The Library

(FF) The Tide of War Returns

Paulus Magintie — Wed, 18 Nov 2009 13:47:04 GMT

11th November 2572

00:45am

Cairo Station

Earth

“Sir you won't believe this”, says a ageing marine. The now Admiral of the UNSC Lord Roger Price has taken other the command of earth's defences and all of her colonies, he is a brave,experienced but some what arrogant and aggressive. He stands at 6ft 2 rather broad with shaved hair and a scar on his left cheek proof, of his fighting past with the covenant. He was but 18 when he signed up on 2^nd march 2531, he is a veteran of Reach,battle of Earth and of the Ark he fought along side the best of the best of the 105^th ODST battalion and the legendary Master chief during the attack of the citadel and ending the war.
He said while walking other to the man, “what is it marine”. “Sir we have a large anomaly approaching one of the drones near Pluto.”

“Bring it on the screen”, “Aye sir”
Lord price looks at the screen trying to figure what could be so large, move so quickly and be undetected until now. A look of horror appears on his face, he bellows “Get all battle stations onto red alert load up the MAC cannons get all available ships to form a defensive perimeter around the orbital stations.
“Sir Ground forces are mobilised, but may I ask what are we preparing for” asks a marine.
“A Covenant invasion” says lord Price, all personnel within the observation deck had horror and fear on there faces, marines started running through hall ways and securing reactor rooms and docking bays.

Mean while ground forces all over Earth where helping in civilian evacuation taking control of the streets, Scorpion tanks, warthogs, ODST and marines crowded the streets ready to take on the Covenant once again.
Lord Price looks towards his 2^nd in command. “Get me Commander Rijic ASAP”

Commander Rijic is one of the youngest yet most battle hardened men within the UNSC now that the main forces are filled with glory seeking preschoolers , he stands at 5ft 10 he has a muscular face with stubble rough short black hair, he could give the best ODST a run for his money in hand to hand combat. This has earned him the title of Goliath within the ranks of the military.

“Commander Its great to see you again and trust the years are treating you well”. Said Price with teasing smile, “Better than you it seems” quipped Rijic also with a wide grin.
“So what can I do you for, I have all the soldiers and heavy weaponry in my command mobilised ready to help in anyway they can.” says Rijic with a serious look in his eye.
“Excellent commander” hood replied “I need you to get your best squad and send them to the new ONI building now I can not tell you why as it is top secret but I can assure you they are in no danger with this task”
“Understood” Rijic says with a salute and matches out of Mission centre to the barracks a building the length of a football field made of metal. On his way he stubs his toe on a KS55HB FR Battle Rifle. He picks up the gun and inspects the condition, the weapon had scratches all over, with the one of the sight lenses smashed and bent in a almost U shape.

This angered the commander and stormed into the barracks shouting
“ OK you horrible excuse for men which of you spineless cowards has a weapon missing”
All the marines inside jump from there beds and stand to attention in panic.
The commander walks up the line of soldiers holding the gun in his left hand, looking each marine in the eye, one marine was so petrified he wet himself as the commander stood in front of him,
looking in disgust Rijic told the solider to go and get cleaned up and that he'll deal with him later, the marine wasted no time and ran out of the room.

Meanwhile back in orbit Seraph fighters had been released upon the battle grid, hoping they can board and destroy the MAC stations as they did the last time they fought. As the fighters closed in every Long and shortsword fighter where released in endless waves from the 100+ battle ships orbiting earth to take on the incoming fighters. During this time the Covenant armada stayed beyond the MAC range.

A message appeared on the Cairo Stations main screen as well as every other orbital stations.
The face of a War chieftain clad in platinum armour appeared “ Surrender your worthless planet” Said the ruthless brute. “Surrender now or watch your planet burn I have brought a thousand ships and more you do not stand a chance of victory”
“We will never hand our planet over to the likes of you cheiftan. We will not become your slaves we will die before that happens” Claimed Lord price

“So be It you have no Sangheili scum to protect you now you parasite” growled the brute with anger on his face.
“Let the battle begin my brothers destroy every last human take no prisoners”
The Covenant armada moved closer to engage the UNSC.
“Well everybody get ready” said Price with sorrow in his voice “Where going to War”

Halo: Below the Brine [Chapter 3]

Footbutt — Mon, 26 Oct 2009 12:48:41 GMT

Halo: Below the Brine

I had nothing.

No love, no joy, no peace. No boat or brine. No place to rest my tried and tired heart.

I had no future.

The galaxy tends to ruin things for you, just when you think you have them figured out. Those most precious to you are taken away in the onset of destruction. Fighting for your own life becomes the stuff of reality. But the battle is not against flesh and blood alone. This is my fight. My responsibility.

And I was about to make my move.

Foreword:

A widowed wife of a fallen soldier seeks to carry out her husband’s last wishes after hearing the dreadful news of his death on the battlefield. She is given his last effects and stumbles upon a hidden message among the items that will lead her down paths that she’d never thought to take. A journey through the muck and mire. A journey through the most darkened places of her soul, plunging below the brine. Alone but determined, scared yet courageous, Caitrin Lann will discover her life was meant for something more.

The Chronicles of A Marine

sp4rt4n — Sat, 14 Nov 2009 04:46:10 GMT

First Section: Early life and Boot.

Chapter 1 Beginings.

Military calendar unknown

Earth, my home where I had grown up on. About fourteen I graduated High school a little bit earier then most thanks to extra school activities and classes. This made my parents proud, as I was not the oldest but one of the brightest in the family. Being raised in Russia meant the cold was easy to deal with and the low temperature helped me maintain a healthy life style.

My parents pushed me into collage asking with pleadings, then they tried to make me go by force. I suggested I should go to the fleet academy. They took many gifted minds such as myself, and shaped into Captains and crews of UNSC ships. I am glad I gave that up or else I would have died a swift death to covenant ships.

Chapter 2 Boot camp.

Military calendar unknown.

"Wake up maggots!", Usenski turned in his bed to try ignoring the Seargeant. Another scream was heard that jolted Usenski onto his feet, looking around Usenski's memory flashed back this was boot camp. He had signed up for this hell because Usenski wanted to show everyone that he could do it. All his teachers and friends even his family laughed at him. The echo of the taunting laughs bore into him and Usenski was in a rage.

Usenski sprang out of bed and swiftly looked around for the origin of the scream, what Usenski saw was horrible the seargeant had smashed a plastic night stick into aonther recruits bed. Everyone was starting to stir, they all rose out of bed and started at the Seargeant.

"Anymore of you maggots want to sleep!?", The seargeant asked the half-awake recruits. Usenski already knew what to do and running to the shower with great speed still trying to pull of his clothes.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The punishment for the recruits was great, the drill instructer whose name was Dale had run them up and down for a good while, down gravel roads and such. Afterwards the recruits were forced to do push-ups, jumping-jacks, and so forth the exercises went on. At the end of the day Usenski was beat as he ran into the bunks and forced his aching muscles to work.

The day had gone and pasted the sun had set on the peaceful planet of Earth. Usenski was exhausted after the running and exercises the drill instructer made the recruits do. As Usesnki fell into bed he felt that this was only the begining of his career.

Chapter 3. To be broken.

Military calendar Unknown.

Usenski and his now new recruit brothers were run and drilled everyday nonstop. Everyday Dale made Usenski do more push-ups, more jumping-jacks, and more other vigorous activities.

Usenski ran with the platoon, they had to keep pace and if they did not 100 jumping jacks followed by pushups. For everytime they stopped the platoon got another exercise added to the already long list of excerises.

"Platoon, halt!", the drill instructer halted them all, the platoon was already on the ground most could not go on. Only a few stood and did the jumping jacks Dale the instructer had ordered them to, Usenski being one of them. Usenski was of russian decent and was a bit larger then the average recruit, but he too felt the burn of the arebic excerises bestowed on them by the demanding drill instructer. Out of the whole platoon consisting of 50 men only ten stood still counting off jumping jacks.

"Recruits stop, I think I have found my squad leaders!", drill instructer Dale screamed and all the men turned to the men still doing excerises. Usenski felt eyes bore into him, he did not like the feeling of being watched and kept going. As the ten standing finished their jumping jacks two collapsed from utter exhaustion. Usenski went on with the push ups gasping for air at every second he did not sound off. The pain was insane Usenski had long lost feeling in his arms and legs but he kept going his body was near collapsing.

More and more fell until Usenski and three others continued with the excerises. Usenski had thrown up already but did not stop. The drill instructer kept going yelling, screaming for them to continue. As they finished the final exercise Usenski barely stood up and only by sheer willpower was still awake from the excerise. A feeling of anger and pride filled him. Anger bored at his loved ones for not believing in his abilities and pride for the fact he was one of the last ones standing.

A bark came, "Recruits!", it came from Dale the instructer.

"Yes sir!", Usenski and the last three stood at attention and replied with this.

"Fall out!", Instucter Dale yelled with a hint of pride in his voice for the recruits.

Chapter 4. Games Part 1

August 27. 2523

Usenski stood in awe staring at the gaint acres of environment from the pelican. This was the part where the recruits had to play a game of survival Dale explained. He arranged the recruits in teams of fives, Usenski was with squad two and their leader. Dale also gave them paintball guns and spread them apart each in a different environment.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Usenski hopped down and took point from the pelican, he waited for his squad. He watched as his squad jumped down with no intents on fighting hard, they looked bored and out of it. The pelican elevated and then flew off towards the base. Usenski look around he had not properly greeted anyone of the recruits so he walked over to his half-ass squad.

"Names Vlad.", Usenski began this ancient greeting ritual and extended his hand to the first recruit that was closest to him.

"Piss off, Vlaaad!", mocked the first recruit who held his gun pointed at Usenski's leg. The others looked at each other and laughed. Usenski got angry real quick, but he remembered squad leader 101 be calm and polite to your teammates.

"Come on man, I'm squad leader and if you want to make it through this we better work together.", Usenski replied to the angered recruit in a calm and steady voice.

"Don't tell us what to do, just because you can do more push ups then us!", retorted another recruit. Usenski glanced around and stared the recruit down, he was not going to take their crap he had to put and end to this and show them now or never.

"That does not matter if you don't listen we are not going to win!", Usenski replied swiftly and bitterly, but that only angered the recruit. Walking up to Usenski raised a hand to smash it into Usenski's face. Usenski squared up but the recruit fell in midstride and started shaking like a fish from some kind of fire. Usenski's training mind went on and he dropped to the floor.

"Get down now!", Usenski yelled, but the first recruit Usenski tried to reason with also fell from red blood paint splashing everywhere. Usenski knew this was where he and his team would come together or fall apart.

PART 2

The red paintballs exploded like miniture grenades and painted all the leaves and trees in proximity a blood red color. Usenski watched as the training paint hardened on the first recruit suit and he could barely move, this meant death not literally but in the war game. Usenski quickly thought the recruit was dying fast and another recruit had his left arm incapacitated. An idea struck him they could wait out the barrage and then get painted completly or they could move.

"Everyone be ready to move on three!", the recruits who were not painted looked at one another, it was either sit here and chew on dirt or make a break for it. Usenski Primed a flash grenade, this flash grenade had only an tenth of the power a real flash bang had but never the less it would work. He counted, the paint kept up everywhere. So there was only two things possible Usenski thought either they took turns firing or they were firing all together, if it was the second one then they would run out soon. Forgeting his thought he chucked the flash bang in the direction where the fire originated from. A second later a loud bang filled the crisp Earth air.

"Three!", Usenski screamed and ran for the creek and dove into the water, two more splashes entered the water afterwards. Usenski clawed his way to the top and poked his head out, the other two recruits followed, he signaled them to move into the overgrown part of the creek where the plantation would hide them. It took about 30 seconds to get to the hiding place. Usenski got there first, then the two recruits swap up.

"*** you saved our asses back there!", the first recruit with a tan face spoke up. Usenski put his finger up, a gesture of be quiet.

"Hey Vlad, what are we going to do about the other two.", the other recruit broke in with a whisper. Usesnki thought about it, he had left his squadmates behind which did show a bad sign of leadership. If he hadn't thought quick his squad could have been dead in real combat or out of the war game. Another idea popped into his head.

"We'll use them as bait.", Usenski replied quickly, the two recruits looked at each other. Usenski quickly explained the plan that the other team would come down and police the downed members of his squad and finish them for good. They both nodded and approved. Usenski and his remaining squad members exited the creek with as little noise as possible, and began to walk back. Usenski spread his two members apart, he and his teammates were about fifty feet apart and had a wide range of a firing angle. The squad snuck all the way back.

As they began to near it they heard voices. Usenski looked over a bush and saw the other team were walking nonchalantly to their easy win to police supplies. Usenski had told the his two remaining squadmates that his signal was when he fired his MA5B, the hail from their cross fire should pin them down. The team walked over and looked at the two injured recruits one raised his paintbal version of the MA5B and was about to unload. Usenski squeezed the trigger in bursts careful not to let his ammo drop to fast, if he emptied his clip to fast he might not get a chance to reload before they found him.

The first few bursts contacted and hit two recruits in the upper body, direct dead on hits. Usenski watched them scatter and try to duck down but his two other squadmates managed to pin the rest down. Usenski stood up and raised his hand signaling he was circling around. His squadmates moved up on each side right behind him. As Usenski walked up he saw both of his squadmates were still officially alive. Without hesitating Usenski ran up and put some rounds in every other of the enemies squad members. As Usenski walked up to the last one he heard a russle and turned around in time to see one of his downed teammates spray a enemy with his sidearm. The downed teammate had saved him from the other team.

"Thanks I owe you one.", Usenski breathed with relief. The other two squadmates ran up and began to help the downed teammates by using the medikit given to them by the drill seargeant to remove the hardened paint from the suits.

"No we owe you one.", the recruit replied with laugh.

"After we patch you two up we are policing their weapons and supplies and moving on.", Usenski order and as he said their he jerked his head towards the fallen enemy team, their suits hardened to the point where the enemy could only breath and watch.

"Yes sir!", was the reply from his squad and they set to work. Usenski started on sorting out the weapons and the supplies they had recieved from the firefight. After the two recruits were patched up Usenski got up and gave out the supplies he and the tan squadmate sorted out to the team ;six extra flashbangs, four extra paint grenades, two and a half dozen extra paintball ammo for their MA5B, and some kind of paint sniper with four clips. Not bad for a first time Usenski thought.

"Sir by the way name's Corey.", the injured marine who was first shot down answered. Usenski took his hand and shook it.

"Name's Martin", replied the tan squadmate Usenski took his hand and shook it as well.

"Jason, nice to be on a squad like this", commented the other uninjured soldier, Usenski did the same for him by shaking his hand.

"Tyler, and sorry for causing a commotion.", the last squadmate spoke up after everyone had introduced themsleves. Usenski nodded with approval. Usenski stood up and so did his team, Usenski motioned for them to come with and they followed him to the checkpoint towards and abandoned bunker southwest.

So getting better or what?

No readers

Nocbl2 — Sun, 01 Nov 2009 22:34:47 GMT

Why no readers?

Halo: The Defense of Humanity

Jeteye1 — Sat, 29 Mar 2008 23:01:23 GMT

Halo: The Defense of Humanity

Table of Contents:

o Prologue: Point Insertion

o Chapter I: Undue Alarm

o Chapter II: Sandtraps

o Chapter III: Highway 17

o Chapter IV: Entanglement

o Chapter V: Direct Intervention

o Chapter VI: T-Minus 1

o Chapter VII: Our Benefactors

o Chapter VIII: Urban Flight

o Epilogue: Triton

Prologue:

November 7, 2552

Pelican 502, off the Coast of Kenya

First Lieutenant Adrian Sheppard slid a fresh clip into his BR55HB SR Battle Rifle and cocked it. He sat on the starboard section of Pelican 502 as it skimmed along the frosty waves near the coast of Africa. A veteran Orbital Deployment Shock Trooper, Adrian Sheppard was no stranger to the Human-Covenant War. His black armor was scraped and burnt, remnants of earlier engagements. The white bars on his left shoulder designated his rank of First Lieutenant. Captain Leroy ‘Mac’ Miller exited the cockpit and addressed the ODST’s.

“All right boys, this is it. I’m only going to go over this once. Once we touch down we have to get our asses up that beach and neutralize the Covenant forces around the road. The supply convoy is depending on us to clear the shore. Voi is getting hit hard and without backup there’s no doubt that it will fall to the Covenant. We’re going in solo on this one; the UNSC can’t spare one more Marine, let alone an ODST. Check your sights and make every shot count. Once we take the beach, we can fall back to the Pelican.”

The pilot leaned over his seat and shouted over the roar of the engines.

“The LZ is hot. Buckle up back there. Things are going to get rough.”

“You heard him Marines! Lock and Load! I want hot barrels when you hit the sand!” the captain yelled.

Sheppard held onto the bars next to his seat. Although this wasn’t his first time in combat, he was nervous. The Pelican shook as it rapidly descended toward the beachhead.

“We’ve got AA Wraiths on the beachhead!” the pilot yelled.

A flash of white and green suddenly erupted through the canopy and illuminated the ODST’s for a split second.

“We’re hit!” the pilot screamed. “This is Pelican 502. Mayday! Mayday! We are going down! I repeat…..”

And everything went black.

Chapter I:

November 8, 2552

Malindi, Kenya

The sound of gunfire was faint and distant to Sheppard’s ears. It gradually grew louder as his vision returned. He could hear his heart beating in his chest and his sight was blurry and distorted. He felt around for a weapon. His fingers grasped the cold steel of a Battle Rifle. Lifting himself up and clutching the weapon, Sheppard staggered toward the Pelican’s rear hatch. The dropship had been hit on the right engine block and had barrel rolled right into the beach landing on its back. An ODST’s body lay on the floor, a pool of blood slowly expanded from his head. Sheppard pushed the body to the side and made his way out of the wreckage. A burst of gunfire sent him diving to cover as several molten hot spikes hit the ground behind him. Brutes had the crash zone pinned down. He looked up and saw a few ODST’s had made it out and had set up behind supply crates as makeshift cover. He crawled on his hands and knees toward them.

“Sheppard!” Mac yelled over the din. “You’re a sight for sore eyes. We’ve got some big problems here.”

“What can I do for you sir?”

“See if you can get rid of some of those snipers for starters!”

The Captain pointed up the beach to a small Covenant aerial bunker. Inside it Sheppard could make out two Jackal snipers.

“Their Beam Rifle’s are making short work of us. Take them out!”

Adrian Sheppard was one of the best shots ever sent out of an ODST training camp and his reputation as an excellent sniper preceded him. Peering through the scope of the rifle he sighted one of the Jackals. He took aim over its head and pulled the trigger. A puff of purplish-blue told him he’d scored a headshot. The second Jackal retreated into the bunker, out of sight.

“OK the snipers are dead. Let’s move up!” Mac shouted.

The three ODST’s clamored over the debris littering the beach and established a new foothold inside a crater on the beach. The smell of burning flesh penetrated Sheppard nostrils as he took pot shots at the Brutes above them. Plasma rounds scorched the ground, turning the sand into molten glass. Sheppard fired again, taking out a Grunt manning a Plasma Turret. The body fell and rolled down the hill, collapsing in a bloody mess on the sand. The ground suddenly shook like nothing he’d ever experienced.

“Captain look! A ship’s coming out of slip space, over there!” said the ODST next to him.

A Covenant cruiser was pulling its way out of slip space above them. Sheppard noticed the craft looked in bad shape and seemed to be covered in bulbous growths. As it flew over head, a light powder fell onto the battlefield. Sheppard held up his hand and caught some of the small spores.

“What the hell?” he thought.

His thoughts were dashed as a grenade detonated next to him. Wiping the sand off his face, he blind fired over cover.

“We need a better position Captain!”

“You got any suggestions Lieutenant?”

“Yes, sir. We need to retreat to the Pelican.”

He nodded. “Ok everybody, fallback! Fallback to the Pelican!”

Captain Miller signaled to the team and the ODST’s ran from cover to cover under a constant hail of fire. Sheppard dived from cover into the Pelican landing hard on his chest. Staggering to his feet, he dropped his ammoless Battle Rifle and unsheathed his pistol. The Covenant continued their barrage of the downed dropship, explosives tearing holes into the heavily damaged sides. Sheppard fired his pistol at point blank range into an approaching Jackal, striking its head and killing it. An ODST next to him screamed as he was hit in the chest with a Needler needle. Sheppard dragged the man to cover and took his SMG. Holding the pistol in one hand and the Sub Machine Gun in the other, he moved from behind cover and opened fire on the Covenant hordes pouring toward them. As the hailstorm of lead slowed the Covenant, Sheppard noticed movement out over the ocean.

“Sir, look!” an ODST shouted. “The evac is here.”

The dropship descended toward the beach, swiveling around to allow the remaining ODST’s to board as the gunner lead loose a stream of fire upon the Loyalists, forcing them to retreat. They piled on and the Pelican lifted off, leaving the burning city of Malindi behind.

Chapter II:

November 8, 2552

Pelican 738, Northeastern Kenya

As the Pelican rose above the cloud bank, the comm buzzed in Sheppard’s ear.

“Is this Lieutenant Adrian Sheppard?”

“Speaking.”

“Sheppard, this is ONI, we have a special task for you.”

“Just name it.”

“We know this is impromptu but we don’t have the time for regulation. We have recently received some Intel that a small force of spec-op’s Brutes are landing near an important shipping complex in Garsen. That facility is vital to getting supplies to our troops and the Brutes plan on destroying. You’re team are the only UNSC personnel near there. We need you and your team to ambush them at shipping complex and prevent them from doing any damage. You have commander status during this operation, so the men will be under your control. Protect that facility at all costs. We’ll upload the coordinates to your Pelican; another team will rendezvous with you when you land. Contact us when the facility is secure. ONI out.”

“Pilot. Did you get the coordinates?”

“Affirmative Lieutenant, I got them, we’re heading there now.”

Sheppard looked over the ODST’s in the Pelican with him. Four other men sat quietly around him as if waiting to die.

“Listen up Marines.” he said. “I know we just went through hell this morning but we’ve got another job to do. ONI needs a supply depot protected. Now I’m designated the four of you as Team 2. You’ll be up close and personal during the ambush and I expect the best out of all of you. Sync your comm systems to channel 49-2. I want stellar performance today, anything less will get you killed.”

The Pelican lowered into a shallow canyon near the outskirts of the shipping facility. Sheppard could already see it was perfect for an ambush. The canyon was littered with large stones, perfect for cover. The ridge around it was just right for sniper perches.

The first team was already there as they stepped off the transport into the rocky canyon. An ODST walked toward Sheppard.

“Second Lieutenant Jason Williams, I’m in charge of these boys behind me but ONI says you’ve got complete authority. We’re excellent marksmen and would right at home up on the ridge. Where do you want us?”

“On the ridge Lieutenant, that’ll do just fine. Sync your comms to 49-2, you’re designated Team 1. Don’t take a shot without my permission and watch your backs.”

“Yes sir. OK Team 1, you heard the man. Move it out, up to the ridge. Go, go, go.”

Captain Miller turned to Sheppard.

“Well sir. What about us?”

“Take up position in the rocks, about fifty feet from where they’ll be landing in that clearing. Hold your fire until I give you the go ahead.”

“Roger that. We won’t let you down.”

As both teams got into position, an eerie silence fell upon the canyon. Sheppard pressed the ear bud to his comm into his ear and waited.

He heard Lieutenant Williams whisper into his comm. “Team 1 is in position.”

“Affirmative Team 1. Hold position.”

“Team 2 here.” Captain Miller said. “In position.”

“Good. Here come the Phantoms.”

Out of the murky sky dropped three Loyalist Phantoms, their purple hides glimmering in the weak light. They slowed and hovered over the clearing in the canyon. Brutes and supplies were sent down with the gravity-lift. One by one the spec-op’s team amassed and the Phantoms, their cargo unloaded, retreated into the unknowns of space. Sheppard counted about forty Brutes in all. They began to open the weapon crates and arm themselves.

“All Teams commence on my mark. On my count. 3…….2…….1, do it.”

Gunfire rang through out the valley as sniper shots pierced skulls and Battle rifle bursts and shotgun blasts downed Brutes in a spectacular manner. But the Brutes were soon wise to the ambush and activated their active-camo.

“Sir I can’t see them. Where the hell are they!?”

“Calm down. Watch for fluctuations in the light. Look closely and watch your backs.”

Sheppard let loose fire into a Brute, the beast unable to react fast enough, was killed.

“Ahhhhhh, it got me. Get off you piece of…….”an ODST screamed as the comm went dead.

