blur of motion. A trail of dust was left slowly rising in his wake, blanketing the air with a cloud of dirty soil and Grace's terrified screams. Fortunately for the unlikely pair, there was nary a living soul in the area to witness their little show.

Except for the stray cat from before, which closely watched the retreating pair from an open window sill high above. The feline meowed as it played with a dead rat by its paws, its green eyes glowing with hidden intelligence and curiosity.