...You provide a distraction for us?" Raising from his seat on the broken Wraith Patric scanned the buildings surrounding him, then the streets, picking over the details. "Aye," his reply was slightly slack, a phantom itch where his flesh elbow would be distracting him slightly as he picked his route, leaned forward and launched himself into a quick jog down the street to the next corner where he turned to the side, spotted the Wraith the other Spartans had taken, turned the other way and ran. A slight pause in the Covenant advance was all that gave them any sense of having any moment of safety when in reality they were in the calm before the storm.<br/><br/>Jumping over a smoking, blackened car and landing in a roll Patric came up in a small group of Elites, as surprised to find him in their midst as he. Youth spent training and years of practice already tapped kicking in stronger. Jerking back as one of them swung a plasma rifle into the space where his head would be, his mechanical arm swinging up in a hasty swipe that amputated said arm, the second Elite growling and moving forward, his armored fist of flesh slamming into it's chest. The third jumping back, blood of his brother in his face, the forth priming a grenade and<em>charging forward[</em>. His eyes widened in surprised at the unfamiliar tactic, his right foot catching on something, his balance lost he began to fall, his fist opens, the arm moves, fingers clutch at an alien arm, a hard jerk, a short clipped howl of pain, a bellow of frustrated rage as the grenade touches the flesh of the second Elite.<br/><br/>A grunt forced passed his lips as his back hits the ground, his legs tucking and balling then lashing out, sending the Elite on top of him up and back, the Grenade flashing blue. Visor going darkly opaque as the bright ball of light flashes and boils away flesh and alloy and burns through his shield. a chunk of body landing nearby, the forth Elite flown back, much of his flesh and armor boiled away.<br/><br/>Standing shakily, Patric shook his head as the third Elite set himself low, his weapon thrown aside, a chunk of familiar alloy lodged through it. The sword was missing from his hand, lost in the quick fight. Lowering himself, centering his balance, arms wide and a stupid grin adding color to his otherwise grim face, he flicked his external suit comms system on and let out an answering growl to the Elite's own.....