“Sheppard! They’re all over the place. We need to pull back!”

“Affirmative. Regroup at my position.”

From the cliffs above a Marine screamed. Sheppard turned to look for the source and saw a Brute holding one of the snipers over his knee. The Brute slammed the ODST down and broke his back, hurling the body onto the rocks.

“Sheppard to Team 1. Come in Team 1. Do you read me?”

There was no response.

“Team 2. Come in.”

“Team 2 hear loud and clear. I’ve lost contact with two of my boys. These Brutes are….wait. There’s one over there. I got him. Wait what!? Ahhhhhh….let go of me....”

Sheppard heard Captain Miller’s comm drop to the ground. He could hear gunfire and a scream, and then it was quiet. Sheppard checked to see if it was clear and then darted out behind a rock to another piece of cover, gradually brining him closer and closer to the supply facility. The facility was just about 100 meters away.

“Any UNSC personnel. Come in. This is Adrian Sheppard of the 501^st ODST team. Does anyone read me?”

No one responded. He was on his own. Sheppard took a deep breath and broke from cover, sprinting as fast as he could toward the facility. Spikes shot into the ground all around his feet, the Brutes had known where he was hiding. Sheppard saw the door coming closer; he was almost there as a bolt of pain shot up from his leg. Sheppard tripped and fell, sliding into a boulder, knocking the wind out of him. He looked down at his leg. A large glowing spike protruded from his calf. He grabbed it with both hands and ripped it out. More spikes and weapon fire impacted near him. He pulled himself together and stood up. Limping across the sand he collapsed next to the door. He reached up and hit the access button. The door slid open and he crawled inside. He locked the door and put a tourniquet on his leg using his jacket. Sheppard limped up the stairwell to the roof to get a better view of the situation. Sheppard looked down into the canyon from the roof. He could see the Brutes mobilizing for an attack as the sun began to set in the distance. “It looks like I’m in for one hell of a night.”

Chapter III:

November 8, 2552

UNSC Supply Depot, Garsen, Kenya

The cold night air chilled Sheppard to the bone. His ears and nose were numb and he could barely feel his toes. His situation was dire. The supply depot itself was mainly vehicle oriented and most of the supplies were useless to him. In addition to that there were more than twenty Brutes still out there. Luckily Sheppard managed to find a Sniper Rifle and a Spartan Laser in a crate. He had carried them up to the roof where he would make his stand against the Brutes. The scope on the sniper rifle was fogged up as Sheppard peered through it. He wiped it off with his sleeve and looked out toward the Brute base camp. Magnifying it by ten the image became clearer. The Brutes had set up behind a large rock, safely out of the way of his sniper rounds. But the eerie blue lights that shone out from it gave their location away. He wondered why they were waiting.

Sheppard put the rifle down and had a seat in the small chair next to the door to the roof. But no sooner had he sat down, the Loyalists began to move. Mobilizing for a night attack, the Brute pack stealthily made their way through the boulders toward the facilities entrance. Sheppard grabbed the Spartan Laser from the floor and hoisted it up onto his shoulder. It was a lot heavier than he’d expected as he followed the Brutes in the dark with the scope and, confident he’d acquired a target, pulled the trigger. The targeting laser bounced along the ground near the Brute pack. Sheppard felt the weapon rumble as it discharged a massive amount of energy. A flare of red lit up the night sky. The brief flash illuminating several Brutes, their bodies cart wheeling over one another as the explosion faded. The weapon let loose a burst of steam and a small light flashed green, indicating it was ready to fire again. He fired again, the red beam piercing a Brute chieftain and sending him into oblivion. Sheppard watched a Brute dive behind a small boulder. He took aim at the rock and held down the trigger. The shot annihilated the rock and sent a confused Brute face first into the ground. The laser had only two more shots in it and he knew he’d have to make them count.

The thrum of engines startled him as a Phantom flew over his head, only about 15 feet above him. The dropship pulled around in a tight circle to engage him while it dropped off its troops. Sheppard moved to a new position to avoid the barrage of laser fire and peered into the scope again, aiming the laser at the Phantom’s left engine. The shot fired but the Phantom pitched left, causing the laser to scrape harmlessly along the armored exterior. Sheppard waited until it slowed to release the troops inside and fired again. The shot went true and clean right into the starboard engine pocket. The core went critical, and, with a loud whine, the Phantom exploded, showering the canyon with molten metal and flaming corpses. Dropping the weapon, Sheppard picked up his Sniper Rifle. Staring through the scope, the glint of blue caught his eye, Wraiths. The Brutes seemed to be going all out on this attack. As Sheppard wondered why they wanted the depot destroyed so badly, the infamous noise of mortar shells filled the air as the blue arcs of plasma slammed into the building. Sheppard was thrown back by the sheer force of the blasts.

Glass and metal peppered him and the loud groan of metal reverberated through out the facility, reassuring Sheppard’s fear that the place would collapse. Jumping down the stairs, he made it to the ground floor in one piece, all the while as the supply depot was hit again and again with vicious explosions. A falling beam nearly took off his head as he navigated the dense industrial storage section. A pane of glass shattered and several crates of grenades detonated. As luck would have it a Warthog APC was in the main storage room with the keys in the ignition. Sheppard hauled himself aboard. The engine roared to life and he gunned it toward the exit. But as he neared, the upper level collapsed, blocking his exit. Sheppard hit the brakes and fish-tailed the Warthog around. His eyes searched for an escape route. A large observation window looked like a perfect exit. He floored the Warthog toward the window, the room exploding in every direction. The vehicle accelerated into the window, smashing through as the building exploded behind him. The suspension system rocked as it hit the ground and the Warthog pulled away from the collapsing building. But he wasn’t out of the woods yet.

Sheppard cursed his luck as a pair of Banshees screamed down toward him, plasma cannons firing. Molten hot shots scorched the rear of the Warthog as the Banshees gained on him. He dropped down from the dirt road onto the highway. The road was in a state of disrepair and Sheppard had to navigate around potholes and massive cracks. Another shot burned away the bumper as he valiantly attempted to evade his aerial pursuers. He swerved to the left going up the runaway truck path, attempting to lose them in the jungle. Driving through the dense forest, Sheppard had a moment of peace. But that peace was short lived as the woods ended right back out on the highway and the chase continued. The highway was a narrow pass along side the cliff face toward the ocean. The Banshee’s fired their Fuel Rod Cannons in unison and the combined force of the explosion sent Sheppard and his Warthog spinning off the highway toward the warm Atlantic waters, 400 feet below him. The air screamed through the twisted chassis as it plummeted down. Sheppard saw the water coming toward him faster and faster and as it hit the force knocked him against the seat and then slammed him forward into the dashboard.

The Warthog was sinking fast into the emerald waves and Sheppard knew he couldn’t hold his breath long enough to stay under much further. With blood gushing from the wound on his head, he pulled himself out of the rapidly sinking Warthog and swam with all his might toward the surface. The light was getting brighter but his muscles were getting weaker. Lactic acid made his limbs ache with a burning pain as his head burst from the frothy waves allowing air to fill his lungs. Breathing hard, Sheppard struggled to stay afloat. He looked around, expected to be shot at any moment. But to his relief, the Banshees were gone. Sheppard paddled to the beach and staggered up onto the shore. He collapsed in the sand and, to weary to continue on, fell fast asleep on the warm seashore.

When he awoke, the sun was rising in the distance. Sitting up, he checked his surroundings for Covenant. It was clear, for the moment. His gear was gone. No weapons, no grenades, no comm. Walking up the beach to the shore line, he noticed a plume of smoke above the nearby trees. Investigating, Sheppard crawled through the underbrush to the site of the crash. A smoldering Hornet attack craft lay on its side, the cockpit broken and the pilot’s body lying against a tree. Sheppard searched the man but retrieved only a pistol. The Hornet appeared to be still functional and from the looks of it a shot had gone through the window and killed the pilot, sparing the Hornet too much damage. Sheppard removed the broken glass and bloody cloth and climbed in the seat, booting up the systems. The lights flicked across the dash and the Hornet roared to life.

The engines sent up clouds of dust as it ascended into the morning air. Sheppard had quite a bit of experience piloting the Hornet from his earlier days in the Navy and he had little difficultly remembering what did what.

Checking the GPS, he was surprised to see that he had gotten nearly five miles from the supply facility while evading the Banshees. It was a lot farther than he’d figured he’d get with two Banshees on his tail. Sheppard pushed the throttle forward as he flew toward the nearest UNSC base, V75-C Providence Point. Built on the edge of the sea, Providence Point was a small base designed to locate any enemy invasions via the ocean. Sheppard could recoup there and get himself together. As he neared Providence Point, Sheppard saw movement below him. He brought the Hornet down for a better look. Crashing through the forest were five Shadows, each carrying a deadly payload of Covenant troops. Several hundred feet below him, Brutes and other Loyalists marched through the dense jungle, intent on claiming the UNSC base for the Prophet of Truth.

Chapter IV:

November 8, 2552

Providence Point Naval HQ, Kenya

The Covenant below were not oblivious to the smoking human craft above them and quickly opened fire. Sheppard pitched to the left to avoid being hit by a barrage from the Shadows and infantry. The starboard engine took a hit from a small RPG and caught fire. Alarms blaring into his ears, Sheppard struggled to control the rapidly falling Hornet. Pulling up, he hoped to catch a wind that would give him the extra distance to make it to the base before the Covenant. He could make out the base on the cliff and prayed he would make it. The Hornet began a steep descent and Sheppard knew it was now or never. Slamming his palm down on a red knob on the control panel, he ejected out of the Hornet into the air. The Hornet smashed down through the trees, exploding as it hit the ground. UNSC Marines pointed up at the rapidly approaching object in the sky.

“It’s an ODST! Get a recovery crew ready.”

The blast doors rumbled open as a Warthog drove out toward where the ODST had landed. Sheppard heard the Warthog coming and headed toward the noise. Coming out onto the road, he flagged them down.

“Sir, are you all right?”

“I’m….fine…Covenant….are coming. Get back…to the base.” Sheppard said trying to catch his breath.

“Covenant?! How many?”

“Enough. Let’s get back to the base. Now!”

“Right. Get aboard.”

As they made their way back to the base, Sheppard turned to the driver.

“Who’s your CO?”

“Corporal Mather. Well, he was our CO. He went out into the woods to set up some early warning scanner systems and never came back. Wish we had those scanners now.”

“A Covenant scout probably killed him. Who’s commanding now?”

“No one sir. Guess you’re it.”

Sheppard grimaced. He preferred taking orders, not giving them. The Warthog stopped and they got off.

“Orders sir?”

“Get the blast doors closed. Get all available men armed and ready. Have all turrets set up along the southwest.”

“Yes sir.”

Sheppard made his way up the stairs to the southwest wall and waited. In only a few minutes, his tasks were carried out and completed. He looked over the men standing along the wall.

“Are these all the men?” he asked a Marine.

“Yes sir, 26 of us in all.”

“That should be enough. I hope.”

The Marines waited. Led by their estranged ODST companion, they bravely stood their ground as the forest began to tremble.

“Here they come! Guns at the ready!” he shouted.

Six Machine Gun turrets rotated toward the disturbance in the woods. The first Shadow burst out, guns blazing. The turrets opened fire and hot lead penetrated the transport, killing its driver and wreaking its drive systems. Brutes, Grunts and Jackals marched out of the thicket around the smoldering craft and opened fire. Sheppard ducked as a series of molten spikes killed a Marine next to him. Sheppard put a round through a Brute’s head with his Battle Rifle. The next two Shadows moved around the first and rammed the base. Concrete chunks flew out as the massive transports collided with Providence Point’s southwest wall. The Marines were knocked off their feet but quickly recovered and began to pour fire down on the Covenant. Brutes clamored over the Shadows toward the top off the base wall. Sheppard pulled his Shotgun off his back and squeezed the trigger, blasting a Brute back off the wall. Pumping the gun, he fired again, killing several Grunts with the shrapnel. Marines were falling all around him; the Covenant was making fast headway. Sheppard put another round into a Brute Chieftain. The power armor collapsed as the Brute roared with anger. He put another round into the beast and it went down. Plasma rounds scorched the walls as the Loyalists pressed on.

A turret gunner collapsed to the deck, writhing in pain as he tried to pull out the spike imbedded in his torso. Sheppard pushed the man aside and manned the turret opening up on the Covenant. Mowing them down like weeds, the turret cut through armor and energy shields alike. Grunts screamed and ran as lead shots bloodied their bodies and sent them to an early death. Jackals dived away from the exploding ground only to find themselves targets for UNSC snipers. But not even the turret could keep the enemy at bay and Sheppard relinquished control of the turret. He realized he was fighting a losing battle as more Marines died around him, their blood dripping down off the platform. A spike hit his arm, the burning pain working all the way up, as Brute towered above him, grabbing him by the neck. Looking into the Brutes red eyes Sheppard pulled the spike out of his arm and stabbed it into the Brutes neck.

Dropping the human, the Brute fell backwards off the wall, hitting the ground below. Jumping down into the base he ran toward the barracks in the center of the base, plasma shots hitting the ground behind his feet. Climbing up the side of the building Sheppard fired down at the Covenant forces that were quickly filling the base. He pulled himself up to the top of the battered building to make a last stand. As a carbine round hit him in the chest, Sheppard’s world went spinning and warm blood seeped from the wound. The Marine next to him was talking to him but he couldn’t hear anything. The Marine pointed up in the sky and Sheppard saw objects in the distant sky coming closer. The three dark objects shot overhead as the base lit up in a gigantic fireball. The Covenant Shadows exploded as raw explosive force pulverized their armored hides. The objects flew overhead again and Sheppard understood what the Marine was saying.

“Shortswords.”

The remaining Loyalists were incinerated as the bombers unleashed another payload on their dwindling forces. The flames faded, leaving behind charred corpses of the dead. A Pelican swooped down from above. Marines piled off and secured the area, helping the few that were left onboard. Sheppard stumbled toward them.

“Sir, we have to go. The Shortswords are coming back around for anther run. There are more Covenant coming. Let’s go!”

The Marine helped him into the Pelican and banged on the cockpit door.

“Let’s go!”

Providence Point became smaller and smaller as they pulled away. The Shortswords passed over again. Sheppard could see the bombs falling out of their holding chambers. The landscape changed from serene to a living hell as napalm and explosives detonated above and in the jungle. It was a rather hollow victory and one Adrian Sheppard would never forget.

Chapter V:

June 13, 2555

UNSC Medical Facility, Cairo

First Lieutenant Adrian Sheppard had spent the two years since the end of the fight between the Covenant and the UNSC recovering from his wounds. The medical facility at Cairo had become his home and a dreary one at that. Hours of traction and exercise, therapy, surgery and every other medical procedure wracked the battle damaged Lieutenant every day. But as the tendons in his arm healed and the burns on his chest and legs disappeared, Sheppard felt good for the first time in a long time. And finally after so much suffering, he was to be released today, finally able to start a peaceful life.

“Well, Lieutenant, you’ve got a clean bill of health.” Dr. James R Greenswith said as he sat down at his computer behind the check in desk. Sheppard waited impatiently for the man to finish recording the medical data.

“Here you are.” the doctor handed him a small RFID card. “You can use this to leave the facility. Keep doing your exercises at home and we’ll check up on you every three months.”

Dr. Greenswith stood and gave Sheppard a brief handshake.

“Take care of yourself, all right kid?”

“Yeah Doc, I will.”

“Good. Now clear out so I can deal with the rest of my patients.”

Sheppard smiled.

“You bet.”

Waving goodbye, Sheppard scanned the RFID card on the main doors and exited the complex; the bright morning light momentarily blinded him. He shaded his eyes with his hand. He realized he’d have to hail a cab to get home, a place he hadn’t seen in years.

“Excuse me, Mr. Sheppard?”

He turned to face an older man in a military uniform, his graying hair barely visible.

“Yes?”

“I’m General Keitel. I’d like to have a word with you.”

“Concerning?”

“We can’t talk here” the General motioned toward a waiting limo. “Please, step inside.”

Sheppard followed Keitel into the limousine. The leather interior was dimly light and the smell of cigar smoke reached his nostrils.

“Can I see your ID card?”

The General pulled his Radio Frequency Identification card from his jackets inner pocket and showed it to Sheppard.

“Ok, let’s go.”

As it pulled away from the Cairo Medical Facility General Keitel was silent. He watched the streets of Cairo fly by outside. The city was abandoned now, its only residents the few UNSC personally left behind. Sheppard could see the great pyramids in the distance, their angular hides scorched and crumbled. The limo slowed and the passing sights halted. They had stopped in front of a nondescript, gray office building. The two men exited the limo and the General walked up the steps closely followed by Sheppard. Sliding his RFID tag over the doors security panel, they opened to reveal a small elevator.

The interior was completely barren and as soon as they entered the doors shut behind them. The ride to the top was short and Sheppard felt himself growing nervous. He had no idea why he was here and sensed something amiss. The doors opened again, revealing a gray hallway. The General lead him down the hall to another entrance, their footsteps echoing along the walls. Two armed ODST’s stood on either side of a narrow doorway at the end of the hall. The saluted to General Keitel and opened the door for him. A leather chair and a metal file cabinet sat next to a steel table. A wooden chair sat in front of the table.

“Have a seat and we’ll begin.”

Sheppard pulled out the chair and sat down. Keitel lit a cigar and relaxed in his seat.

“Lieutenant, the words you and I exchange here, should you decide to decline my offer, will never leave this room. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir”

“Excellent. I’ll make this short and sweet. We’re restarting the Spartan Program. The Spartan IV’s will follow in the footsteps of Dr. Hasley and her work with the Spartan III’s. As of now, we have no candidates for the program and I feel that you’d be a perfect choice.”

“Me? My past three operations ended in failures. All I did was survive.”

“That’s exactly the point. You survived against all odds. You held your ground. Your actions have proven to me that you can handle being a Spartan. You’re the perfect match for the program. No family, no dependents, your physical standards are above and beyond what is required. We haven’t seen someone like you since Spartan 117.”

Sheppard took a deep breath. Could he do this? Cast aside his entire life for service into the United Nations Space Command. Could he fill the space left by the Master Chief? He could, couldn’t he?

“Your contract was open to the highest bidder and we have, it seems, procured you for our means. My employers have been keeping an eye on you Mr. Sheppard. They agree with me that you have limitless potential. You've proved yourself a decisive man so I don't expect you'll have any trouble deciding what to do.”

“Why should I? The war is over.”

“There are matters present that not even I have the knowledge of. Rather than offer you the illusion of free choice, I will take the liberty of choosing for you. I do apologize for what must seem to you an arbitrary imposition, Mr. Sheppard. I trust it will all make sense to you in the course of... well... I'm really not at liberty to say.”

Keitel slides some papers to Sheppard.

“I’m required to show you these before you begin.”

Sheppard picks the documents up and begins to peruse them.

ONI Top Secret Classified Information

Spartan IV Program

All individuals handling this information are requested to protect it from unauthorized disclosure in the interest of national security of the United Nations Space Command.

Handling, storage, reproduction and disposition of the attached document will be in accordance with applicable executive order(s), statue(s) and agency implementing regulations.

The following is a complete transcript of the Spartan IV training and initialization procedures. All courses of action are subject of change if seen fit by the Office of Naval Intelligence.

Physical Augmentation:

1. Carbide ceramic ossification: advanced material: special metal and ceramic layers, grafting onto skeletal structure to make bones virtually unbreakable.

2. Muscular enhancement injections: protein complex is injected intramuscularly to increase tissue density and decrease lactase recovery time.

3. Catalytic thyroid implant: platinum pellet containing human growth hormone catalyst is implanted in the thyroid to boost growth of skeletal and muscle tissues.

4. Occipital capillary reversal: submergence and boosted blood vessel flow beneath the rods and cones of subject’s retina. Produces a marked visual perception increase.

5. Superconducting fabrication of neural dendrites: alteration of bioelectrical nerve transduction to shielded electronic transduction. Three hundred percent increase in subject’s reflexes. Anecdotal evidence of marked increase in intelligence, memory, and creativity.

Physical Training

Spartan training consists of all UNSC current training practices involved in the training of personnel. In addition to those said practices, Spartan training is focused on endurance, strength and all manner of physical prowess. These exercises will perfect the body of the trainee to levels deemed fit for Spartan Augmentation and use of the MOJLNIR Mark VII Powered Assault Armor.

MJOLNIR Mark VII Powered Assault Armor

Due to the recent actions and excellent performance rate of the Mark VI, the Mark VII has expanded on the basis of its predecessor and improves in every division.

1. Mark VII mass: Armor weight has been reduced drastically with the induction of the nano-polymer exoskeleton. Armor weight tops off at 265 lbs, allowing user greater mobility and flexibility while using the suit.

2. Neural Interface: The vastly advanced Neural Interface chip is implanted directly into the base of the user’s skull. Removal of the device will result in immediate death of user. The Mark VII implant allows unprecedented synergy between the user and the armor. The Heads up Display now features advanced features including the motion tracker, a shield integrity monitor, maps and information uploaded from TACCOM, Fiber Optic Probe visual enhancement, along with a targeting reticule for the current UNSC weapon system in use are also included.

3. Mark VII Armor Features: In addition to the above attributes, the Mark VII also includes:

· Hydrostatic Gel Layer

· Pressure Seals

· Personal Energy Shield

· Reactive Metal Liquid Crystal Layer

· Force Multiplying Circuit System

· RKD VII attached combat blade

· Magnetic Weapon and Equipment attachment structure

· Nano-film helmet display with integrated Mark V HUD

Augmentation Expected Results:

· Spartan Speed: 73.829 MPH

· Reaction Time: 13 Milliseconds

· Night Vision: Light amplification at 78%

· Strength Increase: User can lift 5X own body weight

· Variable results based on Spartan individual physical profile. Abilities are independent from MJOLNIR Power Assault Armor.

Risks Associated with Spartan Augmentation

· The ONI cannot divulge information to test subjects and/or their respected training officers concerning medical risks involving the augmentation.

This contract acts as a binding force between the signer and the United Nations Space Command. Any questions concerning the program and/or its policies can be directed to the ONI representative handling your file.

Spartan Applicant ____________

Sheppard stares at the last line, his pen resting on the paper.

“Why are you divulging so much of the induction process to me? Wasn’t Spartan training procedures kept from the inductees?”

“In light of the changes in our governing force, we’ve been told that potential applicants must be informed of the majority of the modus operandi used in the course.”

“Then why I am not allowed to see what risks are involved?”

“Mr. Sheppard, I’m not allowed to divulge that kind of information.”

Sheppard was unspoken. This was all happening so fast. Just thirty minutes ago he’d been going home. Now he was applying to be a Spartan. He pressed the pen against the line, paused and the in a quick motion, signed his name. Keitel took the papers and slid them into a manila envelope. He saw that the words “A. Sheppard” were written on the tab.

“Your ODST training will cut down on the time needed considerably. In the Spartan III project it took several years to successfully prepare their trainees. Now with the addition of your current preparation and the advancements ONI has made we can get you ready in about nine to thirteen months.”

The door behind them opened and one of the ODST motioned to the General.

“Mr. Sheppard it seems we’re ready for you. I’ll see you again soon.”

He turned back to his paperwork as Sheppard stood and followed the ODST out into the hall. He was silent, too absorbed with the turn of events to strike up a conversation. The labyrinth of halls and doors all looked the same and Sheppard lost track of where they were. The ODST stopped and withdrew a RFID key card. Turning to the door on their left, he swiped the card and the door slid open. Adrian Sheppard stepped into the room, never to return.

Chapter VI:

October 3, 2558

Iran

The sandy winds blow over the deserted oilfields. But things here are not as desolate as they seem. To the west of the abandoned refineries, an old UNSC missile complex, last used during the Covenant-Human war, still stands tested against the withering erosion. Capable of firing up to three large missiles, the complex has helped destroy many Covenant targets and bring peace and stability to the region. Along the outer edge of the base runs a walkway, high above the ground below. Footsteps clang along the metal grating. A lone guard, his face half hidden by a ragged scarf, patrols along the footpath. He stops and stares out over the sand dunes. A glint of light across the sandbank catches his eye. The guard’s body suddenly convulses as he falls over the edge. He hits the ground releasing a cloud of sand. A pool of blood slowly seeps from the bullet shot in his head.

Five hundred feet away Spartan 492 cocks his sniper rifle, expelling the used cartridge. He folds his rifle’s stand back together and moves like the wind across the open stretch of sand to the edge of the base. He slides along the wall to the maintenance door. The Spartan unclips a UNSC Spoofer, an automated un-locker, from his armor and clips it onto the doors access panel. The Spoofer blinks green and 492 pushes the door open with one hand, holding his LAR in the other. The light from the mounted flashlight on the underside of the weapon bounces along the walls in the maintenance room. The room is empty and silent. He locks the door and reattaches the Spoofer to his armor. This room is one of many used for the up keeping of the base. Coolant pipes snake down beside the walls and a diesel generator hums in the background.

Spartan 492 activates his uplink to the overhead COMSAT. Several miles above him, in orbit around Earth, a Black Widow communications and Intel satellite triangulates 492’s signal and relays back the information he has requested. In 492’s HUD, a holographic image of the UNSC Mark XVI Missile Silo/Military Complex appears. The MSMC is a relic of older times and is a virtual maze of tunnels and other smaller installations. He traces the pathways with his finger, drawing a virtual map. The path shows up on again on his HUD and he confirms the route toward his intended destination. A ladder reaches up from the maintenance room to the main level of the complex. 492 hoists himself up the ladder, taking it two rungs at a time. The surface of the complex is a scattered network of silos and control rooms. The ladder reaches up into one of these control rooms on the south side of the base. Reaching the top, he slowly pushes aside the cover and climbs out sweeping the area with his weapon sights. Two men stand working at the computer terminal in the control room. Blood splatters on the monitors as 492 puts several rounds into each one of them. The built in silencer in his Light Assault Rifle makes less than three decibels when firing, keeping the detection of the weapon based on audio nearly impossible.

Wiping the red from the screen, he works on disabling the security systems around the base. The old system proves no match for the Spartan and his technical training and he quickly disables the cameras and alarm systems. Attaching the LAR to the magnetic strips on the back of his armor, 492 opens the blast doors from the control room and walks out into the base. The three silos are positioned in a triangular position around the area while hangars and maintenance structures fill in the rest of the space. Half used supply crates and fuel barrels provide cover as the Spartan makes his way through the base. He nears the first silo. Billowing jets of steam pour from the open silo, the missiles cooling systems keeping it ready for launch. Attaching a zip-line to the edge of the silo he begins to rappel down the shaft. Pushing out from the wall he lets out more cord, descending further. His feet hit the concrete floor below and he un-attaches the cord from his armor. Taking several compact C4 charges from his armor, Spartan 492 begins to attach them to the underside of the rocket. The lack of personnel in the base works to his advantage and his work goes unmolested. He plants the final charge and begins to ascend again.

The wire whines as it pulls the Spartan up to the top of the silo. Scanning the area for any possible detection, he stealthily makes his way toward the second silo. Several guards stand ready around the closed silo bay door. He waits behind an ammo crate for them to start their rounds. One by one the guards split and began to patrol along their designated paths. As one comes near, 492 rolls out from cover behind him and wraps his arm around the man’s neck, breaking it with a quick motion. Dragging the body out of the way, he keeps moving. Most of the security personnel have a clear line of sight to the second silo. He’ll need a distraction to break in and plant charges on the missile. A nearby fuel truck fits the bill and 492 goes prone, crawling to the underside of the tanker. He snaps the gas line in the undercarriage allowing the viscous liquid to trickle out of the tank. 492 crawls out and reaches through the open window of the tanker, putting it in neutral, nearly ripping off the gear shift in the process. Now easily movable the tanker is an IED, Improvised Explosive Device, capable of being detonated remotely. Pushing the tanker, 492 gets the truck to begin to roll and it slowly moves off through the slightly sloped complex.

A resounding crash echoes through the base as the tanker hits a control room head on, smashing through the glass. As planned, the control room is the same one he had earlier killed two men in. The truck crash should hopefully fool the guards into believing that their death was caused by the runaway vehicle. As the crowd of soldiers around the truck grows, 492 eyes the line of gas from the truck all the way to where he is hidden. Unsheathing his pistol, his fires a round into the stream of gas. The immense friction caused by the bullets trajectory instantly sets the gas afire. The flame spreads quickly along the ground reaching the fuel truck within a few seconds. 492 watches as the fire reaches the tanker and, after a short pause, the entire vehicle detonates. Those lucky enough are incinerated by the blast. Others that were farther away are set on fire, the smell of burnt flesh and ash dust fill the air. 492 doesn’t waste a second and by the time the chunks of metal hit the ground he is already cutting through the silo with a fusion cutter. The white hot flame tears through the rusted metal and the circular piece of metal falls down through the silo, clanging off the missiles nose cone coming to rest at the bottom of the shaft.

Rappelling down again, he plants three more charges. By now the base security systems have been reactivated and alarms blare all over the compound. Before ascending to the top, Spartan 492 flips up a small panel on his wrist armor and presses down on a small button. Across the base in the first silo a massive fireball erupts from the silo, the ground buckling around the missile as the C4 charges ignite the hundreds of gallons of fuel in the rocket. By this time, many soldiers and guards have been killed during the ensuring chaos. And still, even now, Spartan 492 doesn’t know who these people are and what the rockets would be used for. But he doesn’t care. His goal is to protect Earth and all her colonies. And if people have to die to do that, 492 has no problem sending them to their early graves.

Climbing out of the second silo he opens fire on a group of disorganized soldiers trying to put out one of the fires. Making best use of the disorder Spartan 492 dashes to the last silo, detonating the second missile as he runs. The explosion takes out a large portion of the exterior wall and collapses several guard towers. Approaching the third silo, Spartan 492 finds that the last missile is gone, the empty silo the only silent part of the base. He glances over at the entrance of the base. The massive blast doors have been swung wide open. 492 sees a massive hovercraft floating effortlessly out of the base, the third missile prepped to fire on top of it.

The SL47 Hovercraft blasts out of the complex escorted by Warthogs and light APCs. Spartan 492 watches as a smaller hovercraft swings around to head him off, dual 80 cal machine gun turrets firing. Diving out of the way of the vehicle, 492 pulls the pin out of a M9 HE grenade and hurls it into the turbine on the rear of the hovercraft. The grenade catches in the fan blades and explodes, sending the vehicle flying. He kicks in the door to the depot and hotwires a hovercraft. Almost all of Iran is covered with a massive minefield and conventional transportation methods are useless. Here, hovercrafts, often armed with machine guns and missiles, are the primary mode to get around. Small black spheres dot the sandy landscape, millions of mines, armed and ready. As 492 switches on the weapon systems twin chainguns extend from the grill and dual missile pods rotate out from either side. 492 throws the throttle forward and the turbine whines as it spins at several hundred MPH.

The nose of the hovercraft smashes through the hangar doors and the chase begins. Enormous clouds of dust and sand are thrown up in the distance from where the SL47 and its escort had gone. As 492 leaves the base, bullets bounce along the armored hide of his ride. Steering with one hand, he grabs an SMG from the rack on the back of the seat and blind fires behind him. The ground next to him explodes, nearly overturning the hovercraft. 492 pulls the E-brake, closing the steering fins on the turbine, and makes a hard right, turning the vehicle to face his pursuers. Releasing the brake, he floors it in reverse while firing the missile pods and chainguns. The two hovercrafts behind him are caught off guard and destroyed instantly by the barrage of fire.

492 pulls around and heads off after the fleeing transport. Bringing up his fiber optic probe, he zooms in on the SL47 in the distance. The deck of the massive hovercraft is swarming with soldiers and the convoy has four more attack craft around it. Shots bounce off his hovercraft as snipers onboard the SL47 attempt to kill him. He reengages the missile pods and fires a volley of rockets at the transport. Explosions shower the deck blowing bodies over the side. But the armored behemoth is far too strong to be destroyed by 492’s vehicle. Dodging fire from heavy machine gun turrets mounted on the deck, he pulls alongside another escort craft.

Firing the SMG with one hand, he climbs off his damaged ride into the new one. Throwing the bullet ridden body out of the craft, he turns the weapon systems on the escort ahead of him. Twin rockets hit the back of the craft, sending it cart wheeling into the mine field. Spartan 492 swerves to avoid the smoldering ruin and accelerates in front of the transport. The SL47 speeds up, smashing the turbine on his hovercraft. Jumping over the seat, he climbs onto the windshield of the larger vehicle. Punching through the glass, he grabs the pilot by the neck and smashes his face into the dashboard. The copilot comes up from the lower deck and opens fire on him with a Shotgun. The blast knocks him off the hood and off the hovercraft. The events transpire in slow motion as he flies by the rapidly moving vehicle. He grabs at air, finally latching onto a hold. His feet kick up as they hit the ground, nearly setting off a mine.

Pulling himself up onto the deck, he unsheathes his sidearm and pumps two rounds into an approaching soldier. The huge missile on top of the hovercraft provides excellent cover as he takes shots at the crew. Projectile rounds dent the deck and explosions light up the sky. Pinned down by suppressing fire, 492 pops open a hatch and drops down to the lower level. The cramped corridors remind him of a submarine as he works on disabling the engines. A barrage of machine gun fire sends him sprawling over the control panel as well as destroying the controls. Rolling over, he shoots the guard in the shoulder and fires again, hitting him again in the chest. Putting a new magazine into the pistol, 492 tosses a C4 charge down the hall and detonates it. The explosion tears a hole in the side of the craft and the SL47 begins to list to the left. A voice over the PA system catches his attention.

“T-minus sixty seconds.”

492 puts his hand to his helmet and activates the comm.

“HIGHCOM, this is Spartan 492. I’ve destroyed two of the missiles but the third one is about to be launched. We’ve got one minute. Requesting back-up. Over”

“You can’t let that missile be launched. If it hits its target, wherever it is, the entire planet will be lost.”

492 takes cover behind a blast door and fires from cover, killing another soldier.

“Why, what the hell is in the missile?”

“We believe that they’ve gotten a hold of Flood spores and have Infection Forms packed into the missile. If that missile is able to hit its target and the Flood is unleashed I don’t have to tell you what will happen.”

“Affirmative. I’ll destroy the missile.”

“We’re sending some Shortswords your way. Plant a beacon on the missile and they’ll destroy it.”

492 is already moving to the upper deck, beacon in hand. Internal fires release plumes of black smoke, filling the ship. Again, 492 takes advantage of the disorganization and destruction and gets back on top of the hovercraft.

“T-minus thirty seconds. Secondary boosters engaged.”

492 turns around and watches for the Shortswords. In the distance he can see them, streaks of burnt fuel trailing behind. Attaching the beacon it begins to emanate ultraviolet flashes, visible only to the pilots in the Shortswords.

“We see the beacon 492, moving to…wait. We’ve got targets off the starboard side.”

Spartan 492 watches as two fighter jets blur past the bombers, their missiles impacting on the two UNSC craft. They explode in a violent explosion of red and orange their burnt out hulks collide with the ground, discharging hundreds of mines.

“T-minus 1. Primary boosters engaged.”

The deck catches fire as the missile lifts off, blasting the Spartan back. The fighting stops as both parties watch the missile arch overhead, the quiet before the storm.

Chapter VII:

The Human-Flood War

2558-2561

2558

Human Population: 200 Million

UNSC Military Force: 2 Active Halcyon Cruisers, 1 Halcyon Cruiser in Dry-dock, 7 Million Marines and support staff

Flood Population: Unknown

Events of 2558:

The first year marks the decline of the human race into near extinction by the Flood infestation of Earth. During the course of the year, nearly a quarter of the armed forces left in the UNSC are killed and infected. The Flood now possesses an amble supply of wartime weapons and vehicles. Repeated bombing runs and MAC strikes from orbit do little against the Flood. The UNSC HIGHCOM retreats to the Halcyon Cruiser Endeavor to oversee the containment procedures. The Flood continues to spread across North and South America. Preventative measures are made to ensure the security of the UNSC Salvation, the dry-docked Halcyon Cruiser in the Seychelles Island Cluster off the coast of Saudi Arabia.

End of 2558

2559

Human Population: 170 Million

UNSC Military Force: 2 Active Halcyon Cruisers, 1 Halcyon Cruiser in Dry-dock, 4.5 Million Marines and support staff

Flood Population: Over 35 million

Events of 2559:

Year two of the war goes no better than year one. The Flood continues from the Americas to Asia via the Bering Strait. Conflict between the two factions continues. The human forces are continually pushed back by the advancing Flood. Pushing into Russia, the parasite gains access to the UNSC Airfield Vostok, allowing them an ample supply of Pelicans and other dropships. Casualties mount higher and higher as refugees begin to run out of places to hide. The UNSC Endeavor and its sister ship, the UNSC Venture, exhaust most of their ammunition firing on the Flood from orbit. Counterattacks by remaining ground forces end in failure.

End of 2559

2560

Human Population: 50 Million

UNSC Military Force: 2 Active Halcyon Cruisers, 1 Halcyon Cruiser in Dry-dock, 600,000 Marines and support staff

Flood Population: Over 150 million

Events of 2560:

The battered and bedraggled UNSC finally wins a battle in Eastern Europe with the assistance of Spartan 492. The victory is short lived as Flood counterattack the surviving Marines, nearly killing all of them. Spartan 492 and three others live to see another day and are brought aboard the UNSC Endeavor. Plans are made to begin evacuating the remaining population and leave the system. The decision is made to finish work on the UNSC Salvation to not only get more survivors off planet, but to deprive the Flood of a means to leave the Sol System.

End of 2560

2561

Human Population: 5 Million

UNSC Military Force: 2 Active Halcyon Cruisers, 1 Halcyon Cruiser in Dry-dock, 30,000 Marines and support staff

Flood Population: 197 Million

Events of 2561:

The battles and casualties continue, the Flood seeming omnipotent. While shuttling supplies down to the Salvation, the Halcyons are attacked and boarded by Flood infected Pelicans. The Endeavor, on orders from HIGHCOM, damages the Venture before she is taken under Flood control, sending the ship plummeting through orbit and crashing into the Atlantic Ocean. A Pelican dropship manages to evade the Longsword defenses and crashes into the bridge of the Endeavor. In a panicked battle, the crew sets the ship to enter slipspace and attempts to abandon ship. As the Endeavor opens the resonance field, three lifeboats are jettisoned from the port side of the ship. The three lifeboats descend through Earths atmosphere and crash land on the coast of Kenya.

Human Population: Less than 2,000

UNSC Military Force: 1 Halcyon Cruiser in Dry-dock, Less than 100 Marines and support staff

Flood Population: Over 200 Million

Chapter VIII:

May 25, 2561

Coast of Kenya

“Sir! Sir, wake up! We’ve got to go. C’mon get up!”

Spartan 492 bolts up, suddenly remembering where he is. He un-straps himself from the lifeboat seat and stands up, the memories of the past few hours come rushing back.

“What happened to the Endeavor?”

“She jumped to slipspace when the Flood attacked. We jumped ship just as she left and the lifeboats crashed here. We’re in the middle of a Red Zone.”

492 grabs a LAR and cocks it. Following the Marine out of the lifeboat he sees that only a few of the evacuees survived the harsh landing. The craft had landed on a small outcropping on a cliff face. They had no where to run and no where to hide.

“How far away are we from the Salvation?”

“Pretty far” The Marine points out across the water. “If we can find transport, we can make it.”

“When do they leave?”

“Less than three hours.”

An inhuman screech echoes across the landscape. The survivors look around nervously.

“I liked it better when we were fighting the Covenant. I’ll try to contact the dry-dock.”

Spartan 492 activates his comm imbedded in his helmet and connects to the Seychelles base.

“This is Spartan 492. I have survivors from the Endeavor, we need evac!”

“Roger that 492, this is the Salvation. We have a transport in your area. We’ll send the Pelican to pick you up. Hold your position.”

“They’re picking us up, but we’ll have to hold here until they arrive. Dig in Marines, get defenses set up.”

“Yes, sir. You heard him, let’s go!”

The Marines unload the supplies from the lifeboats and arm themselves the best they can. Spartan 492 stands in the center of the small clearing, watching the events around him. Something catches his attention, a blur of movement. A small withered patch of trees shakes. He focuses his sights on the area, switching the safety off. Sweat dribbles down his forehead, the automated cooling systems in his suit evaporating it almost instantly. A small rock tumbles down from the ridge, bouncing to his feet. He looks up at the ridge. Something was up there. Something was watching them. 492 closes his eyes and listens. A dull thump reverberates throughout the clearing. The Marines look up from their work.

“What the hell….?”

The noise resounds again, slightly louder. Spartan 492 realizes what the noise its. The ground shakes once more. The footsteps stop and an eerie silence fills the air. The sheer mass of spores in the air has caused a perpetual fog to be present in most Red Zones and Kenya is no exception. Objects move through the dense mist, the group of survivors slowly closing together.

“Sir, what’s out there?”

An object bursts from the vapor colliding with the Spartan, smashing him against the lifeboat and knocking his helmet off. 492 hits the ground hard, knocking the wind out of him. His helmet drops in front of his face, the visor reflecting his face. He stares transfixed by his manifestation on the helmet, his body unable, or unwilling, to move. Picking up his helmet, 492 puts it back on and picks up his LAR. Turning, he finds himself face to face a Combat Form. The parasite swings at him but the Spartan ducks and brings up the butt of his weapon into the Infection Form burrowed in the chest, shattering the creature in one swift blow. Infection Forms and Combat Forms engage the stranded Marines in vicious hand to hand combat. 492 empties another clip into the hordes around them. Then, as suddenly as they had attacked, the Flood retreats into the fog. 492 drags a dead Marine back with one hand, scanning the mist with the LAR in the other hand.

Another Marine next to him leans against a lifeboat, panting heavily.

“Well, at least that’s finished.”

492 feels a slight tremor in the ground.

“No, I think we’re just getting started.”

The Marines sweep their weapons around the crash site.

“Sir, do you hear that? It’s coming closer. We’re all going to die. Oh, hell no. We’re all going to die.”

The ground rumbles again and a large form moves through the haze. 492 fires at the retreating figure but it’s gone before he can wound it. He activates his comm and connects to the Pelican.

“This is Spartan 492, where the hell are you? Things are starting to get weird around here.”

“This is Echo 417, we’ll be there ASAP. Hold you position, over.”

Infection Forms begin to pour down from the slope into the encampment. As per Flood nature, the Combat Forms are right behind them. Empty shells hit the ground as rounds from eight rifles tear apart the Flood. The Combat Forms fall to the ground writing in anguish, attempting to get back up and kill the humans. 492 walks over to the downed Flood and blasts the Infection Forms out of its chest, disintegrating the torso.

“Sir, look! The Pelican is here!”

492 looks up from the mangled corpse to see two lights shining through the fog, the dropship on approach. The thrusters kick up clouds of thick spores and Flood biomass as the Pelican touches down next to the lifeboats. The transport is rusted and dented, missing several parts of its armor. The eight survivors pile on to the ship and it begins to ascend. 492 watches through the internal bay in the back as the bulky anomaly moves toward them.

“We need to move. Now!”

A massive tentacle shoots up from below and smashes into the Pelican’s left thruster, penetrating it to the other side. The tentacle jerks downward, sending the craft into a downward spiral. 492 is sent sprawling along the floor.

“We’re losing control!”

“Get a hold of her!”

“Negative, we’re going down!”

The dropship slams into the side of the cliff, teetering on the edge. The hull groans as the ship slips off the edge and down toward the sea. Landing in the dark waters, the Pelican begins to sink, its internal bay filling with water. Few manage to make it back to the surface; most are dragged down with the transport. Combat Forms jump down from the cliff, struggling through the ocean toward the waterlogged survivors. The already bad situation is rapidly becoming worse for the three Marines and the Spartan. Swimming toward the shore, the team staggers onto the beach, pausing just long enough to catch their breath.

“Salvation? This is 492. The Pelican was destroyed. We need an alternative.”

“Roger, accessing the COMSAT’s.”

The operator is silent for a moment as he searches the area for transport.

“About five clicks west is an old air field. Last time we checked there was a working Shortsword bomber there.”

“Affirmative, we’ll get there.”

He signals to the Marines and they begin to move toward the Air Field, constantly hounded by Flood.

“This is the Salvation, current Flood movement indicates they are moving to engage you. Deviate from current course and move to sector six.”

“Moving to six.”

“Hostiles inbound on you position. Tracking.”

“Affirmative. Give me an ETA on the air field.”

“Based on your movement, no more than three minutes.”

“Roger that. I see the air field.”

“The Shortsword is in hangar 43-B.”

“Affirmative.”

492 vaults over the corroded fence to the airfield, the tarmac overgrown with biomass and weeds. His feet sink into the soft ground as he runs toward hangar 43-B. The three Marines struggle after him, taking pot-shots at the following Flood. The lone Shortsword sits intact, ready for flight, its aft access ramp open and ready to receive its long forgotten crew. 492 stands at the base of the ramp and covers the Marines as they board. He stands on the hatch as it begins to close, elevating him into the ship.

“The systems and hull seem intact, surprising given the current surroundings. I’ll need about a minute to get the engines warmed up.”

Flood crawl along the outside of the ship and across the cockpit windows, desperately trying to reach and consume the humans inside.

“The fusion cores are stabilized. Hull integrity at 100%.”

He edges the throttle forward and the Shortsword responds, slowly creeping out of the hangar.

“Secondary thrusters primed and engaged.”

He releases the coolant valve and the engine blocks burn bright red, jets of infused plasma scorching the rear of the hangar. The bomber makes its way out onto the tarmac and rotates to take off position. Opening the vents on all of the turbojets, the Shortsword blasts forward, tearing across the ruined asphalt. Multitudes of Flood are splattered across the road by the bomber as it reaches the mid segment of the runway. 492 pulls back on the joystick and tilts the wings up. The wheels bump along the ground.

“500 feet and closing. EICAS at 100%. Thrusters at max.”

Spartan 492 grips the flight wheel as the Shortsword rumbles and shakes.

“200 feet. Gaining altitude. Scramjets engaged. We have liftoff.”

The Shortsword flies off the runway, just narrowly avoiding a nearby ridge. He quickly contacts the UNSC Salvation.

“Salvation, this is 492. We are on approach from point 6.29, heading at 175 degrees.”

“Affirmative. Rendezvous at mark 2.5, you’ll find us. We’ve already left the dry-dock.”

“Roger that. ETA six minutes.”

Less than ten miles away, the UNSC Halcyon Cruiser Salvation hovers over the Indian Ocean, its hangar littered with the supplies of four years of planning and preparation. On approach, 492 maneuvers the craft in line with the ship. The Shortsword bomber slowly hovers into the Salvations main hold and sets down. 492 opens the access ramp and they leave the ship, nerves wracked by the past few hours. The medical staff assists the Marines out of the hangar and toward the med center. A crew approaches the Spartan.

“Sir? The Captain wants to see you on the bridge.”

492 leaves the hangar and takes the lift to the bridge. Computers and computer parts are strewn apart the control room, crewmen working frantically to assemble the pieces. The Captain turns from one of his aides to face him.

“Spartan 492. Glad you could make it to the show. Sorry for the mess but our compound was overrun by Flood and we were forced to make an emergency takeoff. I’m sorry to hear about the Endeavor. We’re all glad you made it out alive. Your past and current actions were in keeping with the highest traditions of military service. Your bravery in the face of impossible odds reflects great credit, upon yourself, and the UNSC. The Colonial Cross is awarded to you for acts of singular daring and devotion, for a soldier of the United Earth Space Corps.”

The Captain places the medal in the Spartans palm.

“We don’t exactly have the time for formalities but I thought it would be best to do this now, before we leave.”

“Thank you, sir. But no soldier should be honored for doing what is expected.”

“Even so, in light of our current state, I’d say you’ve earned it.”

A crewman walks up next to the Captain.

“Sir, the thrusters are prepped and ready.”

“Good, set course for Triton.”

“Triton, sir?” 492 asks.

“It’s a colony world that was never colonized. Something about a Forerunner Installation on the surface. No one’s ever been there, just a few probes. ONI never released any pictures and almost nothing about what resources it has. But it’s our best bet considering the Covenant and, by now, the Flood know where all our other colonies were. Bring the SFTE’s online.”

The pilot enters the coordinates into the navi-computer and activates the engines.

“Resonance field opening. All systems are go.”

492 watches from the bridge as a slipspace portal opens in front of the ship.

“Hold on everyone” the Captain says over the PA. “We’re entering slipspace.”

The Salvation shakes as it pushes itself through the fabric of space. 492 watches Earth from the starboard window, its once vivid oceans murky brown. Then, in a burst of neutrinos, the Salvation disappears into the alternative dimensions of slipspace, leaving Earth and the Flood behind. Using the combined technologies of both Forerunner and Covenant slipspace drives, the Salvation can travel at nearly 5,000 lightyears per day, drastically reducing the time it takes to travel from A to B. Blurs of light, from all colors of the spectrum flash by as the Halcyon makes the jump from Earth to “New Earth”, Triton. Escaping the Flood was the hardest part but humanity didn’t exactly have the rest of their time cut out for them. Re-colonizing a planet with the resources from one ship wouldn’t be the easiest task. The Spartan stays on the bridge, watching space go by. The journey is relatively short, only about three hours. He barely even realizes that they’ve arrived.

“Dropping out of the slipstream, looks like we made it in one piece.”

Triton’s surface is green, the planet dominated by one giant continent. Lush forests and grasslands populate Proteus, the primary landmass. The Salvation’s portal closes as it exits the slipstream and moves toward the surface.

“Set down at Sector 17J.”

“Affirmative, brining her in.”

The Captain turns to Spartan 492.

“Welcome, to New Earth.”

Epilogue:

Triton “New Earth”

2562

The cruiser touches down on the grassy plains of Sector 17J, a valley on the supercontinent of Proteus. Landing gear extends as the ship comes to rest on the ground. The engines begin to cool after the strenuous journey through slipspace as the boarding platform extends to the ground.

“Oxygen levels at 27%, Nitrogen at 72%, small traces of Carbon and Sulfur.”

Only 2,401 humans have survived the catastrophe on Earth. The refugees from the infested homeworld begin to exit the ship onto the plains. They start to unpack their supplies, things needed to start anew. The crew and passengers survey their surroundings. Triton is peaceful and calm, another ‘perfect’ colony, ripe for colonization. Life can begin again. Unknown to the humans, someone is watching them. On the peak of the nearby ridge, a Forerunner construct takes careful note of the humans and the lone reclaimer among them.

Desperate Measures-A Post-Halo 3 Fanfic-Chapter 10 up for grabs!

OhSoDeadly — Fri, 05 Jun 2009 12:39:52 GMT

I suddenly got the urge to make a Halo fic, so here it is. Hope you enjoy it-and don't expect me to churn our new chapters, I have another fic going. :)

*Prologue

11^th of October, 2553

UNSCDF HighCom, Russia

Earth

The frigid wind whipped across the frozen plain. The sun was a veiled disc in the sky. Standing atop the duracrete-and-metal watch tower, Private Horatio Zerba squinted at the distant eastern horizon. Clouds, grey as the tower they stood upon, crowded the aforementioned horizon, making it a blurred line. From the pouch at his belt, he withdrew a powerful monocular. More of the split-chins new-fangled technology. Sticks in my gut, using it. Placing it to his right eye, he sighted along the horizon. Nothing in the middle of nowhere.

Horatio sighed, the sound barely audible over the sound of the howling wind. This *** winter was choking the life from this land. The by-product of something the UNSC hadn’t foreseen. The Elites’ partial glassing of Voi months ago had triggered a climate change in-of all places-Russia. As a result, everything was frozen.

Well, I’ll admit we needed their help at the time. But now? The bastards have been squatting on their homeworld, while things fall to pieces here. The Sarge isn’t interested in my opinions, but *** me…

Horatio didn’t care that the Elites had helped them defeat the Covenant, or to stop the Flood infection. The bastards had burned Madrigal to cinders, along with his family and friends. Hell, the only reason he’d signed up was to kill Elites. Now they were allied with them.

A month ago, a Sangheili corvette had arrived with a message. The Arbiter and the Shipmaster had finished whatever they had been doing on their planet. A delegation was on its way, to thrash things out with the top brass. They were expected on this day.

Since the old HighCom building was in ruins, a new one was commissioned. The best engineers in the military were hauled off all their duty posts to construct this place. So far they had managed to get the main building, air pad and outer defenses done. Anything else was hoping for just too much. Even the squad’s saboteur, Private Xavier, had been pressed into service.

Now that’s a joke. Unless it comes to explosives, Xav’s bloody clueless. And why Lord Hood pulled our squad all the way from Micronesia is beyond me. So we’re all veterans-big deal.

A clank behind him. Horatio turned, to see the his squad’s corporal and point man, Len, pulling himself up the ladder. A sardonic guy, Len never missed an opportunity to get one over his teammates. But he was a loyal member of the squad, and had saved everyone’s ass on more than one occasion.

Len’s breath plumed in the cold air as he faced the east. Scratching a razor-cut sideburn, he said, “Having fun?”

Horatio’s expression soured through his ski mask. “You tell me, Len. I’ve been stuck up here for six hours freezing my nuts off while you and the rest are sitting around in the barracks jacking off.”

“Takes one to know one, douchebag.”

Horatio grunted a laugh and gave Len a playful shove. After a few moments the pair returned to their contemplation of the icy wastes. Eventually, Horatio asked, “So, any idea what Hood and the rest are up to?”

Len shook his head. “Nup. Cloak and dagger stuff with ONI, I’d imagine.”

Horatio exhaled noisily. “Well, at least when this is over, we can head out of this one big cryo bay. Back to where it’s warm.”

“Wouldn’t be too sure about that, if I were you.”

Horatio faced him. “So you do know something!”

Len grinned and tapped the side of his nose. “Trade secret, buddy of mine. You’ll just have to wait your turn.”

“Screw you, “said Horatio irritably.

Len cackled and made his way over to the ladder. “That’s “screw you Corporal” to you, Private…”

Horatio returned his attention to the east, only to see a purplish glow through the iron-coloured clouds. The thrum of an anti-gravity generator could be heard. Horatio stared in awe as the massive bulk of the feared Sangheili flagship, Shadow of Intent, dropped through the sky towards the ground. The rumble of its engines shook the tower on which Horatio was standing. Grabbing a nearby beam for support, he watched as the colossal ship settled into a steady hovering position. From its hangar bay doors, he saw a Spirit dropship emerge and fly towards the complex.They decided to finally show up. Horatio ran over to the ladder and hastily made his way to the ground. Running over to the field where the barracks was situated, he got to the doors of the squat, hastily erected building and flung them open.

Horatio ran over to the ladder and hastily made his way to the ground. Running over to the field where the barracks was situated, he got to the doors of the squat, hastily erected building and flung them open.

Inside was one big room. Steel cots, most of them unoccupied, were positioned along each wall. A few heating units had been attached to the roof, with tangles of multicolored cables hanging off them like a carpet of vines. The few soldiers that were here lay around, staring at the ceiling or cleaning their weapons. Horatio found his squad down the far end.

Apart from himself and Len, there were four others in his squad-Terry, Ollie, Xavier and their sergeant, Kyle. Terry was the official stealth and scouting man-the guy could find a way to disappear in the middle of a bare plain, and when they had fought the Covenant, they had learned the hard way. No less than fifteen Brutes had died at his hands.

Ollie was the tech specialist. A former cryptology expert, he had joined the Marines because his skills were so vital to the war effort. He was as good as any AI, and was handy with the SMG, his weapon of choice.

Xavier wasn’t present, but had a near-magical ability when it came to ordnance. His greatest achievement, as he so often boasted, was setting off ten kilograms of C-12 on a Covenant power plant on Jericho VII and eliminating an entire battalion of Hunters. Not the brightest guy, but brains weren’t a huge requirement in his occupation. He was close friends with Terry, whom he’d known from childhood.

Last was Kyle. Grizzled and gruff, he nonetheless had a steadfast devotion to his men. A former company commander, he had been busted down early in the war when he’d removed a general from his command in order to save the lives of a platoon of marines who were pinned down by Covenant air assault. Several other officers had vouched for him, but to no avail. Still, he looked after his men.

So we have experts in just about every field. And where do I fit in? No, Horatio, don’t think that way.

Clearing his throat, Horatio said, “Sarge, the Elites’ cruiser has just arrived. Delegates are on their way.”

Kyle grunted. “About time. Alright, ladies, grab your gear. We have an appointment with some aliens.” Shouldering his battle rifle, he rose and headed for the door. His men followed him.

Other people had been alerted-at the makeshift airfield, landing lights were being activated by technicians, halogen beams lancing into the air. A large red X painted the landing site. The Spirit dropship hovered overhead, its blue stasis field rippling between the “prongs”.

Len was waiting for them, standing off to one side. As Kyle and the rest arrived, he remarked, “We might want to step back, Sarge. It’s gonna need more room.”

The squad collectively stepped back, as the troop ship made its landing. The engines hum faded away. The side doors of the aircraft opened.

Out stepped eight Elites-three were garbed in golden armour, a sign of high rank-they were most likely Shipmasters or Field Masters. Three others were SpecOps soldiers, their matte black combat harnesses glistening.

The other two were the Arbiter and R’tas Vadum, the chief Shipmaster.

Horatio had only seen the Arbiter once, during combat in Voi and from a distance. Yet from what little he could recall of his appearance, little had changed. Amber eyes glinted through the eye-holes in his armour, filled with anticipation. He still wore the same armour-it was covered in dents, stains and scratches. Evidently he had been in fighting recently. When he could have been helping us.

R’tas Vadum, however, had changed his armour. It was a burnished orange, with white trimming. Atop his triangular head, he wore a silver headdress. Unlike the Arbiter, who was unarmed, he carried an energy sword at his side. The golden Elites were similarly armed. They were still wary of the unexpected, it seemed.

From behind Horatio, a procession was approaching. At its head was Lord Hood. Age was taking its toll on him, but he retained his old vigor, with a sharp gleam in his eyes. He was dressed in his old Navy dress uniform. His retinue consisted of the Marine generals and Navy captains that remained.

Hood strode up to the Elites. He withdrew a hand. “Arbiter, Shipmaster. Welcome back to Earth. Good to have you. I trust you’re well.”

Arbiter shook the hand firmly. “Well met, Lord Hood. Forgive our lack of assistance in relief efforts, we have been busy policing Sangheilios and the surrounding systems from Jiralhanae incursions. Know now that we will send regular aid.”

Lord Hood nodded, pleased. “That’s good to hear. Shipmaster, how have things been on the home front? Have our reinforcements been of use?”

R’tas’ slitted eyes went to Hood’s face. “Manageable. The Jiralhanae are like the L’upe cattle of our world-simpleminded and lacking initiative. Without their Prophets, they are no significant threat. In truth, your ships are not needed. Feel free to keep them where they are needed. That will change, however, when he strike deeper into their territories.”

Hood nodded a second time. “Well, we can discuss all that and more in due time. Follow me to the main building.” Hood turned and walked towards the huge structure that was the main building of HighCom. The respective retinues followed him.

Horatio couldn’t help but show open hostility as the Elites passed by. One of the SpecOps Elites half-turned to him as he passed. Horatio stared straight back at the Elite. A few moments passed, then the Elite’s mandibles broke apart in a wide grin. “Until later, human.” The Elite ambled off.

Horatio turned to his squadmates, all of whom were grinning. “What’s so funny?” he demanded.

Ollie snorted his laughter. “Dude, you shat your pants when that alien looked you over. You should have seen your face.”

“Oh, I don’t think he was scared, “ Len chimed in.

Horatio grunted. “Thanks Len….”

“I’d say he was in love.”

Horatio thumped Len on the shoulder. “Shut up man.”

Len continued unabated. “Saw something you liked, eh Hor? Thinking of asking him out? Heard the Caribbean’s pretty good this time of year…”

“I told you, shut up!”

‘Enough, “ growled Kyle. “This ain’t a mother’s group. Terry, it’s your shift on the watchtower. Grab some rations and haul ass.”

“Aw, Sarge…”

“That’s an order, Private!” Kyle’s voice could cow a lion into submission when he got ticked off.

Terry grumbled sullenly. “Don’t see what the point is, the Elites have arrived, what the hell am I up there for?”

“I swear to God, Terry, you don’t shut your yap I’ll shove a plasma grenade down it. Go.”

Still grumbling, Terry slunk off.

Kyle turned to the others. ‘Rest of you get some sleep. We’ll be moving out at dawn.”

“What for?” Len asked.

“None of your business, corporal.” The sergeant stalked off towards the main building.

Ollie and Len headed off to the barracks. Horatio followed them, but his mind was not on the subject of getting rest. The Elites were in discussions regarding peacekeeping. So far, expeditions to retake Covenant-held worlds had been in theory only. Yet now, something was definitely going on.

The Elite’s comment worried him. Just how closely were the humans and Elites going to be working together?

No idea, but I can tell the answer ain’t gonna be good.

The Three Kingdoms: The Beginning of The End (Book One)

Kuribayashi — Mon, 17 Aug 2009 10:17:49 GMT

Blurb

There are stirrings in the Continent of Albradia. Three Kingdoms, each one with dreams of owning one anothers land, are driven to war. When a rebellion attempt is foiled, it is the excuse needed for all out war. The Three Kingdoms are tearing each other apart, while Outsiders watch, and wait until the time is right to move in and sweep up what is left. Can the Three Kingdoms reach a compromise? Or will they have desroyed each other before the year is out?

The Three Kingdoms

Book one

Prologue

The Coalition of Races

The town stunk. It was the first thing that came to Bello’s mind. The smell of rotting flesh. A smell he was familiar with, being an Orc meant you got a lot of that smell. Bello was a Sergeant in a 30 strong group. Their mission was to go for the rebellions leader. Griskath, a Goblin who had struck a rebellion by gathering a lot of his followers and paying a few regiments to split and join him. They had taken the town of Gutair on the edge of the Fermil forest and had put all the civilians to the sword, and most of them had been Fauns and Orcs. Something they couldn’t get away with. Bello signalled to Wrex, the group’s leader. He was a Lieutenant in the Kings army. Bello pointed at a Goblin sentry. Wielding a very large Halberd, the Goblin was staring off into space, a glazed look in its eyes. It had been drinking it seemed. Wrex quietly drew his sword and moved behind a nearby cottage. The group stayed watching the Goblin. From where they were, they saw the Goblin suddenly turn its head to the right, alert. Wrex must have made a sound. The Goblin cautiously moved to a nearby house. The attack came suddenly. Wrex burst from behind some barrels to the Goblins left. The Goblin had time to turn before Wrex’s sword had slit its throat. The body crumpled to the ground, spraying blood from the wound.

Wrex waved to the band and they all ran over to his position. He dragged the dead guard into a space in-between two houses and walked back over to them. “Okay, we got rid of that lucky ***, the rest of them are supposed to be having a little feast.”

“How do we know?” Bello inquired of his leader.

“Because, that one we killed looked pissed as a fart. He soon sobered up though.” Wrex gave a malicious grin. A sound came from behind them. The group turned and saw a trio of Goblins shambling towards them. One of them held a tankard, swaying it bemusedly in the dark evening, while his friends wore stupid smiles. They caught site of the group suddenly. The tankard dropped to the floor, spilling its amber coloured contents. The Goblins drew swords and charged the group with loud screams. One fell over and landed on his blade, spilling his own intestines on the cobbled street. The other two kept charging. Wrex ducked under a wildly swinging blade and rammed the tip of his sword into the chest of is attacker, while two Corporals brought down the other with a blow to the leg, and a decapitation. One of the Privates spoke. “That was more noise than we *** needed.” The sound of a door being barged open rang through the now silent town and many footsteps rapidly came their way.

At least a hundred Goblins had come to investigate. All of them armed and surveying the carnage. Suddenly, they all roared and charged at the Orcs. “SHIELDS UP!” Wrex yelled at the group. They all raised their shields and aimed them at the enemy. “Bello! Signal the army! NOW!” Bello pulled out a match. He struck it, and ignited it with a spark. He threw it onto the roof and grabbed his canteen. Pouring the contents onto the ember, he stepped back as it lit the whole roof with a loud WHUMPF! Then the sound of clashing steel met his ears. The roars of the combatants replaced the sound of the nocturnal animal’s song. The fire had caught the whole building and let off a mighty pillar of smoke. Bello hoped that the army outside the town would see the signal.

Wrex duelled with a Goblin Captain. The insignia on its shoulders showed him. It thrust forward. Wrex knocked the blow aside with his sword and shoved his shield in its face. The Goblin stumbled back, and this was the opportunity needed. He lunged forward and felt his sword enter through the armour of the Goblin, pierce its flesh and exit out of its back, severing its spine. He planted a foot on the Goblin and pulled out his sword, releasing an explosion of gore. A Corporal was fighting two Goblins at once. One swung at him. He ducked under it and raised his shield to deflect the blow o the second Goblin. He felt a weight hit him from behind, and he was on the ground. He looked up to see three Goblins. One raised its sword to finish him, when another Orc came behind it and grabbed hold of its head. It was Bello. He twisted the Goblins neck and pounced on another. That left the Corporal, Okin, to fight the remaining one. The Goblin was shocked at what just happened to its comrades. Okin took that precious moment to jam his blade into its kneecap. It gave an un-earthly shriek and collapsed, Okin’s sword jutting from its leg. Okin began punching it in the face, each blow a vicious one. He hit it until its face was nothing but a pulp, and his fists dripped with blood.

Wrex raked his sword edge along a Goblins eye and cheek. Screaming, it rolled around on the floor in agony, until Wrex punctured its lung with a downward thrust. He dared a look around. The Orcs had abandoned the disciplined approach and were charging into the Goblins, preferring to fight alone. Wrex cursed loudly and killed a Goblin by decapitating it. Te head rolled over to Bello who was trading blows with a Goblin. It blocked his attack pretty well and retaliated with a swing of its own. Bello knocked it aside with his shield and lunged forward. His blade swept along the Goblins arm, splitting the flesh and revealing the bloody tissue beneath. The Goblin looked in great pain, but it struggled on. The wound proved to be a turning point in the fight. The Goblin tried to drag the blade along his stomach. Bello moved his shield to intercept the attack, and then tried to overwhelm the Goblin with sheer strength. He rained down blow upon blow across the Goblins sword. It dropped the blade after a few hits and Bello cut through its wrist and severed the hand. It dropped to its knees, pale from loss of blood, while Bello slit its throat. The Goblins kept coming. The Orcs had been doing well, but it couldn’t last. The Goblin numbers would destroy them. “But not without a fight.” He thought to himself, as he watched the life leave a Goblins eyes. He roared and plunged his blade into a Goblins spine as it fought one of his allies.

Okin wiped sweat from his brow as he ripped his sword through the soft innards of a stunned Goblin. It collapsed and he swung his sword viciously along its neck, the head was hanging on by a sinew of flesh. He was about to engage another foe, when a sound came from above him. It seemed, in that moment, all eyes looked upward. A great shadow passed over the fighters, and a fireball the size of a wagon engulfed the Goblins furthest back. That was at least 20 gone. Another shadow came over them, and this time it was a massive bout of flame that sprayed along the Goblin line. The Dragons began turning back, but not before several bursts of flame to do what damage they could. The Goblins began running away from the cheering Orcs. They left the wounded. The Goblins turned the corner, and turned back again. They stopped at the sight of the blood spattered Orcs and dropped their weapons. Confused, Okin took a step forward, but was barred by a Privates shield. Treth’s shield. “Sir, listen.” He said before turning his attention back to the pleading Goblins. Many of them were on their knees holding up their hands in an act of surrender. A few had kept hold of their weapons, but were visibly shaking as they stared at the unseen threat. Okin strained his ears until he heard it. A slight rumbling sound. It then became a trembling. And then a roar. And the Centaurs charged into the scramble of Goblins, cleaving their heads and cracking skulls as they went. They spared no lives. The fires and burning corpses left behind from the dragons ignited their eager faces. Tonight would be a glorious night.

The Goblin fell under the combined blades of the Orcs as they rampaged along the streets. And that’s when they reached the centre of the city. And the stench of rotting flesh was the strongest it could get, because piled high, were the bodies of the town people. A large pool of blood had collected underneath the mass and flies covered it. Wrex shook his head slowly. Okin and Treth were clamping each other’s shoulders in a show of support. Bello reached into his pocket and pulled out a necklace that his wife had given him. He clutched it tight and whispered to himself “I won’t let this happen to you.” A commotion sounded in the night. The Orcs and Centaurs sprinted away from the depressing pile and as they turned a corner, they saw a battle taking place. All they could see was the Goblins, they had come behind them. But they all knew what the Goblins were fighting when they heard a battle cry taken up by them. “That’ll be the Dwarves then?” Wrex said to one of the Centaurs. The Centaur nodded and held his sword aloft. “CHARGE!” He yelled, as his brethren took up his cry and began a cavalry charge into the unprotected flank of the Goblins.

The Centaurs reached the scrap first. They hacked and slashed at the Goblins. The Orcs then reached the fight. Treth used his shield to knock a panicky Goblin to the ground. He slammed an iron shod boot down on its throat repeatedly until he heard a crack. The Goblin spluttered blood and died. Treth delivered an almighty punch to another Goblin, right on its jaw. The Goblin fell on hands and knees and shrieked as Treth’s sword cleaved its skull. He welcomed the spray of warm blood on his face. Bello was swapping blows with a Corporal Goblin. It fought well for such a low rank. They clashed swords and drew close to each other. Bello could smell the rank breath of his foe as it began speaking. “Nothing like killing an Orc child while it clings to its dead mothers clothes!” Bello roared and swept away the Goblins blade. He kicked the Goblin in the groin and as it keeled over, brought his knee up to its face. There was a crack and the Goblin fell to the ground, blood streaming from both nostrils. He jammed his sword in its guts, and twisted. The Goblin gasped and let loose a flow of blood from its mouth as it died. That’s when the Dwarves became visible in the fracas. One of them swung a butterfly axe shoved the edge in a Goblins stomach. He pulled it out, letting the intestines drop, before turning to another foe and decapitating it before it could even raise its shield. The fighting died down and the Dwarf’s face lit up when he saw Wrex. “WREX!” He bellowed. The Orc looked around and saw the Dwarf, beaming at him.

“Well *** me with a barbed pole! HASKAR!”

The Orc and Dwarf approached one another while the rest of the band looked confused. “Bloody hell Haskar, haven’t seen you since that skirmish in Grada!” Wrex exclaimed.

“*** hell, you were only a Corporal back then. And a leader of a War band! Well, you’ve rose up in the ranks. I won’t be surprised if you’re getting Captain by next year.” Haskar balanced his axe on his shoulder, blood dripping onto his armour. “So, you find out where that ***, Griskath yet?”

“No mate, he might be in the town hall. Looks like we cleared out most of the rebels. Shall we get moving then?” Wrex moved back to his band. “MOVE TO THE TOWN HALL! NOW!” They all obliged and turned back to the centre of town.

The town hall was impressive. It towered over everything else and was crafted of the finest wood and marble. A large set of polished, wooden double doors was the only entrance in. Lights were on inside, as indicated by the glow in the windows. The Dwarves ran up to the doors tried to open them. One of the Dwarves shouted back “IT’S LOCKED!”

A Centaur yelled at them “WELL SMASH IT OPEN THEN!” The Dwarves began battering it with sword and shield. There was a crack as the wood splintered. Then, one of the doors gave, and Goblins poured out of the breach. A Dwarf took an axe to the side of the skull, while another was felled by a scimitar. The Dwarves shook off their surprise and engaged the Goblins viciously. The Centaurs couldn’t manoeuvre up the stairs to the building, so the Orcs sprinted up them. Okin leapt up after propelling himself off the edge of the step. He cried a battle cry and, sing his momentum, slammed his shield into the mid-riff of a Goblin. It flew backwards, its ribs broken. Okin landed awkwardly, and a Goblin seized his chance. Striking out, the Goblin missed Okin by an inch. Okin ducked under the Goblin and tackled him. He lifted him up and slammed him into the wall of the building. He began punching and kicking him, until he was dead. He let the body drop to the floor with a wet thud and turned to engage the others. Haskar swept a Goblins feet out from under him, and delivered a downwards stroke with his axe to the Goblins pelvis and let it to bleed to death. The remaining Goblin put up a tough fight, but they were quickly dealt with. The Dwarves suffered eighteen casualties, the Orcs had none. The two races spilled into the grand hall. There was an elegant staircase heading up to the second floor. There was no sign of any other Goblins. They went up the staircase, two at a time and reached the top in no time. There was a shuffling from behind a closed door. Wrex put a finger to his lips to signal silence. He put an ear to the door. He listened intently and turned back to the group. “They’re definitely in there. When we go in, be careful.” He turned, not waiting for a reply and kicked down the door. He raised his shield instinctively and saved his life. A scimitar jarred off his raised shield. He struck out with his sword and felt his sword bite deep into flesh. The other Orcs rushed in and the sounds of combat soon echoed throughout the grand building.

Bello feigned an attack at the Goblin. It raised its shield and let itself unprotected. Bello took the chance to run it through with his weapon. It died before it hit the ground. The Goblins were very few in number, and were dealt with. Up at the front of the room, was a desk. And behind the desk was stood a Goblin. It had no weapons and wore a robe. “FOOLS!” It shrieked at them. Wrex strode over to it. “Griskath, you slimy ***.” Wrex delivered an uppercut to the traitor. He fell to the ground, winded. Wrex placed the edge of his sword on Griskath’s neck. “And now you die.” He made to rake the blade across the Goblin’s throat, but he was startled when it began laughing.

“You don’t know what you’ve done!”

“I know exactly what I’ve done you worm.”

“No! I made an agreement with the two Empires.” A chill ran up Wrex’s spine.

“What do you mean?”

“They said that we were their vassals. If anyone attacks us, then they are enemies with the Empires.”

“WHAT!?”

“It’s true, and now they will destroy this pathetic Coalition. Don’t even fool yourself with thinking of victory.”

“Orcs know nothing but victory. I wish we could say the same about you and loyalty.”

“The Empires will kill all of you. I wish I would be there to see it!”

“Oh well, killing you might make me a little happier with the day.” The Goblins smile turned to a grimace.

“I am ready.” He closed his eyes and gave the slightest of groans as the blade cut across his throat.

Chapter One

Verudian Empire

The population of the Verudian Empire’s capital city mostly comprises of Humans and Elves, with a smattering of Gnome slaves. The Trolls are not permitted to see the grace of the city. For Lyle, that was a good thing. The Humans were fanatically religious and only the Elves and Humans were made for the Earth. Every other race was a complete abomination, a test of the Human and Elves worthiness to rule the continent. They had already reduced three races to servitude and the heathen Coalition were next in line, the time for war had come, especially with the news Lyle carried to the Verudian Council and the great King Tommo. Down the busy streets, Elves and Humans were doing their various tasks, selling fruits, silk, linens, furs and other exotic items from the more lavish parts of the Empire. The Citadel of Truth was the grandest building in the whole Empire. Standing hundreds of feet high, sculpted of the finest marble, with the statues of past kings guarding the gateway into the Citadel. He made his way to the marble stairs. The crowd had thinned around here as it took special kinds of people to be allowed entrance into the Citadel. Lyle climbed the stairs and pushed past the line of people waiting to get in.

He ignored the protests of the peasants as he climbed ever higher towards the gateway. He passed the statues of the kings Torenk and Uerace, as they leant on their swords in a casual manner, just as they had been for the past 300 years. A Human guard approached him. “Is there a reason for your ignorance of the line? Or do you wish for a night in the cells?”

“I come bearing news for the Council and the King.” Lyle reached into the deep pockets of his blue and red robe and pulled out a folded piece of parchment. It bore the Imperial Seal. The guard made to grab it, but Lyle moved it out of reach. “For their eyes only.” The guard narrowed his eyes.

“How do I know you aren’t lying?”

“Because the news this contains,” He shook the parchment to exonerate his point “Is of such importance, you will be hearing of it by Noon. Is the Imperial Seal not evidence enough of its authenticity?” The guard gave a defeated look and angrily jerked a thumb towards the gate. Lyle smiled in reply and made his way to the gate. Upon reaching it, the other two guards halted him. But turned their attention to the other guard as he shouted to them “LET HIM PASS!” He yelled, more than a little annoyed. The guards ushered him in and he was in the courtyard. People in fancier clothing than the peasants outside were walking in the spacious yard. A string of market stalls lined one side of the court, with an assortment of meats and vegetables on display. The tantalising smell of roasted Gryphon hung in the air. On the other side of the court, was a blacksmith’s, an inn and a large estate house. The banners of the Lord Bethyr waved lazily in the morning breeze, hanging from the top windows of the house. The sound of clanging metal cut across the noise of the court, as the Blacksmith’s went to work. In the centre of the court, was the most striking feature. An execution block. Three Gnomes hung from the top of it, swinging and swaying, the ropes creaking slightly under their weight. Curious, Lyle approached one of the signposts around the execution block. It read: “Under decree of King Tommo, the three Gnomes known as Gris, Wreef and Qwuerit have been sentenced to death by hanging, following them being linked to recent terrorist activities in the South regions of the Empire. Let it be a lesson to anyone else wanting to aid the GFA. Contact any local Officer of the Guard if you wish to give us information on whereabouts of any suspected resistance members. You will be richly rewarded.”

Lyle finished reading and felt a surge of hatred. How dare the Gnomes be this ungrateful. They would be savages if it weren’t for the Empire. They would be in poverty and squalor. He controlled his anger and briskly walked towards another set of steps heading into the keep of the Citadel. The guards didn’t stop him as he entered into the cool insides of the Citadel. The walls were made of stone, the same stone used in the building of the Citadel, back when it was merely a Castle. He saw light spilling in from around a corner. He turned the corner and found himself facing a small bridge connecting the tower he was standing in, with the grand hall, and where the King resided. He crossed the bridge, passing two chatting Elf guards. They were discussing the hangings and how one of the Gnomes tried to bite the executioner. A joke about this made the Elves chuckle with mirth. Lyle entered the grand hall. Torches were displayed all over the walls; huge tables were laid out, adorned with golden and silver plates. Candles littered the table, waiting to be lit at the nights feast, and at the end of the hall, was the King, sat behind a small table, with a huge throne, draped by a canopy bearing the Kings coat of arms. An Elf holding aloft a glowing ball. Above the throne, the standards of the Empire jutted out. Imperial guards wearing royal green uniforms, were idly talking to each other, and checking the tables. Lyle walked down the middle of the hall, his feet echoing around the hall. The King looked up, and his brow creased when he saw the parchment in Lyle’s hands. He gave a slight lick of his lips and spoke. “What do you have there boy?” The King was only very young, but his voice was deep and demanded respect. A good sign of a leader. Lyle stopped and held up the parchment, being careful to make sure the Imperial Seal was shown towards the King.

“I come bearing news from our friends. The rebels in the Coalition.” The King brightened.

“Did the plan work? Did the Coalition attack them?”

“Well Sir, maybe you should read the letter first.” Lyle approached the King’s throne and passed the parchment over the table to the King. He unrolled it and his lips moved silently as he read. His mouth twisted into a smile and he rolled the parchment back up. He clicked his fingers eagerly. A guard ran over to the King. “Guard, I required something of you. Commander Ruku is down in the Barracks, drilling fresh troops. Tell him I want him here, immediately.” The guard saluted and sprinted out of the hall, his scabbard bouncing wildly.

Ruku ducked under the swing of his opponent. He swiftly turned and punched out at his foe. His fist connected with his jaw, and the man stumbled. Ruku put his sword to the recruit’s throat. “And that is how you fight a man! I want you all, to practice the moves I have shown you! When you can do one of them correctly before the day is out, a couple of gold coins are in it for you!” He shouted at the recruits in the drill yard. The promise of the gold was enough to motivate them. They set about each other with the plastic swords. Practicing the moves the Commander taught them. The gravel crunched as an Imperial Guard sprinted over to Ruku. He turned just as the Imperial Guard reached him. The Guard gave off a crisp salute, panting slightly.

“Sir, his Highness requests your presence in the great hall immediately.” Ruku gave an exasperated sigh.

“Can it not wait? I have to train these men, and they need a lot of it. They can barely wipe their own ass!”

“I’m sorry Sir, King Tommo made it very clear he wants you now.” Ruku sighed again.

“Okay, tell him I’m on my way. Dismissed soldier.” The Guard gave another salute and sprinted out of the Barracks. The men were still fighting, and some of them were doing the moves rather well. Ruku bellowed at them and they all stopped. “I have an audience with the King, you can have a break. But when I get back, I will work you until your backs break! IS THAT CLEAR!?” The recruits shouted back at him.

“SIR, YES SIR!” Ruku nodded and turned his back to them, his crimson cloak billowing.

King Tommo impatiently tapped his fingers on the arm of the throne. The Guard had returned a few minutes ago and was now sat at one of the tables, drinking a mug of ale. A half-eaten piece of meat on a plate in front of him. The King was about to call for him to see what the Commander was doing, when he strode into the hall. He stood in the middle o the hall and knelt to the King. “My liege. You requested to see me.”

“About time Ruku, I was getting impatient.”

“I apologise.”

“Yes, it is no matter. But I have interesting news for you, Commander.”

“Sir?”

“Indeed, very interesting. Can I be sure that you can have all Regiments of the Army briefed and ready for tomorrow?”

“Of course, but what am I to brief them on?”

“You are to tell them that we have entered a war against the Coalition, along with our allies, the Empire of Ice.” A slight change came over the Commanders features.

“I will get them prepped at once Sire.”

“Good, you may go now.” Ruku bowed and hurriedly left the hall. He welcomed the thought of a war. A chance to prove the Humans and Elves the superior peoples in the continent. Even the Empire of Ice would fall soon enough. Ruku would be fighting in glorious combat soon enough.

Chapter Two

Coalition of Races

The Goblins were subject to heavy distrust following the events of Griskath and his followers. And now that an army had been spotted marching towards the Great Plain, things were definitely heating up. Wrex walked with his two Sergeants, Bello and Treg, along the empty streets of Gutair. It had been a full day since the end of the battle and the dead were still being carted away. Many of the soldiers celebrated by getting drunk in the tavern, only a few wounded Goblins had been found, and they revealed the same tale Griskath had. They were indeed at war. Wrex spoke suddenly. “I don’t think even the Orcs can win against this you know?” Bello laid a hand on his superiors shoulder.

“Hey, we’ve faced worse odds than this Sir. And besides, we’re Orcs. The best fighters this side of the world. What’s to worry about?” Wrex brightened a little.

“I guess you’re right. The taverns coming up. Fancy a drink?” Treg burped loudly and nodded his head in approval. “Alright then, let’s get going.” The trio rounded a corner and the tavern was in sight. Light spilt from inside and the sounds of laughter could be heard. As they approached, the laughter stopped. It was suddenly replaced by a splintering crash, and a yelp. And then the sounds of chaos replaced that. Wrex sprinted up to the door and kicked it open.

Okin had Treth in a headlock, and refused to let go. Treth was grunting as he tried to break the tight grip of the Orc. Okin replied by kneeing Treth in the gut. He slumped down and brought Okin with him. Okin relaxed his grip a fraction, but it was enough. Treth ripped free of the headlock and a scrap followed. Treth, fists flailing, caught Okin in the temple. Okin stumbled back and replied with a haymaker and a kick to the crotch. All around the two Orcs, the rest of the Orcs, including many Dwarves, were beating each other senseless. A voice bellowed over the madness. “WHAT THE *** DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING!?” The fights ended as abruptly as they had begun. All eyes turned on the Lieutenant. He was grinding his teeth, fists clenched. He was furious. “OKIN! YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BE WATCHING THIS LOT!” Okin let go of Treth, and the dazed Private fell to the ground with a loud thump. “But Sir. He said I was fat!” Wrex closed the distance to Okin surprisingly fast. He grabbed hold of Okin and head butted him. The Corporal rolled around on the floor in agony. “CLEAN THIS *** UP! AND IF YOU MUST DRINK! DO IT WITHOUT KILLING EACH OTHER?! UNDERSTOOD!?!” There were grunted replies from the drunken Orcs and Dwarves. Wrex turned and strode back out of the tavern. Treg and Bello were waiting for him.

“Sir, maybe we should head back? You know, to Theros? They might need us there.”

“Yeah, you’re right Treg. You and Bello can round up the idiots. I’m heading for the camp outside.” The two Sergeants saluted and entered into the tavern. There was the muffled sound of conversation and then a few seconds later, the sound of more fighting. A window smashed as a Privates body flew out of it. Wrex looked down at the Private. “How you doing Seeth?”

“Can’t complain Sir. You haven’t seen a tooth around here have you Sir?”

“No I have not Seeth.” Wrex left him alone, and went out to the camp. It would be a short march back, enough time to get mobilised and meet the Verudian threat at the Great Plain. Regret filled his heart at having to spill blood on that sacred place, but there was no other choice.

Wrex, Haskar and the Centaur Captain, Marrock were marching at the head of the 900 strong army. The town had long vanished from view, and the Spire that adorned the top of the Theros Castle loomed over them. Soon, they would be home. The soldiers were quiet; the only sound was that of their feet and armour as they moved at a steady pace. Haskar spoke suddenly. “Wrex, what do you reckon will happen when we reach Theros?”

“They’ll stick my war band in with a large force of Orcs; you’ll be placed in a Dwarf war band. We’ll be force marched to the Great Plains, and then...” Marrock finished his sentence for him.

“We kill.” Haskar looked at Marrock as though noticing him for the first time.

“So Marrock, I can trust your Centaurs will continue to give excellent cavalry support?”

“Have we ever let you down Dwarf? In fact, I recall I saved your life back in Gutair.” Haskar blushed.

“No... You didn’t. I can handle myself.”

“Hmm, it didn’t seem that way when that Goblin almost severed your head.” Haskar stuttered. “I know a Dwarves pride is colossal but I didn’t think you would be this protective of it.” Wrex wore a large grin he couldn’t hide. When Haskar saw it, he went a deep red.

“*** the both of you.” Marrock and Wrex burst into laughter. “Anyway, you should be controlling yourselves. You failed to notice something, we have company.” Haskar drew his axe without a thought. Marrock unsheathed his claymore sword and Wrex held up a hand to stop the march. In the distance, a large force of creatures was coming their way. Haskar strained to see what they were. There were a lot of them, at least a few hundred. “Marrock, round up your Centaurs, be ready. And Wrex, what do you think?” Marrock galloped off.

“I don’t know Haskar. Could be Minotaur’s. They inhabit this place.”

“No, Minotaur’s don’t come out like this. Some of them are mounted.” Wrex could see clearly now. A few were indeed on mounts. And they were heading their way fast. “Wrex, get the men in battle order now. It looks bad.” Wrex turned to a banner carrier. He was a Dwarf. He had already seen the threat and overheard the conversation. He knew what he had to do. He pulled out a horn and blew a loud blast from it. The result was instant. The Dwarf Captains organised their men into formation and Wrex’s war band made their way to the front. Treg was the first to reach him.

“Hello Sir. Lovely day for a fight eh?”

“Indeed it is Sergeant. Where’s Bello?”

“He’s organising the left. What’s the trouble?”

“Looks like we have hostiles coming from over there.” Wrex pointed out towards the approaching creatures. Treg took a long look and stared back at his Lieutenant.

“SIR! They’re Kobolds!” Wrex shook his head in disbelief.

“Kobolds? This close? I hardly think so Sergeant.”

“No Sir, look what they’re riding.” Wrex saw a flash of orange on one of the mounts, and a burst of flame went into the air above the rider.

“Salamanders. Oh ***, Sergeant, get ready. It’s going to be tough.” By the time the enemy was in plain sight, the Orcs and Dwarves had got into formation. While the Centaurs had crept out and hidden from sight. They would flank the Kobolds when they were given a signal. One Centaur was dispatched to head to Theros, galloping at full speed. He would try and bring back reinforcements. Wrex bellowed as he raised his sword. “SHIELDS DOWN!” The clatter of metal met his ears as the Orcs lowered their shields. “SWORDS UP!” The sound of many weapons being unsheathed carried down the line. “HOLD!” The Orcs hunched down behind their shields. Wrex then got into formation with his fellow soldiers. He heard Bello yell.

“STOP *** AROUND SERJ!” And then, the roars of the Kobolds became audible. The Salamanders were speeding towards the battle line. Their forked tongues flicking in and out as they charged. A Kobold came Wrex’s way; it held a Scimitar and a wooden shield. The sound of clashing steel filled the air as the first Kobolds reached the Orcs. Wrex held his shield tight as the weight of a Salamander crashed into it. He heard the Kobold snarl as it raised a Scimitar, and swing it down. The sword bounced off Wrex’s shield. Wrex suddenly bashed his shield into the face of the Salamander is it tried to turn away from him. The impact was so hard; the Salamander bucked and ran away. The buck had knocked the Kobold from the seat of its mount. It hit the ground and tried to roll up. Wrex stopped him by jamming his blade between the Kobolds ribs. Blood spurted from its mouth, and then the Kobold infantry came in.

Bello fought side by side with Serj. Bello kicked a Kobold in the shin. It fell on one knee, and Serj finished it with a vicious slash to its throat. Another came their way. Bello blocked its incoming swing and plunged his sword into its chest. He raked it upwards, puncturing its heart as he went. It fell back, his sword pulling free as it fell. Serj swapped blows with a tenacious Kobold. It wore a lot of armour, and bore a metal shield, intricately patterned with the Empires national colours. But he ignored that and stayed focused on its wickedly sharp sabre. It side swiped Serj. Serj reacted just in time, raising his shield and blocking the attack. The Kobold pulled back quickly and made a lunge. Serj knocked the attack aside and brought his shield down on the Kobolds outstretched arm. There was a brittle snap, and the Kobold dropped its weapon. Serj wasted no time. He made to run through the Kobold, but it raised its shield, blocking his blow and then it turned to run. Serj let it go, focusing on his next target instead. This one was too eager, wanting to kill Serj so badly; it ended up missing him completely. Serj raked his blade along its abdomen and shattered its skull with his boot as it dropped.

Haskar and his Dwarves were holding their own rather well. They weren’t Orcs, but they were good enough. Haskar severed the arm of a Kobold while his comrade finished it off, he then swept his axe low, severing a Kobolds foot and then brought his axe down on its head as it fell. Another took its place, and suffered a similar fate. He saw a Kobold skewer a Dwarf with a spear and then another Dwarf pounced on by three Kobolds, each one of them stabbing wildly at his thrashing body. Rage overtook Haskar. He detached himself from his group, and charged into the Kobold army. He got hold of one in a headlock; he twisted its neck and swung his axe out at a passing enemy, cutting through its exposed ear. It shrieked and stumbled off, holding the side of its head, blood flowing freely. Haskar dropped the body of the Kobold he had just killed, and tackled another to the ground. The sheer weight of the Dwarf was enough to break its ribs. A rib had punctured through the flesh of the Kobold. It yelled in pain as Haskar ripped out the rib and stabbed it through the Kobolds eye, and into its brain. The Dwarves finally slaughtered their way to him. “What took you so long!?” He shouted with a smile.

“Just having a pleasant stroll is all!” A Sergeant called out, as he severed the head of a charging Kobold. Haskar laughed and turned back to the slaughter.

Treth was panting; sweat clung to him all over. He had held of a Kobold. Its face was bloodied from the beating Treth had been laying on it. It was choking on its own blood, making gargling noises. “Oh shut the *** up will you?” Treth said exasperatedly. He picked up a large rock and made to bring it down on the head of the creature. It feebly pawed at his blood stained uniform, trying to pull him down. The rock fell on the creatures face with a meaty thump. The Kobold stopped struggling and lay still. Treth gave a small laugh of victory and picked up his sword. He started duelling with another Kobold. He was so tired; he barely understood what was happening around him. It was as though his sword arm was being controlled by someone else, as that was the only part of his body he could move without pain. He speared the Kobolds lung and fell back as he dragged the sword from its limp body. He was suddenly on the ground, he must have tripped. A Kobold fell on top of him, a sword jutting out of its chest. Its dead eyes stared straight down at his. An Orc hand grabbed hold of the sword and ripped it out, dropping blood on Treth. The same hand knocked the body aside and grabbed hold of Treth’s bloodstained shirt. “Treth!” Treth muttered something in reply. He felt a sting as a hand slapped across his face. He shook his head. “TRETH!”

“What!?” He yelled back, barely standing. He heard a sigh of relief and the voice spoke again.

“At least we know you haven’t lost too much blood. You need a healer, now.” Treth couldn’t understand. He wasn’t wounded... Was he? He recognised the voice. It was Treg.

“Sir, what’s wrong with me?”

“I can’t understand what you’re saying. It’s gibberish mate.” Treth could hear what Treg was saying, but it seemed he was speaking from far away. It was loud as a whisper with a slight echo. Treth was confused. He was just really tired, that was all. He wasn’t hurt; at least, he couldn’t feel any severe pains besides his muscles aching. He had the sensation of being dragged. The din of battle was replaced with a white noise. The figures around him became blurs; the only things still real were him and Treg.

Treg grunted with every movement. An Orc in full battle gear wasn’t exactly the lightest of things to drag around. He managed to drag Treth past the mad entanglement of bodies and dropped him on a hillock a few metres away from the nearest combat. Treg winced as he saw Treth’s wound. A huge chunk had been carved out of his thigh, and blood trickled from a cut to his ribs. He was in deep shock, it was a wonder he was still conscious. “Listen Treth, I’m getting Wrex here, he knows some knowledge of healing. Just, wait here.” Treg turned and sprinted into the mess. He finally found Wrex, snapping the neck of a Kobold. “Sir, it’s Treth, he’s in a bad way, and he needs you seeing to him.”

“Where is he?”

“He’s up at the edge of that hill. He really needs attention.”

“Right, keep the fight going, and call for the Centaurs. I can’t find the Dwarf with the signal.” Wrex jogged towards where Treth was, while Treg ran to Haskar, who was taking a break while his men kept him covered.

“HASKAR!” Haskar turned his head towards the Orc, giving the slightest of nods as he wiped sweat from his eyes. “Haskar, where’s your man with the signal?”

“I don’t know. I lost sight of him. Last I saw, he was in a fight over there.” Haskar waved his hand towards a cluster of dead Kobolds with a smattering of Dwarves. Treg ran over to them, a Kobold falling to the ground in front of him had an axe sticking from its neck. Treg jumped quickly over it, and landed next to the bodies. He looked at all the Dwarf bodies. One of them had the horn. The Dwarf was coated with blood; it was hard to tell what had been his end. Treg pulled the horn free and was about to blow into it, when a sword cleaved it in half. Treg leapt back, and avoided his nose being cut off. A Kobold stumbled towards him, it looked hurt. It roared and swung its sword at him again. Treg easily side stepped it and delivered his own sword in a downward stroke, piercing its skull. It collapsed into his arms, a dead weight. He ripped the sword free and let him drop. He remembered the horn. He dropped to the ground and pawed at the remains. He crushed the halves he held with his clenching fists. He let out an almighty roar “FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!”

Chapter Three

Coalition of Races

Marrock could see the battle perfectly from his vantage point. The fight looked absolutely chaotic. At the start of the fighting, there had been some kind of order, but then the Dwarves broke ranks, and then the Orcs were forced to. Combatants were scattered everywhere. Marrock even swore he saw an Orc being dragged away from the battle, he looked dead. That was a bad sign. When the Orcs are dying, you know there is a problem. All the other Centaurs were anxious. Being in the edge of a forest and watching a good scrap was taunting to them. A Sergeant approached Marrock. “Sir, the battle looks bad. Maybe the signal carrier was killed, or they lost it. Either way, they would have signalled us by now.” Marrock took in his words.

“Your words speak wisdom Caryth. Okay, we charge. Get the troops in line. We flank them as fast as we can, and save our forces. QUICKLY!” The Sergeant bowed his head and turned to round up the soldiers. His voice boomed behind Marrock, but he was more focused on a small fight between two Orcs and around ten Kobolds.

“*** YOU!” Wrex yelled as his sword slashed down into a Kobold, severing its neck. Bello, was fighting next to him, protecting his flank. Bello kicked out at an unprotected part of a Kobold; it fell to one knee and was quickly finished. Wrex battled four at once. He swept away the sword of one; it went flying into the face of one of his comrades, hitting him on the flat side. The Kobold grunted angrily and charged at Bello, disorientated. Wrex raised his shield and deflected a blow from the second enemy. He did a roll to the left to avoid a slash from his third foe, and he landed next to the fourth. It was shocked at Wrex’s sudden movement; Wrex plunged his sword into it and pulled himself up on it. He lifted his shield and knocked back two successive blows from the other two Kobolds. He wrenched his sword from the bowels of his second kill and swung it quickly to deal with his third kill. The sword cleaved its skull and it dropped quickly to the ground. The Kobold he had disarmed leapt onto him. He rolled across the ground, its fists pounding at his face. He rolled on top of it and began dealing heavy blows on it. He sensed the other Kobold behind him. He quickly rolled the Kobold on top of himself, and a spear jammed into its back, a spear that was made for him. Wrex tossed the Kobold aside, and jerked the last Kobold back a metre, by the time it could right itself, Wrex had snapped its neck. He sighed loudly. “Thank *** for that!” He exclaimed before hearing the thud of a body falling to the ground. He turned to face Bello, who was finishing off the last Kobold. Sweat, blood and dirt covered the two of them. Wrex made for Bello and clamped a hand on his shoulder. “Now then Bello, have we faced worse odds than that, because if we have, we must be *** gods.” Bello gave a weak laugh.

“I’m going to say, yes, we have faced worse than that Sir.”

“They picked the wrong Orcs to gang up on.” The ground began shaking suddenly. “What the fu-“

“SIR, look! It’s the Centaurs!” The two hundred Centaurs were charging towards the clump of combatants, each one roaring a battle cry and wielding a two handed sword one handed. Bello whooped and cheered, holding his sword aloft. The sun shining on it made the blood look strangely alluring.

Treth was in a dream. The world was full of calm, there was no noise. He was strangely at peace. The tiredness had gone, now he just felt happy. He was cold near his thigh but everywhere else was tingly warmth. The battle was forgotten and now the quiet and him was all there was. There was an otherworldly sound, like footsteps moving down an empty hallway, but they were distant, ethereal and echoing. He could feel something suddenly. Like someone was touching him on his side. He then felt pain. A roaring pain. On his leg and side. The fatigue of battle hit him like a wave, and he was suddenly back in the real world. The first thing he did was scream.

Wrex was working fast. The wound to the leg was bad and bleeding heavily, but he would focus on the wound to his ribs, and hopefully have it stop bleeding so he could work on the leg without any sudden interruptions. Treth was screaming bloody murder. “Treth! Shut the *** up!” He didn’t seem to hear, he must be in a lot of pain. Wrex saw a dead Dwarf lying near them. He clambered over to the corpse and ripped a length of cloth from his uniform. He lifted Treth up slightly; making the pitch of the yelling go higher, if that was even possible. He wrapped the cloth around the wound and set him back down gently. Blood had darkened the cloth already. Wrex looked at the leg. That would take a really good healer to set right. Where was a Faun when you needed one? Treth stopped screaming and went into a frenzied mumbling. “At last.” Wrex remarked as he began trying to apply pressure to the wound.

Bello slashed down into a Kobolds heart as it pleaded for its life. Another was charging at him, before a claymore sword swiped it clean in half, a Centaur galloping past, whooping. Bello looked towards the Spire that showed him where the glorious city was, and saw a three Dragons beating their wings as they flew towards the battle, the Brownies barely visible on their backs. Underneath the Dragons, horses galloped towards the battle. Bello felt hope ignite in his heart as he cut down another Kobold, the blood spray was glorious.

Wrex could feel Treth’s heartbeat fading. He was deathly pale, and he had broke out in a cold sweat, and his mumbling had changed to an occasional murmur. He heard his name being called out. “WREX! WREEEEEEX!” He turned his head to see Bello running up to him. Behind Bello, Dragons circled and sprayed fire down on the Kobolds, and also, he noticed Goblins and new Orcs in the fight. Reinforcements. The Kobolds were beat. Bello came to a halt in front of Wrex. “Sir, Fauns are here! One’s on his way to heal Treth! He’s going to be okay Sir!” Wrex breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn’t going to lose a friend today.

“Bello, we won!”

“I know Sir, I know. Listen, you need to go and talk to the General. He came out to speak to us personally. As an Officer, you might be needed. I’ll stay with Treth.” At that moment, the Faun healer came to the hillock, wearing robes of emerald and pearl, he crouched next to Treth. The Faun began talking to Bello as Wrex left. Wrex sprinted to where he saw a gathering of Centaurs and Dwarves. He saw Haskar and Marrock talking to someone; Haskar gave a deep rumbling laugh at an unheard joke. Wrex finally reached the small crowd. He could see the general at last. He stood, imposing and tall. A fine example of an Orc.

“Ah! Hello Wrex, long time no see old friend.”

“Good evening Sir.”

[FF] Halo 3: Insurrection (Part 32 now available!) ~ 11/11

Wolverfrog49 — Thu, 19 Mar 2009 22:35:23 GMT

Hello! I'm sure you came into this thread thinking "Not another Halo 3 Epilogue", well, this one's kind of different. Enjoy!

From the author of the Bungie.net hit, Memoirs of an ODST, Wolverfrog publishers brings you Halo 3: Insurrection!

Prologue

The Sangheili plunged his sword into the human, relishing the way it slid effortlessly into the weak flesh of the inferior being. Around him lay a multitude of Human bodies, all mutilated in some way by the burning divinity of the Energy Sword.

As he sheathed his blade, the Elite looked out at the horizon, and the setting sun in the distance.

Of course the alliance couldn't have lasted. They were fools to believe otherwise. The Humans, pitiful beings that they were, still held grudges. After several of his brothers were killed by the vengeful creatures, the High Council had decided enough was enough.

They had tried diplomacy at first, asking the Human leader Lord Hood to issue a declaration stating any marine who killed an Elite would be treated like they would if he had killed a fellow Human.

But the fool wouldn't do it, said he could sympathise with the killers of the Elite's, that it was up to them to take steps against the murderers, non violent steps of course.

R'tas Vadum, the exalted leader of their race, had attempted to reason further with Hood, and eventually resorted to threats when the Human refused to accept his terms.

Even those didn't work, and in anger, R'tas had unsheathed his sword and drove it into the guts of the traitor.

And rightly so, the Elite assured himself as he once again questioned himself if what they were doing was right.

The alliance quickly broke up there and then, angry at the loss of their leader, the Humans retaliated, and R'tas was nearly killed in the ensuing escape.

But he had escaped, and was greeted as a hero. By all except that heretic, the Arbiter.

The Elite remembered the confrontation between the two leaders well...

"How could you?" The Arbiter had shouted angrily. "After all the work that had been put in to forming this alliance, you break it with one swipe of your sword"

"I did what I must Arbiter, my honour would not allow me to let this murder carry on!"

"I'm not saying what the Humans did what right, but that's still no reason to kill one in cold blood!"

"Did the humans treat us any differently Arbiter? Slitting our throats whilst we slept, the devious infidels!"

"Be that as it may, you should have continued with diplomacy you fool!" The Arbiter had drawn his sword by then, and was snarling openly at the smaller Elite. R'tas had done likewise.

"Has that what it has come to brother? That you would be willing to kill one of your own over these humans, these worms?"

Averting his gaze to the floor, The Arbiter had sheathed his Blade.

"I cannot kill you R'tas. But I refuse to be part of this insurrection, I'm leaving."

"Arbiter, wait! We need you now more than ever, if you leave, what will that say to the rest of the Sangheili?"

"I care not" The Arbiter had said in an undertone. "For whilst you wage this petty war, I count none of you as brother."

And with that, he had boarded a Spirit drop ship, which were now in use once again after the end of the Prophet's reign, and left without looking back.

The Elite sighed, so much had happened since then. Both sides had sustained heavy losses. But it was too late to call a treaty now. Both races were waist deep in the others blood, and could not climb out.

To end this fighting, they would need a miracle.

The Legend Of The Golden Eagles

Offensive Bias — Wed, 03 Jun 2009 20:13:02 GMT

Okay, I have to tell you now, so that you don't get confused, although I would have rather have kept all info on this compeltely shut until the posting.

The parts in italics are the parts where the character is talking/narrating.

The parts where I start the descriptions will be the description of a battle scene.

OMG! CHAPTER FTW!

THE LEGEND OF THE GOLDEN EAGLES

Prologue: The Five Senses

Date: 10^th June, Tuesday, 2549

Location: Unknown

“You know, as a Pilot, they say that the five senses are paramount to your survival. At first, you don’t see how… It’s not until you’re actually up there that you realise what they were talking about. You question yourself when you’re up there. You insult yourself for not listening to them. You call yourself stupid for not taking the advice of a senior pilot, and one who’s done so much. But you’re young, you’ve just enlisted, not even started training yet, and you get cocky.”

The Shortsword flew threw the Sky, at a ferocious rate of speed, and passed the land below as fast as it had appeared. The life of a Pilot was one of speed. The Pilot checked his com, his headgear, his battle camera, and armed his bombs.

“Sight, the one sense you desperately need if you are to fly. Huh, I guess that much was obvious.”

The Pilot squinted against the Mid-day Sun, and saw two strangely shaped objects, speeding towards him. Checking his radar, it registered them as hostiles. He thumbed his com, and reported the sight to his Squadron.

“Sound, without it, you’ll be dead or left behind in a matter of seconds. It’s paramount to be able to hear orders.”

“Move to engage, I repeat, Blue Squadron, move to engage. Mission must not be compromised, Blue One out.” The Pilot engaged his Rudder, and began a slow turn, and a strafe towards the enemy.

“Taste, maybe not so important in a battle, but it still doesn’t make it any less useful.”

The Pilot felt fear rising in the pit of his stomach. He could taste sick and bile, he knew he was afraid, but would he let that fear rule him? He turned hard-right and let lose a blast from his cannons. The shields flickered on the enemy Seraphs as they raced past. He looked out from the back of his fighter and saw them turning to engage. Flicking a series of switches, and pulling back on his steering handle, he did a hard-reverse, and tried to get a lock on the enemy, who had begun spouting white hot plasma at a frightening rate.

“Smell. If you can’t smell what’s happening, you would be a little clueless as to the condition of your Aircraft.”

The Pilot’s ship rocked and a loud series of metallic clangs pounded his ear drums. The violent vibrations from the ship continued to throw him into disarray, and he ended up doing a barrel roll down towards the ground. Smelling smoke, he looked out of his cockpit window, struggling against the massive G-Force. All he could see as acrid, black smoke billowing past him.

“Touch, now that may be a sense used when things go from bad, to worse, but it may save your life from the worse part. Not so sure about the bad part though.”

Pain suddenly burst into the Pilots leg, he yelled in pain, and upon looking down, could see the floor had melted, and the loose metal had flew up and embedded themselves in his leg. Gasping, he desperately looked for the eject button. As flames began to burst from his control panel and seriously burn him, he realised he would have to stick his hand into the raging inferno that was his Cockpit. Reaching in, he screamed as each agonizing second drifted slowly by. Finally feeling the Eject lever, be pulled with a laugh of triumph, and recoiled in horror, when the flames suddenly reached out and began to burn his face. The Pilot, amid his searing agony, felt a tug, and a brief second later, he was in the sky, on a chair. He couldn’t see, for his Fighter had let out enough smoke for it to cover his entire body. The Parachute deployed, and he felt at calm, as he slowly drifted to the ground. He saw his Shortsword, as it seemed to shrink, further and further away, until a very faint “Boom!” could be heard, and a small explosion lit the ground for a few moments. He breathed heavily, as the cooling wind blew against his horribly burnt skin, and he felt, no more.

Chapter One: Three Brothers

Date: 12^th March, Sunday 2525

Location: Earth, Stockport, England, Europe.

“I have two other brothers. We never looked anything alike. Of course our Mother said different… Mum. I wish I could come just to see her smiling face as her Son she hasn’t seen for almost 30 years walks threw the door. I’m the only one who hasn’t been home since enlisting. It’s a horrible feeling… Not going home…Sometimes, I wish I could just end this war myself. You know? I would if I could, but even the Golden Eagles can’t end a war by themselves. Neither can Alpha Squad. And neither can the Hammer And Anvil Fleet. I hate this War and the fame that came with it…”

Patrick was the oldest. 22 years old, he had a Wife and a little house down in London. Although the others always wondered why he would choose London. Overcrowded as Hell, and barely anything to do. He joined the UNSC in 2520. He was soon sent off to patrol and fight the Insurgents. That’s what got him knocked up to a Staff Sergeant. And then, the rumours came back. Alpha Squad. The ones who were kicking the insurgents around like a Football. And Patrick was in it. Their Mother was so proud. And when he came home, he adorned us with stories of his many glorious adventures, although the remaining two brothers could tell he disliked talking about it. Then the year was 2523. And the second oldest brother, Matthew, headed off to join the Navy, much to their Mothers protest. And then we come to the youngest brother. He was just 18 at the announcement of war between the Humans and an Alien race. Earth was in uproar at the news. It scared a lot of people, and the Armed Forces received a lot of eager recruits. Mostly in the Navy and Infantry. But the youngest, Phil, wanted to join the UNSCAF. Pilot the Longswords, the Shortswords, the Pelicans and the other famous aircraft he had heard about. He wanted the speed that came with it.

“I headed straight off… I wanted to follow in Patrick’s footsteps. Alpha Squad? They were f*cking heroes of the highest order! I wanted the fame. But I had no idea it would just be a nuisance. I never knew I would one day be leading Golden Squadron. I got the fame. But was it worth it? Seeing people shot down, and us having to leave them? Our own comrades. Our Brothers In Arms, who we abandon because the Generals want to get their fat asses out of there. The screams of the dieing as they burn to death. It’s Hell, but I’m strangely at home in it.”

Phil was sat alone with his Mother in the living room. Watching the News about the war on the Television. Phil had to tell his mother but he didn’t know to. And he couldn’t just leave her. She was all alone. No Father, he had walked out years ago. She would have no idea what was happening to them, News was slow to reach Earth. Phil cleared his throat, as his Mother sat on the beige chair, clutching a cushion to her chest, waiting to hear from news of Alpha Squad, or Admiral Peterson’s Fleet. She swiftly turned her head towards Phil. He looked back at her, a look of regret on his face.

“Mum, I want t-”

“I know what you want… You want to join don’t you?”

“Yeah… I do. I want to get out there, and win for Humanity.”

“I can’t let you go Phil; you know I need you right now!”

“Mum! I have to, I need to!”

“You’re old enough to make your own decisions now Phil, but I really need you here, with me! I can’t be alone! Patrick comes home now and then, and I haven’t heard much from Matthew. You can’t leave me!”

“Mum, I have to! I can’t stay here and let the Aliens kill you all!” His Mother stood, and slapped him hard in the face.

“Don’t speak like that Phil… I’m warning you. DON’T EVER SPEAK LIKE THAT!!” She burst into tears, and ran out of the room. Phil just stared at the floor. He heard a door slam upstairs, and he sighed before walking silently upstairs too.

Inside his room, he packed a large amount of clothing into a bag, along with a few personal items. The only things that would remind him of home while he was thousands of light years away from it.

He had stashed the stuff under his bed, before telling his Mother that he wasn’t going to leave her. It pained him and made him hate himself. At exactly 12 PM, he sat up, fully dressed from his comfy bed, and grabbed the bag full of items from under the bed. Gently putting the bag down by the side of the stairs, he opened the door an inch to his Mothers room. Poking his face inside, he could just make out her sleeping figure in the darkness.

“I love you Mum. I always will… Never forget it.” She mumbled and turned, before Phil closed the door, and made his way downstairs. Opening the door, he took one last look at his house, before stepping out into the cold. That was the last time he would see his Mother, the last time he would speak to her, but not the last time he would think about her.

Chapter Two: Enlistment

Date: 13^th March, Monday 2525

Location: Earth, Europe, England, Stockport Recruitment Centre.

He had stayed at a friends for the night. And now that it was daylight, he would head off to the Recruitment Office. His friend had offered to join with him. They both headed off to the Town Centre. Phil took a long, respectful look at his friend, Rizwan. He was of Asian nationality (HAPPY NOW RIZ?!?!?!) and he would join with the Air Force too. They would be in the same Squadron, Phil knew it.

“Goddamnit, where the f*ck are the Recruiters? Normally they won’t leave you alone when you walk down here.” Rizwan sounded frustrated as he spoke. Phil shared his eagerness to join. Fame awaited them, just like Phil’s brother, Patrick.

“I dunno Riz, maybe they’ve p*ssed off?”

“Yeah, maybe.” They both continued walking down the busy street, cars and buses passed them by in their hurry to get to wherever they had to be. Until eventually, among the huge crowds, they spotted the Recruiters. They had moved to the Eastern side of the Town Centre, and were handing out Leaflets to anyone who came within three metres of them. Riz and Phil sprinted towards them, stopping just short of crashing into the tallest of the Recruiters. He wore Olive Green drabs, and had his dog tag hanging out over his shirt. They both sported very short brown hair and were both around the same age. The second one came over and sniffed before talking to them.

“You boys here to sign up?” Phil and Riz nodded eagerly, and he handed them both a clipboard full of little boxes to tick. “Please tick all the boxes, and hopefully, it should all be in order.” The sound of the pencils scratching the paper was the only sound from the group of four for a full minute. Eventually, the two young men handed over their clipboards, and without even looking at them, the first and second Recruiter stamped them positive, and gave them a piece of paper, and an official looking envelope. They were told not to open it, and they were on their way, back into the hustle and bustle of the Morning crowd.

“Riz, we just got accepted… I think anyway.”

“Yeah, I think we did, look at the little card they gave us!” Phil examined it very closely, absorbing every word with his eyes.

“The candidate shall report to Stockport Boot Camp, for relocation and further orders. The candidate shall receive the proper equipment and be given their assigned units, according to what the Sealed Envelope reports. Signed: Lucas Mensley.”

They both laughed and cheered, no matter how many strange looks they got from passers by. They didn’t care; they’d be fighting for these people soon. Or at least, that’s what they thought.

The doors hissed open, and the shining white of the buildings walls were dazzling in the Early Morning Sunlight. Phil squinted, and could make out a white, marble desk, glinting ferociously in the Sun. The man sat behind it looked at them with a slight curiosity. He didn’t take his eyes off them, maybe seeing which one would walk forward first? Phil made to move, but Rizwan was far ahead of him. “We were told to give you these… Sir.” Phil caught up, and handed the man the paper, and the envelope. He eyed over the paper, and carefully read through each Manila covered sheet he extracted from the envelopes. He read Rizwan’s first. Without looking up, his eyebrows rose, and he whistled.

“***, a flyboy eh? Ha-ha, go ahead on in to the back room for a physical Airman.” He eyed Phil suspiciously, before taking hold of his envelope. Opening it carefully, he read through the writing. He looked up quickly at Phil, before darting his eyes back down to the writing. “I’d hate to be you right now kid, you’re Frontline.” Phil’s eyes could barely hide his disappointment, neither could his face. He stood, awestruck at what he’d just heard. “Only pulling your leg kid, you’ll be flying up there with the Eagles.” Phil gave a sarcastic chuckle, before walking off to the room where the Physicals took place. He would be going now. Nothing would stop him from achieving glory. And he would show those Alien b*stards what happened when you kick Earth around, just like Patrick was. And Matthew.

Chapter Three: Welcome To Boot!

Date: 13^th March, Monday 2525

Location: Earth, Europe, England, Somewhere in the Countryside

The bus had been driving for hours, and Phil’s ass still hurt from the bloody physical. He looked over at his friend, and guessed he still felt the same. The floor of the bus covered in dirt and looked as though it had seen better days. The roof, covered in rust and spider webs. The seats, torn and ripped, also gave a reminder of how old this thing was. It wasn’t as full as it could have been. Not that many people willing to fight in Stockport. There were only another three on board, and they were all Air Service too. The bus bounced as it drove down an old road, hitting every bump along the way. Not a comfortable drive either.

Soon enough, a base came into view in the distance. Accompanied by the bleating of Sheep and other farm animals, the scene was indeed less than charming. It seemed okay for a training ground, but its remoteness was chilling. What would they do if something went wrong? And what the Hell was that sorry excuse of an Obstacle Course? From where Phil was sat, he could see a run down little gravel courtyard, with flimsy, rusted climbing frames that didn’t even look like they could hold a child without breaking. Silence had been the only thing in the bus. Through the torment of bumps and grinding metal, silence had been constant among the buses inhabitants. Even the normally chatty Phil and Rizwan were silent, as they contemplated the journey ahead.

Eventually, the bus wound up a slow incline, and turned to face a gate. Two guards stood watch with an MA5B each. Phil stared at the weapon. Soon enough, he would be learning how to use one of them. The two guards approached the bus, the sound of the crunching gravel reached Phil’s ears through the open windows. Their grey uniforms made them look somewhat bored. The little caps that covered their heads were also grey and they had black boots. Phil saw one of them go past his window. He looked in at Phil, and continued walking. Rizwan looked curiously up to the front, where he saw the doors open, and one of the men walked in. His boots banged on the metal floor, as he approached the driver’s seat. They whispered to one another, the soldier occasionally looking at the recruits. Eventually, the soldier straightened, spat out of the door, and looked casually at them. What he did next made the recruits jump with fright and hurry out the door.

“GET YOUR ASSES MOVING BOYS! GET THE F*CK OUT OF THE BUS! MOVE!”

The recruits all hurriedly scrambled from their seats. One fell over and had his hand crushed by Phil as he ran out. The recruit who fell didn’t come out. The other soldier forced them in a line, and told them to watch. The four recruits stood and looked into the bus with a look of dread. They could see the head of the soldier as he walked towards the fallen recruit. No-one could see him though, as the soldier looked down, and began to crouch. Seconds later, the soldier came up with the boy. He had him by the shirt, and began violently punching him in the face. Over and over again, the recruits watched as cuts opened and his nose broke. Eventually, he was thrown out of the door; the gravel crunching seemed to be the sound of bones snapping. Phil watched on in horror, as the smiling soldiers walked over and kicked him in the ribs. The recruit was helped up, and he doubled over and began coughing up blood.

The bus drove away; the whole time the recruit kept gagging and coughing. Phil knew the next few months would be Hell.

[FF] Memoirs of an ODST ~ Book 2 (Prologue) ~ 13/11

Wolverfrog49 — Fri, 13 Nov 2009 23:16:33 GMT

FOREWORD

The second book in the (so far) positively received Memoirs trilogy.

"It's been five years since the first battle on Harvest, where we lost many friends close to us. And things aren't looking much better for humanity. The Covenant are sweeping us aside, with little or no resistance on our part. We all know it's just a matter of time before we're all killed. However, me and my squad of ODSTs; we're gonna buy humanity as much of that time as possible. And perhaps a miracle will happen. Perhaps, somehow, we'll all make it through this."

Yeah, I'm not too good when it comes to titles. This keeps it nice and simple. I know I said I'd finish Insurrection first, but I couldn't help myself. However, since True Sangheili Section I is done, I'll wait until Insurrection is complete before starting the next section of that. There's a method in my twisted madness.

Anyway, this takes place five years after the first book, and the squad we all know and love are still doing what they can to stop the Covenant. It should be fun to write, and read. Enjoy.

You do not have to have read the first book to understand this one, for the most part. I'll try and weave in the basics of what happened in the first into this book. It would however help if you do read the first, if only to get an idea of what the characters are like. A link to the first book in this trilogy can be found below.

http://www.halowars.com/forums/thread/662061.aspx

Halo: The Sangheili-Flood War (new chapter up CH12)

ty500600 — Sun, 01 Jun 2008 06:23:15 GMT

CHAPTER ONE

"Were it so easy." Mumbled the Arbiter. He and Fleet Admiral Hood stood on the war torn plains of Kenya, Africa, in front of the monument to those lost in the Covenant-Human war. He shook hands with Hood and he started to work his way back to his phantom, which had a green hide to represent the Covenant Separatists.

When the Elites came to the humans aid after the crash of the Flood-infected ship that crashed into Voi, the Elites proceeded to glass the continent in an attempt control the Flood. It had worked, and they went through the portal to the Ark. As the Arbiter walked to his phantom, he thought he saw some motion down the hill near the portal. He looked at it but saw nothing, and his phantom took off toward Shadow of Intent.

"Things look so different without the Prophets’ lies clouding my vision. I would like to see our own world-to know that it is safe," said Shipmaster Rtas ‘Vadum.

"Fear not. For we have made it so," said the Arbiter, has he raised his fist to his chest. He was staring at a holographic projection of Earth.

"By your word, Arbiter," said has he risen his fist to his chest.

As the Arbiter took a seat in the chair used by the Prophets, he said, "take us home." Shadow of Intent began its long journey home to Sanghelios. Because of slipspace travel the Carrier could make it home in just a few days.

Two days into their long journey home, the Arbiter was aware of a foul stench that had plagued the ship since the beginning of the journey. Has the Arbiter walked down the hallway to his quarters he could not lose the feeling that he was being watched. When he started to walk he thought he heard shuffling feet, and when he stopped he could not hear anything. He turned a corner and waited. The shuffling got louder and when it came around the corner he was suppressed to find a grunt to be following him.

"What are you doing grunt?" asked the Arbiter. He had his energy sword out and at the ready. "We had tough times, why were you following me?"

"I…I…I just wanted to be in the presence of the holy Arbiter. The grunts onboard speak very highly of you sir, and I just wanted to see your holiness," squeaked the grunt. He was trembling all over and his orange methane tank showed that he was not very high in the status of his class.

"Very well, but go back to your quarters, I am weary and I must get some rest," growled the Arbiter, and with a quick shake of his sword he put it away. Has he resumed his walk back to his quarters he stopped. He stood there in thought, "A grunt would not make that sound while walking, so what did?" He was so deep in thought that he did not realize the luminous shadow moving closer to him. He looked up to so see a giant hammer going straight for his head.

"Your kind shall pay for what you did to mine!" screamed the Brute Chieftain. He brought the hammer over his head to smash the Arbiter, but he side stepped it and ripped out his sword handle. The Arbiter side stepped all of blows and punched the brute in the stomach with the handle. As soon as his fist made contact with the brute the sword flared on and erupted out the other side. The brutes eyes shot open and blood shot out of its’ back onto the ceiling. He started to cough and he spewed out a greenish waste.

The Arbiter pulled out the blade and it winked off, and he signaled for a clean up crew and for the rest of the ship's crew to be on alert for anymore brutes. As the Arbiter walked away he thought he saw the body twitch but that was just the trick of the light so he went on his way.

"I’m telling you, I got to see the Arbiter, he had on his magnificent armor and he had his energy blade out!" barked one of the clean up grunts.

"You lie, you say you followed, but you didn’t!" shouted another one, "Hey wait, is this not wear the brute is supposed to be? All I see is gore. Oh well, mind as well we clean it up." The grunts were to busy cleaning to notice the small trail of green waste going into a matinance tube. Little did they know, that little mistake may have cost them their life.

"All personnel report to your stations, intruder alert, intruder alert! Weapons must always be at the ready!" shouted Rtas over the intercom. "Ah, good, Arbiter we have a situation. The brute you supposedly killed is not dead, but he is not alive either…we have found trails of green waste around the ship and small grunt patrols have gone missing. What I believe is that the brute was infected by the Flood. Samples of the waste matches that of the spores found on the Earth continent, and it is spreading around our ship. All chambers of the ship have been locked down but no one is aloud to leave their stations, understood?" he growled. He leaned over the intercom; "any and all suspicious behavior is to be reported immediately. Once we get to Sanghelios, we shall drop out of slipspace and hold position above the planet. No one is aloud to leave the ship understood?" he asked over the intercom. His control panel lit up with a row of green lights indicating that they understood.

"Shipmaster, sir, that brute was not infected by the Flood, when it attacked me, it shouted ‘your kind shall pay for what you did to mine’ and then it attacked. It was hard to tell but it did not look infected," said the Arbiter. He was thinking when it hit him, "the voice! The voice was much lower than a normal brute…it must have been infected, I have never heard of a brute that sounded like that."

While the Elites worked in the bridge one of the green lights winked red. Then another, then another, until about three more lights winked off. Then static busted in over the intercom and then screaming, "THE FLOOOOOOOOD!!!!!…..Shoot….keep sho….ARGGGG!!!!" and then banging came from the main door. "Everyone, form a defensive perimeter around the Shipmaster! Protect him at all costs. We have fought the flood before, we can do it again!" shouted the Arbiter. The banging continued and then screaming and then nothing…BOOM! The door blew open and Flood infection began to poor in. The Elites and grunts opened fire and they killed most of them until a loud screeching noise echoed down from the hallway.

"JUGGERNAUT! Everyone find cover!" yelled the Arbiter. From the smoke a huge tentacle flew in and grabbed a grunt and flew back out. Screaming could be heard and then another tentacle flew in and grabbed the Arbiter, and ripped him out of the bridge. As it drew him closer he saw what they were fighting. This juggernaut was the brute that he had thought he killed. It reached up with its mighty arm to crush him but the Arbiter cut himself free, cut out the legs of the beast and stabbed it where the infection form was at. The rest of the crew began to kill the rest of the infection forms.

It was not until after would they get a call from the Misery and Deception about the Flood coming over on life pods from the Shadow of Intent. Misery and Deception lowered their shields so that the other ships would destroy it, but it was too late. The Flood took control of the ship and sent it straight on a collision course with the planets major city. This marked the beginning of the Sangheili-Flood war.

[FF] Return: Revised [Part 1]

collie2553 — Sun, 08 Nov 2009 17:09:14 GMT

Don't forget tio comment and improve!

Orbital Space Station A21, Reach II

June 2571

Captain Miller paced his office nervously. A tall, old man, he had survived the worst Covenant attacks. He had a feeling something bad was going to happen. It was the same feeling as when the Covenant invaded Reach. Then, his fears came true: the AI Merry reported a slipspace rupture and told him the diagnostics of what was coming. Merry also said it was either a very damaged UNSC ship or an enemy Brute cruiser.

Captain Miller sprang into action, ran to the bridge 500 yards away, and yelled into the intercom: "All hands on deck, we have a slipspace rupture about 300 miles away. I repeat, all hands on deck. This is not a drill." Then the Captain ordered to the AI Merry," Alert all other Defense Stations. Tell them to train their MACs on the rupture.” “Yes, captain, alerting all stations within range of the rupture.” Merry replied.

What came out surprised the whole station. A 25^th century UNSC supply ship had limped out of the rupture, fire streaming from various places on the ship, most notably on the engines. Captain Miller, in a shocked voice, told Merry, “What is that ship? Try to communicate with it.”

He quietly said to the Communications Officer, “Tell the fleet and the Orbital Defense Grid to stand down, as this is not a threat.” Miller knew he was taking a risk, as there may be Flood inside the ship.

“Captain, I am picking up signals from the ship. Giving you audio from the ship.”

“This is CFV-88 Sprit of Fire. We are in need of immediate repair and aid. I repeat, we are in need of immediate aid. Any UNSC units please respond!”

The captain sprang into action, and shouted for the Communications Officer to keep contact with the ship, then said hurriedly into the PA: “All engineering and repair units report to repair bay V.”

Sighing, the captain signed off. “Merry, tell the Spirit of Fine or whatever to dock in our repair bay. I do not care if I have the clearance or not.”

The AI Merry smirked. “Captain, it’s the Spirit of Fire. Alright, sending confirmation transmission now.”

After a long silence, a reply fizzed into the transmitter. “We’re coming in to Repair Bay 1-5, ETA 117 minutes. Thank you for the aid, A21. Spirit of Fire out.”

Miller breathed a sigh of relief. He had saved an antique ship.

110 minutes later

Ellen Anders let the Spartan Alice guide the severely wounded ship into the docking bay, as she wasn’t the best at handling ships. Best leave the docking to the professionals, she thought.

Anders then said, “Everyone onboard! Get ready to leave, as we’re docking soon.” She then said to Alice, “I’ll get your stuff. You pilot us safely.”

Alice nodded, and said, “Bring the memories too.”

[FF] True Sangheili (Part 15 is available!) ~ 26/10

Wolverfrog49 — Fri, 24 Jul 2009 22:44:22 GMT

New story by me, and my first about the Covenant. I didn't like Seed of Orion, so I'm exchanging it for this. Thanks for reading.

Prologue

Edict of the Most High Prophet of Truth, 9th Age of Reclamation.

By the authority of the noble Prophets of Truth, Regret, and Mercy.

Henceforth, any and all battle worthy Sangheili are to be transferred from any idle posts in High Charity and/or upon any Covenant held world/ship into the active combat. Those amongst the excused are the Honour Guard, the Councillors, and the mentally ill, physically unfit, and the old. Female Sangheili are, as always, prohibited from taking part in any military action.

Any Sangheili engaged in a guard post, other than the Honour Guard, will be replaced by the Jiralhanae until such a time as the High Council deems otherwise. Any Jiralhanae in question of where they now stand shall direct all enquiries to Tartarus, Chieftain of the Jirahanae.

Failure to adhere to this edict will result in death. No exceptions. These are trying times, my brothers. The Human infidels persist in resisting the might of the Covenant. Rest assured, this 'war' as some are calling it, will be over soon -- to be forgotten and dismissed as an insignificant event in Covenant history.

[FF] The War Without The Great Schism. [FF]

Distant Storm — Sat, 12 Sep 2009 00:12:00 GMT

Quick Information: What I want to try and do is write and FF in the Halo-Verse between Halo 2-3, but with a twist. I want to try and write an FF where there is no Great Schism. What this means is, the Brutes-Elites are still allies, as are the rest of the Covenant. Just to clear up some confusion, what you know of the story from Halo 2-3 will probably not help you here, since it's going to be pretty twisted. I will be switching between viewpoints of Marines, Elites, Spartans, etc.

Prologue - First Battle of Earth.

Date: October 20, 2552.

Location: Athens Station

Martin laughed as his last pistol round hit the grunt dead center in the forehead. The grunt's corpse slowly rolled down the stairs as the blue blood slowly trickled down it's neck. Martin grabbed a needler gun and cautiously examined it. It only had ten needles sticking out from the top of it. No worries, martin thought. He has seen these needlers take out elites with one needle. Martin was just drafted to the UNSC. Having the physique and confidence of an ODST, he was drafted to be one. Now here he was, a twenty-five year old who has the rank of "Rookie", as the ODSTs call it when someone is fresh out from the bag. This is only Martin's third week on the job. He has been stuck in the Athens Orbital Defense Platform for three weeks now, and he is finally glad to see some action.

"Well", Martin whispered to himself, "Better to get ready for round two."

"Martin!", yelled his Squad Leader, Aaron, "We've almost unlocked this stupid door, just hold on out there!"

Just then two Elites came running down the stairs, plasma swords in hand. Martin emptied what his needler had into the Elite on the left. Nine of the bullets harmlessly deflected off the Elite's shield, the last bullet broke through the shield and pierced the Elite's head. A second later the needle exploded, taking the Elite's head with it. The Elite on the right yelled out a cry of revenge, and came running at Martin.

The door on his left finally opened, and his team quickly reacted by blasting the Elite full of lead. Within seconds, the Elite was torn apart. Martin walked over to the dead Elite, and kicked it's body.

"Making sure it was dead."

"Enough fooling around", Aaron said in a tired voice, "Pick up some weapons, we are going to move out."

Martin picked up an Energy Sword, and two Plasma Rifles.

Martin was still confused as how the door malfunction right as he was going to walk in. Since Martin was the "Rookie" of the team, he had to stay in the back. Unfortunately he was also the last one to enter the door, too bad it malfunctioned and closed on him right as he was about to enter. His team was on the run from Covenant, trying to hope to survive after retreating from the battle in the hanger bay. It took his team five minutes to open the door, five minutes which felt like five hours to Martin.

Joseph, the smartalic risk taker of the team, looked around the dead bodies of Covenant. "Nice work", Joseph said happily, "You took down seven of them, too bad most were Grunts, would have been happier if they were all Elites."

"Yeah, well, the Elites were too busy getting their asses kicked somewhere else", Martin replied.

Martin looked at the window showing Earth, and showing another Orbital Defense Platform, named Malta. Martin tried to examine the MAC gun on it, but suddenly in the middle of the station, a bright red light expanded.

"We got a problem at Malta Station", Martin whispered into his COM Channel.

His squad looked at the window as well. Suddenly, Malta Station exploded, sending big pieces everywhere into space.

"If you don't want that to happen to this station, then I suggest we keep moving to the Bridge", Aaron barked.

The squad nodded, unable to speak.

***************************************************************************************************

Zilf 'Hibvatee looked at the bomb they had finally unloaded. After his escort squad had been repeatedly harassed by Human Survivors, he was now left with just two Elites and three Grunts. Just five minutes ago he had triple that amount guarding the bomb. But a coordinated attack from the Humans damaged his Squad. Of course, as usual, the Humans remain defeated. Zilf's squad managed to kill the Human's, but who knows how many more are in this structure.

Zilf looked at the countdown timer of the bomb. It read 5:42. Zilf's only goal was to protect this bomb until it detonated. There was no way for him to do that if he left the bomb unprotected by itself. This is why Zilf must stay by it until it explodes. Zilf hopes he will restore his honor using his sacrifice. Zilf looked at two Human Drop Pods near the window.

Although he wanted to restore his honor, he also didn't want to die. If he used one of the Human Drop Pods to escape, this would destroy his honor completely. Any use of Human Technology jeopardizes the honor you have. Zilf pondered the idea of living to fight another day or fight to regain honor. Zilf hit himself in the head, and asked himself "Why do you think of such thoughts? It is in your blood to die for honor!" This was one of those moments Zilf wished he had some honor so he wouldn't have to die to get some.

Zilf looked at the time. It read 4:17. "Good", Zilf thought "There is no way the Humans can deactivate this bomb now."

Suddenly a bright blue shot flew through the air, hitting a Grunt in the face, instantly killing it. Zilf looked at the Grunt's now Mutilated face, which was still sizzling. Zilf immediatly brought his attention back to where the shot was fired from. Suddenly from his right, a black ball hit his leg, and exploded.

Zilf was thrown back a feet. With his shields now gone, and his gun damaged, he was no defenseless. All he had was his Plasma Sword, which was partly damaged from the blast. Zilf looked around, he was the only one left in his squad. Zilf ran behind the bomb and tried using it as cover until his shields regenerated.

Zilf looked up from his cover, and saw five Humans, with the ODST label on their helmets. One of the Humans took out a Plasma Sword, and yelled out at Zilf "Prepare to go to hell!"

Zilf hated the Human language, and didn't bother to learn it. Zilf just laughed at the fact that these Humans think he understands what they're saying. Zilf looked back at the Grunt with the mutilated face, and seen a Plasma Grenade in it's arm.

Zilf quickly ran to it, activated it, and threw it at one of the Humans.

The grenade hit ODST's helmet, and stuck there.

Zilf laughed thinking he won, but quickly growled when the Human threw his helmet at the Elite. The helmet exploded harmless on the bomb. Zilf quickly grabbed a Plasma Pistol from a fallen Grunt, and shot the helmetless Human in the head.

Zilf looked at one of the Humans who yelled something at him as the Human he just shot fell to the ground, with half a face missing. The Human charged at Zilf, and Zilf took out his Plasma Sword and activated it right when the Human was about to punch Zilf. The human looked at Zilf, and tried to talk, but all that came out was blood.

Zilf threw his arm upward, cutting the Human in half vertically. Three Humans, one Elite. Zilf liked these odds. All three Humans emptied what was left of their guns into Zilf. Zilf's shields had fully regenerated by this point, and were still intact after the Humans emptied their ammo into him. Zilf saw them trying to reload, so he quickly reacted and stabbed the nearest Human. The other two finished reloading, and shot at Zilf agian.

This time his shields couldn't handle it, and Zilf felt burning pains in his chest and legs. Zilf fell to the ground next to the bomb. He slowly crawled up to the bomb to check the timer. It read 1:47. Zilf saw the Human with the Energy Sword swing at his face with it. "I have failed......" was Zilf's final thought before dying.

**************************************************************************************************

"DAMNIT!", Martin yelled, "I CAN'T BELIEVE WE LOST THREE SQUAD MEMBERS TO ONE ELITE!" Aaron inserted his "dumb" AI into the bomb. "Lets just worry about deactivating this bomb, there's about a minute left till it explodes", Aaron said nervously. A few seconds later, the "dumb" AI, which was named Raging Thunder replied to Aaron "I'm sorry.....but there is no time to deactivate it. if only I was more advanced....." Aaron looked down and shook his head, then took the chip which housed Raging Thunder and put it back in the back of his helmet. Aaron looked around and found two ODST drop pods. "QUICK!" Aaron yelled at Martin, who was calmly looking out the window, "GET YOUR ASS IN ONE OF THOSE ODST DROP PODS, THIS PLACE IS GOING TO BLOW!!!" Martin ran into one of the ODST drop pods, followed by Aaron. They quickly strapped themselves in, and Aaron yelled through the COM Channel, "ILL SEE YOU DOWN AT EARTH!,"

Gotta go, I'll write more once I come back, please Comment, all opinions accepted!!!

Rogue [Chapter 3 up!]

tmspartan — Sun, 18 Oct 2009 00:14:43 GMT

**Important**- For the next couple of days I will be releasing sketches of various characters and objects.

Neos Concept Art-http://tmspartan.deviantart.com/art/Neos-142327576

11/3 or 11/4- Neos' Arsenal art

I will update this when I know more about the timeframes.

Intro- Hey guys, well this is a story I have formulated for about a year now, I have written ideas and names, not to mention I have drawn art for it. It is the basis for a game I would like to create when I become a designer. I have found the idea of this very interesting, and I have gathered ideas from various sources, Halo being one of them. Please leave feedback, and enjoy.

Background-Neos Horan, a young but skilled soldier found himself stationed on the planet Phrixos, an uncharted planet on the edge of the galaxy. He was sent to search for a lost recon squad that had crashed about a week before. The current king, Polemus, had ordered that this place be searched for any indication of why they crashed.

No one knew the reasonings behing the power-thirsty king, but no one dared challenge him either. He was always looking to expand his territory and he has wiped out countless species because they stood in his way. Neos was sickened by him, but as a soldier he swallowed what little sympathy he had and followed orders.

On this planet Neos discovered a large power source, it seemed to be like a reactor of some kind, so he searched and found an ancient armor arm piece of highly advanced technology, the source of this power. Once he touched it, it glowed with a brilliant light and he raised it to inspect it. Without hesitation he put it on and it quickly changed to fit his arm, with an energy he had never felt before flowing through his arm he was stronger and faster than normal. He felt invincible, and as a result he abandonned his post, he stole a starfighter from the cruiser they landed on and he flew away from there, never to return under the king's rule.

Prologue

Years after Neos was considered a rogue soldier, he returned. He found himself on the largely urban planet Nestor. He sat on a metal outcropping, neon lights shined from the vacant streets. He examined his glove, tightening his grip and then releasing it, it was mostly silver, with details of black, however when he activated it it glowed with blue and red lights.

Since he was in hiding Neos was forced to wear a mask, which was red and black, and riddled with scratches and holes from his various engagements with the military. He wore a cloak to hide his lightweight armor underneath, which was necessary in the combat situations he had been in. Neos' cloak was torn in many places from his narrow escapes.

He had accumulated many black market weapons over the years, on of which was a "Lightning" sword as some called it, it was really just highly excited particles contained by a magnetic field, it had dimensions similar to a normal broadsword, only not as long. It gave off a yellow light, with hints of blue when activated, it wasn't meant for stealth but it was quite useful when Neos was outnumbered. It could easily hack through metal and bone. He also had two "Viper" daggers, which were similar in composition to the Lightning swoard but they gave off a dark blue light, making them near invisible in the dark. For long-range Neos used the Spark bow, a highly illegal particle weapon that is able to pass through many objects before stopping. The spark bow fires pulsar-particle darts which give off plasma and resonate sharply so they pass through metal and stone.

Neos used these weapons because he refused to use military weapons after he knew how many they had killed. The lives that were crushed from those weapons were the ones that Neos had been working to save. However he had been having trouble, until now. He finally got information on a popular politician who answered directly to King Polemus. Neos sat outside this politician's window waiting for his guests to go away before he made his entrance. There were guards on the inside by all 3 exits, each armed with the standard Particle Rifle. There were only a few people left that decided to stay and for the after-party. Neos grew impatient as each minute passed. He readied a flash-bomb that gave off an extraordinary amount of light when activated.

After another hour the final guests left, and this time they used the exit below Neos, and two guards decided to accompany them as they returned to their vehicle. The politician collapsed on a couch, the guards stood alert for any intruder. The other guards came back towards the entrance, this is my chance, Neos thought.

He leaped to the ground with a thud, and with inhuman swiftness he quickly grabbed one guard by the head and slit his throat with a dagger. The other guard jumped back in shock, he began to fire wildly at Neos who had already leaped back onto his perch above. He moved quickly and jumped off once more behind the soldier. Who quickly turned around and attempted to hit Neos with the end of his gun. Neos took the blow to his stomach, and rolled to the right to avoid the shots coming at him. He pulled out his bow, and the string of plasma began to leak down each end of the bow. Neos pulled out a pulsar dart and fired it at the soldier who almost made it back inside. The dart let off a terrible hymn as it raced through the air and struck the guard in the chest. Blood leaked from his wound, and he cried in pain as the dart passed through his heart. His body slumped against the wall and then slid to the ground.

Neos knew that he had created a commotion and quickly grabbed his way back to his protective outcropping. 2 more guards came out and looked at the dead bodies near the entrance. Each one looked startled, they attempted not to show their fear, but no emotion of that intensity could be held back. They ran back inside, with their backs turned to the window that Neos was staring in. They recited the horror they saw outside and Neos shattered the window and ran inside. He found himself on a balcony about 10 feet above the actual room. The guards fired towards him, but none hit home. Neos ran along the balcony, covered by the shadows. He lobbed the flash-bomb down into the center of the room. There were four guards around the politician, who was now in a daze. Neos activated the polarity in his mask and moved towards his objective.

Each guard fired wildly into the air, trying to kill their intruder. However Neos was fast and he jumped off the balcony towards the first guard, he slid his Viper dagger between the guard's ribs. The guard fell to the ground without a sound. The other guards started yelling incoherently, Neos moved to the next guard and grabbed his arm, with a quick jerk he dislocated the guard's soldier and slid his dagger into his chin. He ducked and saw ammunition fizzle through the air. He rotated and shoved his dagger into the guards throat and then shoved his dead body into the last guard. The flash-bomb wore off and the last guard started to crawl away, Neos threw his dagger and the blue blade spun twice and then stuck in the guard's chest.

Neos looked around for the politician, who was attempting to reach the exit, Neos ran across the room in half the time that he would have and cut him off. The terrified politician fell to the floor.

"Wh-What do you want?! Money? I can give you money! Please don't--", he said with sweat beading down his face.

"Shut-up!", Neos said bluntly, "I am here for information on Polemus."

"I-I don't know anything abou--"

Neos stepped on his chest, "Don't lie", he said softly and put his dagger next to the politician's throat.

"I swear I know nothing!", the politician said, obviously more scared of the consequences of releasing information than the man who had a dagger on his throat.

Neos grew angry, the fear that Polemus instilled into his followers was truly impressive. Neos bashed the politician in the head with his fist and then made a hasty exit. The only way to fight Polemus was to be feared more than the tyrant himself.

Chapter 1: Uprising

Neos was sitting in a darkened alley, shadows flickered from the distant street as various people going about their lives just passed him by. Neos was staring at a crudely drawn photo of him, it was a wanted poster. Something the authorities decided to do in response to Neos' killing. This isn't exactly what Neos had predicted after he left the politician alive. He needed attention, this wasn't enough. He needed a live broadcast, he needed people to fear him, to respect him, to hope for him, or for some revere him.

He needed to rival the King, and for this to happen he needed to do something cataclysmic, but not harmful to innocent civilians. He wanted supporters as many were unhappy with the King's rule, and if he was to get supporters he might spark a rebellion. Neos however was not out for power, he was not greedy or gluttonous. He just wished for change, for over a millenium the King had ruled, and for some unknown reason he had not died, something was keeping him alive. And through his ages he has turned from a prosperous King to a ruthless and corrupt tyrant.

Neos sat pondering his next moves in the shadows of the alley when he heard a voice from the street. "Hey did you hear the King's fleet is coming tomorrow?" a military officer said.

"Yea, and I heard his flagship will be there as well, apparently he's giving some award to the Govenor of this planet."

Neos' heart pounded, the King's flagship Helios' Chariot? This was his chance, if he could destroy it, then he could easily kill the King and draw the attention needed for his rebellion. It was perfect, he just needed a proper explosive. And for that he knew exactly who to go to.

Neos fled from his alley hiding spot and waited for the cover of darkness, when it came he slid across the rooftops, he knew a black market bomb constructor. Neos found himself in a rundown part of the massive city, he walked towards a tunnel, completely enveloped in darkness. He soon passed the entrance and made his way under this part of the city. His mask allowed him to see in the darkness, which was everlasting in this envrionment. Few traces of light passed through cracks in the ceiling.

Finally a dim light shone through the night, the light came from a door off in the distance, Neos quickly made his way to it, there was no time to waste in this situation. He passed through the doorway and found a chubby man with long stringy hair slouched over a table, sparks flew all around as this man turned his tools. The workshop was covered in metal scraps and diferent alloys. The man looked up from his work. A smile came across his face and he put down his tools. "Ah Neos! Good to see ya!", the man walked over to him, "So how'd that light-bomb treat ya?"

"It allowed me to kill 8 men and threaten the Govenor of Nestor."

"I see...so that's what all this commotion about a masked assassin is about.", the man smiled and walked back over to his bench. "I've been working on something quite impressive if I do say so myself.", the man lifted a small device, it was gold and shone with blue highlights.

"What is it?" Neos asked.

"It is a positron-emitter, it shuts down all things powered by electricity or excited electrons. It is far more useful than those crude EMP generators that so many others use."

"Isn't tampering with anti-matter dangerous?"

"It is when you don't know what you're doing, however I do know and this device works perfectly.", the man put the device down, "So I assume you didn't just come here to say hi. What can I do for you?"

"I need a small bomb that is powerful enough to crack the shields on a Warship's power core."

The chubby man started to laugh, "What are you gonna do with that? Destroy the King's Flagsh--", he stopped himself suddenly realizing Neos' intentions. "You can't! That's insanity! You'll get killed far before you even get aboard the ship."

"I must bring about change, and how better to do that than to kill the King himself?"

"I assume you have this all planed out, you always seem to.", the man yet again chuckled, "If any man could get this job done it would be you.", he walked over to a small container and opened it, a glowing orb was in his hand. "This is highly enriched Thorium, put in the right bomb this should get the job done. I can have it ready for you by tomorrow morning."

Neos nodded and walked back into the dark tunnel, he continued to think about how he was going to get aboard the ship, he knew exactly how it could be done, but he didn't know how he could do it and strike a message. He walked to his starship on the outskirts of the city, the stealth system was active, and this gave him an idea. The warship would easily detect his ship's radiation, but maybe that's exactly what he wanted.

Chapter 2: The King's secret

Neos readied his starcraft, he set the controls to autopilot. The bomb he had picked up was about the size of his fist, small and effective. He checked over his equipment, making sure all of his weapons were there, because he would need every single one of them for a mission of this stature.

Shadows of clouds danced across the barren landscape, the blue sky shifted with the ever-present clouds. It almost seemed that on a day so peaceful that this destruction could not take place. But it always seems there is a calm before the storm. Neos climbed into his ship and lifted off into the atmosphere, of course the minute he left the planet's surface he began to see the shadows of the massive warships that neared the planet. Leading them was a white ship, lined with golden plates on the front. It shone brilliantly in the presence of the system's star. Truly this was Helios' Chariot.

Neos' heart pounded as the 10 kilometer long ships made their way into the planet's orbit. From their they would send ships down with soldiers and the King himself. This gave Neos a very small window of opportunity to work in. He activated the stealth systems, and turned down the engines as much as possible to avoid being detected. He neared Helios' Chariot with caution, this ship could easily sense him if he quickened his pace.

The ship bay started to open, and this was Neos' signal to move it, he activated his plasma shields that supplied him with a short supply of oxygen and pressure, and he jumped out of his ship and towards the ship bay. Once the door fully opened 3 sleek, small ships zoomed out and barely missed Neos. Scout ships, Neos muttered to himself as he tried to control his heartbeat and breathing. He landed in the Ship bay with a thud, he stood up and saw the sterile white surrounding. Both large and small ships littered the massive bay, workers were up on a balcony over-seeing the departure of certain ships.

Neos moved behind a large bomber, he pulled out his Spark Bow and readied a dart. One worker started to move towards him and he loosed the dart at him. The dart hissed through the air and struck the worker in the throat, he dropped to the floor without a sound. Another worker caught on and tried to sound the alarm, however Neos quickly grabbed the railing and flipped over to where the worker was. He stabbed the worked in the ribs with his Viper dagger. Blood covered the floor, and Neos knew he had to move quickly.

From Neos' years in service of the King he had memorized the layout of a warship, he also remembered the exact path to the engine room. He quickly moved down the bright hallway. No one was in his path, this just quickened his arrival. He came to the elevator that would lead him to the engine room, and he realized how easy it was entering and coming here, Where were the soldiers?, Neos thought. Just as he pressed the button to call the elevator, footsteps reverberated through the halls. It seems Neos' wish had been granted.

Two large men dressed in red and black armor walked down the hall, particle rifles on their backs, and plasma staffs in their hands. Neos' heart sunk, the Imperial Commandos. The most elite soldiers in the Empire, Neos heard stories of their feats, as if they were gods. They were the protectors, the exterminators, and the right hand of the King. They can single-handedly take on a Phemos Colossus (a massive reptilian beast found in the grasslands on the planet Phemos) and win.

Neos struggled to move, his fear began to cloud his judgement. He was not afraid of death, and yet these figures made him paralyzed with the thought that he was going to lose it. He swallowed and pulled out a dart, he took aim at the Commando on the left and fired. With inhuman speed the Commando dodged the dart and began to run at Neos, the other one followed close behind. Neos pulled out his lightning sword, in order to defend himself from those staffs. Plasma singed the air as the staffs danced around Neos, occasional sparks flew around when the Lightning sword collided with the Plasma staff. Neos widened his stance and ducked as one plasma staff passed over his head, he pulled his sword up with all his might and cut clean through the staff. The Commando was taken off guard, but Neos barey had time to capitalize before the other staff flew at him, Neos rolled out of the way, and then kicked off the ground with all of his strength, he twisted and through a viper dagger at the Commando with the staff. Neos landed on his knee, and he heard a loud thud. He turned with delight, the dagger had struck the Command in the helmet, and it passed through into his skull. Blood leaked onto the floor, and the other commando charged Neos. Neos sidestepped and shoved his other dagger into the Commandos stomach. Neos pulled it out and twisted, he grabbed the commando's helmet and slit his throat. Blood spattered on the wall.

Neos was breathing heavily, his heart pounded in his chest. They put up quite a fight, but as everything, their skills were exaggerated. Neos extracted his daggers, the smell of burned blood filled the air as the stained daggers burned away. Neos put them back in place and picked up his sword. Without much delay he stepped in the elevator and began his descent to the engine room. Lights flickered by as the elevator passed each floor. Soon the elevator groaned to a stop, and the doors slammed open. The room in front of his was filled with a brilliant light, in its core was the very essence of the massive ship's engine. A twin fusion reaction, designed from the stars themselves, it takes highly condensed Hydrogen and introduces them to temperatures above 4000 Degrees Celcius. The pressure and temperature causes the Hydrogen cloud to become unstable and the atoms collide with each other to produce a massive amount of energy.

This reaction is kept under control by a plasma barrier that extracts ions as they become excited, which allows the ship to gain energy. Neos stared at the massive core in awe. He knew the destruction it would cause if he brought down the barrier, which is why his target was the magnetic base that held the plasma in place. He pulled out the Thorium bomb and walked over to the core, two engineers were at consoles on the edge of the core, and Neos quickly disposed of them, their red blood stained the white floor.

Neos attached the bomb to the base of the core, the bomb started to glow blue when it was armed. All that was left was for Neos to get out of here. He set the timer on the bomb for 5 minutes, certainly he could escape in that time, and anything over that would cause too much attention. What troubled him the most however was the vacancy of the ship, it didn't really occur to him how empty the ship was. Only a few operators and those two Commandos, Neos knew this was the King's ship and yet it didn't seem to be very important.

Of course Neos had never met the King in person, he had just heard his orders through other officers. The King was an all-poweful figure, but he never showed his face. He rarely made visits to planets, and when he did it was for a quick visit. Neos had never even seen the King's congradulation ceremonies where he gave a present to a Govenor for doing his job. The King always lingered on his throne on planet Omicron.

Neos always heard the King's motto however, "It is better to have a handful of great soldiers than a battalion of weak ones."

Neos had been in the elevator and when it stopped it broke his thought process, and he just focused on getting out of here. He called his ship through the communicator on his wrist. However there was no response, just static. Dammit, Neos thought, they must have shot it down. He quickly moved back towards the Ship bay. He looked for the nearest fighter, and once he found a suitable one he ran towards it.

Once he leaped over the balcony railing he noticed a group of Commandos behind him. Neos knew he couldn't take them on and he continued towards the ship. However the Commandos easily gained ground on him, and Neos needed a new plan. Without thinking he dropped to one knee and pulled out both of his Viper daggers. He dodged the first staff, and he finally got a look at how many were there. Six, he said to himself, only six between him and an escape. A timer popped up on his HUD displayed from the digital part of his mask. It said 3:25, he had a little time to end this fight. He danced around the pole and shoved his dagger into the Commando's throat. He rolled back as another staff sliced through the air, leaving burn marks in the floor. Neos went to finish off that Commando, but another's staff slammed into his hand, making him drop a dagger, he moved out of the way but it was useless he was surrounded. He didn't focus on his surroundings and allowed this to happen.

Neos' adrenaline pumped, he quickly tried to think of an escape, however nothing would work against them. When all seemed futile, Neos noticed that his glove started to glow through his cloak. Blue light was shining through the dark fabric, and Neos put up his arm. The light became more intense and became impossible to look at. The Commando's covered thier eyes, and then something happened, the dagger Neos was holding began to glow the same color, and it grew in brightness as well. Lightning began to dance down the glove, and then it arced off the dagger and struck each commando in the chest, each soldier fell to the ground dead and smoldering, Neos stared in awe at his glove. He had this thing for so long and it had never done anything but glow.

Neos noticed the timer again, :39. His curiosity was overwhelmed by panic, and he quickly jumped up into the cockpit of a fighter. Without delay he started it up and exited the bay, however he was not fast enough and a massive white flash erupted from the middle of the ship, and it blew the ship into two sections, one flew towards the planet, the other exploded from further explosions. The shockwave of the blast hit Neos' ship, and the small fighter was sent spinning out of control, towards the planet. Neos struggled for control but the ship ignored his commands and flipped through the atmosphere. Neos could see the massive fireball next to him, this was the front of the ship. Neos' next thoughts became fuzzy as his vision faded from the massive change in pressure. He blacked out and his ship speeded towards the ground.

Neos awoke surprised at his existence. Pain pulsed through his body, and Neos looked down to see a small piece of debris lodged into his side. Blood leaked from the wound, and he felt a trickle of warm liquid flowing down his head. He was in bad shape, but it was a better alternative than being dead. Then he realized what was going on, he kicked through the cockpit's glass, and jumped out. He slid down the side of the wrecked fighter and saw an inferno a little ways off. He quickly ran towards it, ignoring the signal's that his body was sending him. He was being hit by pain and exhaustion.

When he came to the edge of the ship's crater he fell to his knees, a mixture of overwhelming pain and exhaustion finally took its toll on him. He surveyed the site and he saw nothing. He thought he had won, but still doubt of his achievements gnawed away at him. He finally accepted victory and collapsed from his condition. Panting heavily his eye slowly closed, he just wanted rest now. But he quickly denied himself this comfort and jumped up, he felt that something was wrong. And almost immediately as the thought passed through his head he saw a flicker of movement. Apprehension gripped at his stomach as a human figure slowly walked from the flaming crater and up to the grassy plains where Neos was watching from. This figure walked towards Neos. As he came into view Neos saw a figure clad in armor similar to his glove. Neos watched him carefully, this figure stopped a few meters away from him. His armor was unscathed, black hair layed under his helmet. His eyes...his eyes were powerful and horrifying. Neos was terrified, this person was unlike anyone he had ever seen, he was inhuman. He must have been something more. This person was King Polemus.

Chapter 3: A Revolution

Neos knelt in front of the King, blood was seeping out of him. His life seemed to be slipping away, but something was keeping him here, keeping him alive.

The King stared at Neos, "You feel it don't you?", Polemus chuckled, "The power. It becomes stronger in desperate situations."

Neos could barely speak, "Wh-What are you?", Polemus chuckled at this too.

"What am I?", he laughed in a vicious tone, "I am your King, I am the ruler of the galaxy, I am a god!", his last words echoed throughout the plains.

Neos ripped the piece of metal out of his side with clenched teeth, the pain was unbearable. He let out a yelp as the debris scraped against his wound. The blood flowed out with renewed purpose. Neos' vision faded, "This is where I die...I failed...you're still alive and...and nothing has changed."

"Foolish boy. You think that trinket will let you die? It's called the armor of the gods for a reason. I have lived long enough to witness the effect of these things. You hold the last piece to my armor, see?", Polemus said as he held up his right arm, which was covered in a different type of armor. "Without your arm piece I can not completely gain the power of the gods." The King smiled, "But I am not foolish enough to try and take it, it will protect you, in fact you are unable to die through conventional combat. Well...to a point."

Neos couldn't believe what he was hearing, was it true? He couldn't feel any difference. But then again in normal circumstances he would have died from blood loss already. And aside from the gash in his side he had stopped bleeding everywhere else. His glove was glowing, and he could feel the pain subsiding. He was slowly being healed, it was amazing.

"Now you see. You feel its power don't you? I'm not surprised, you do hold the Gauntlet of War, the most powerful object in the galaxy.", the King gleamed at Neos' glove.

"Gauntlet of War huh?", Neos felt an upsurge of power, he pointed the glove at the King, "Well let's see how powerful it really is."

Red light erupted from the palm of his glove and a beam of light struck the King in the center of his chestplate. Polemus was sent flying back into the crater. Neos smirked with satisfaction, the glove was still a mystery, but it was slowly revealing itself to him. Neos saw the King get up and walk back up the cliff, still unscathed.

"Arrogance, a bad quality for the weak.", the King said smugly, "You still lack the thousands of years of experience I've had"

With a blur of motion, the King stepped in front of Neos and punched him in the chest, the King's fist was glowing like Neos' glove. Neos felt a massive force behind the punch and he flipped backwards and landed on his stomach. His chestplate cracked in two, and a few of his ribs were shattered. Breathing hurt and Neos coughed up some blood.

"I possess the Gauntlet of Wrath, not as poweful as yours, but it gets the job done.", the King stared at Neos as he struggled to get up. Red spots covered his vision. "You seem to forget that I hold the Armor of Fortitude, which allows me to defend against your glove, you may be powerful, but you lack training. A handful of good soldiers is better than a battalion of weak ones."

Neos held his ribs, Dammit, he muttered to himself. "You seem to be competent in battle Neos Horan.", Neos looked up in shock, the King couldn't have known his name, he never released any information about himself. "You seem surprised, why is that? Because I knew your name? Do you really need to ask? Every soldier who abandons his post is instantly killed, you're the only one who has escaped me."

"I offer you a deal, join my ranks, be my warrior. And in return I'll allow you to keep your life.", The King's smile was deceitful and assuring at the same time.

"Why would I go against everything I've worked for up to this point?", Neos demanded.

"Worked? You went away for a few years, killed a few bodyguards, and destroyed a ship, I hardly call that a career.", Polemus said in an attempt to belittle Neos' works.

Neos thought long and hard about the proposal. He would have wealth, servants, and many other riches if he joined the King. But was avarice a basis for betrayal? This story was told countless times through history, greed corrupting someone, and that person turns against their comrades and beliefs. Could he stoop so low as to deny the destiny he had crafted himself? Or should he oppose the King and lose his life?

"So? Will you come with me to see your sister?", Polemus said with that smile.

Neos' heart pounded, Sister? She had been dead for years!, Neos' thoughts began to spiral out of control, his confusion enveloped his mind. "Alexia has been dead since the Rebellion of Omicron." Neos finally said coldly, pain still filled his chest as he uttered those words, it was originally why he joined the military, because the last member of his family died to another uprising, he wanted to destroy the rebels at any costs.

"Yes we did tell you that, because we needed more soldiers.", Polemus said, this time dropping his smile.

Neos' anger grew out of control, "You told me my sister was dead because you needed a stronger military?! You sick ***! This corruption cannot continue!"

"You can see her if you want, or you die here.", Polemus was growing impatient. Neos clenched his fists, but he was no match for the King, not here. He needed to get away, and more importantly find his sister. A low groan came from the distance. Starfighters streaked across the edge of the horizon, they stopped near Neos and Polemus. Soldiers jumped out of the crafts and aimed their guns at Neos. "Stand down!" they yelled.

Neos smiled, "Well it seems a change of plans are in order, eh Polemus?", the King scowled and tried to stop Neos, but Neos had already started for one of the starfighters. He pulled out his dagger and shoved it into the soldier's chest. He kicked the soldier into the others near the starfighter and then jumped into the cockpit. He activated the liftoff sequence and speeded into the atmosphere. Things had changed drastically, he needs to find his sister. And after that he needs to find the rebels. A revolution was upon them, and Neos would be its guide.

Chapter 4:The Temple

Visions flashed through Neos' mind. He saw many environments, changing worlds, wars, star systems. Nothing was clear however and Neos was unsure of what he was seeing. He saw an alien race, they seemed intelligent based on how they communicated, and he watched as warships descended from the sky and wiped them all out. The ships were of a design that Neos had never seen before, they were sleek and ominous. Neos watched as a shining ball dropped from a massive warship, and then exploded into a brilliant light. Neos' vision was overwhelmed and it forced him awake. He kicked off the door to the Cryo pod and started to gasp for air. It took his body a while to adjust to the new temperatures.

He felt himself beginning to warm up as his organs returned to normal. In his hibernation state everything was slowed down, so he felt groggy upon exiting the pod. He struggled over to a metal counter and grabbed a Stim-Pack and he slammed the needle into his arm. The sudden rush of energy quickly pervaded through his body and he was wide awake. He grabbed his shirt and pants off the counter and moved to the cockpit of the ship. He stared out the viewport and saw nothing but white lines passing by. He checked his position on the map, he was near the deserted colony Cachexia.

Neos sat in the chair rubbing his head. Those visions gave him a headache and he was still unable to make out the images. The ship slowed down, and its FTL drive soon shut off. Neos stared at the monitors, he had reached Cachexia, the thought to be homeworld of the Rebellion.

Neos' ship began to enter the planet's atmosphere. It shook a little, and then smoothed out as he flew over a large forest. He landed the starship in a clearing and put on his armor. He grabbed his weapons and jumped out of the starfighter. There was no movement in the clearing, just distant echoes and a bright sun. Neos moved towards the forest, he moved quickly to get behind cover. He would rather find the rebels than have the rebels find him.

As Neos ran through the forest he heard small movements, as animals passed by, he watched various types of birds fly by overhead. He came to another small clearing, in the middle was a large mammal creature grazing on some grass. It had two large horns on its head, its head was similar to that of a cow's but its body was muscular and lean. It had short fur and a brown coat. Neos watched it carefully, it was large enough to do some damage to him.

Neos was about to walk away when he heard movement on the other side of the clearing. The mammal creature looked up, and with fright it began to run, but a large reptile like creature leaped out onto it and chomped down on its neck. Blood leaked out onto the grass and the mammal died. The reptilian creature resembled a lizard with a large moon-shaped crest on its head, it stood about 5 meters tall, spikes ran down its back, and ended at the base of its tail. It had large muscular legs and long arms that ended with 3 hooked claws. It truely looked vicious.

Neos walked away and realized how much that was like the King when he dominated a planet. The King always crushed species without pity or mercy, he had driven many intelligent species into extinction. Just because they provided a little resistance.

Neos continued his journey through the forest, he did not know where he was going, he was driven by an instinct. A feeling that resonated throughout his mind. He saw a large clearing in the distance, and he ran towards it, something here had been callling him. He walked into the clearing and found a large building in its center. The building was strange in design, and it seemed to be similar to the place where Neos found his glove. He walked towards it and his glove began to glow, now driven by curiosity he moved towards the base of the temple. He walked up the stairs that lead to its entrance. Once he reached the top he saw glyphs on the wall, he touchhed the wall with his hand and the glyphs lit up.

The temple began to light up all throughout its interior, Neos watched in awe as the ancient structure came to life. Neos walked inside and followed the long corridor in front of him. He kept going until he reached a set of stairs, which led deep into the temple. A feeling drove him towards the center of the temple, and he couldn't tell what it was. He reached the bottom of the stairs and it led into a large circular room. In the middle was a strange machine.

Neos walked towards the machine and touched it with his glove. It sprung to life and a star map appeared above it. The map zoomed in on a planet, Neos couldn't recognize it, but it seemed familiar; it reminded him of something. It had a red surface, with two large ice caps.

Neos struggled to remember but he couldn't, something blocked his memory.

[FF] The Jiralhanae - Part 2 - Harvest - Ch. 6-10

Korther — Wed, 04 Nov 2009 20:56:58 GMT

See part 1 if you have not already (See Sig)

Chapter 6 - Preparations

The Jiralhanae were ordered into a singular warship, designed specifically for them--the phantoms and spirits transporting them into the awaiting vessel. The Brutes were ordered off to a planet called "Harvest", a name with no significant meaning to the Jiralhanae at the time--however it was ordered by the Prophets so it must be done. Arterus looked up from his spot on the phantom, around the group as they entered the hangar en masse with other transports. An almost confused expression covering his face.

After being dropped off into the hangar, they made their way around the ship. Arterus walked casually through the corridors of the edifice of a warship--it was magnificent for him. These people, who were assimilated only months early into this new and strange race--had their own SHIP now. Every Jiralhanae showed upmost respect for each other; as Arterus wandered around through the various rooms and corridors on this warship--many brutes whom he once called his enemies nodded to him.

Pressing a button on the wall, many small patterns of metal opened in an intricate process of a door--Arterus pondering why such an overly-complicated manner was needed for a door. He shrugged it off, moving in--three more brutes already in there and what will be their beds already made--including his. Two brute minors and a brute-captain--all in their designated armor and colours. They all stood at attention when Arterus entered the room, one of the minors obviously just finishing up his resting place.

Stepping over, feeling rather proud and confident he looked down at the bed-like structure. Nodding approvingly, Arterus patted the brute on the shoulder, "Very good. Please, rest." he said solemnly, humble words for a Jiralhanae--it was strange. Even he questioned himself in his head immediately afterwards of the praise. The brute nodded confidently and gripped the bunk atop of Arterus' and pulled himself up, everyone nude in their fur except for Arterus. Him casually stripping himself of his armor.

As he sat down in his bunk, Arterus lie back and close his eyes--the soft fabric cushioning his head was a new luxury for him. It was nice. His eyes drifted off, sleep starting to envelop him as his eyes flutter shut. The first sleep he has had in almost a week, however, it would not last very long unfortunately. Arterus was restless throughout the night, or what was percieved as night--there is no night in space. Semantics however, he could not sleep for the life of him.

Speaking softly to himself, "Why are we the only ship going to this planet...do we not have reinforcements?" The brute captain a few meters away, his name was Parsus, "Shit if I know. I heard these new vermin are but a test for us--more or less. We are to put, what the Sangheili call, 'throwing the first punch.' in an upcoming 'holy war'." Arterus nodded to himself and sighed, "Let us hope for much blood and glory then, brother." the Brute Minor above him nodded silently to himself, not speaking a word.

He dozed off at that point, getting some well deserved rest. What seemed like a few days later, the ship finally reached a certain proximity of this strange planet--Harvest--not a single Jiralhanae was not anxious. The young Tartarus was rumoured to be on the ship, this only rose the spirits of the brutes for battle even more---the awaiting humans had no idea what was coming when their radars picked up these strange signatures.

Arterus entered the engineering bay of the Carrier, two brutes guarding outside nodded to him as the door immediately opened. Inside many tinkerers and such were working on some strange vehicles and weaponry. One walked up to Arterus and handed him his Gravity Hammer--looking rather heavy it was surprsingly not. Perhaps it's because of the release of gravity of that--Arterus--and other Brutes--did notice that they had a bit more...flexibility than usual.

Indeed it was true. The lowered pressure of Gravity from Doisac, but enough to hold their large bodies down gave them the perfect attributes to increase their strength almost 10 fold (due to everything being two or three times less heavy to them) and their strange new ability to jump almost 4 meters into the air.

Nodding to the brute handing him the hammer, Arterus slung it over his back and walked on. Looking at a few more engineers working on a strange metallic machine--it was a motorcycle, but battle equipped. Two cannons on front shot out short bursts of energy that would give small explosions on contact--the crude steel curves to it making it an All Terrain Compatible vehicle, and for the more rudimentary art of running somebody over.

Arterus smiled approvingly of this killing machine, not so flimsy like the Covenant "Ghosts" and such. And why should he not? Stepping out of the Engineering bay, more soldiers were walking in and getting their weapons, wandering out towards their transports to ready. As Arterus entered the hanger, he was matched in the same Phantom of Martkus coincidentally--or not--Martkus ordered it. They both looked out at the strange planet, a few of these, what they now called human, warships wait ready for them..

(FF) The Jiralhanae - Part 1 - Doisac - Ch.

Korther — Sun, 01 Nov 2009 20:47:26 GMT

-Editing in Ch. 1-5 into one big post here for the convienence of new readers-

Chapter 1 - Brutish Tendancies

Arterus ducked low, a grenade flying over his head and into another brute behind him. It stuck into his flesh with a clink against the armor, the fellow clansman screaming in fury and jumping over the lines with a feriouscious growl that was so known. The grenade suddenly exploded when he was over the line no more than a second, his armor dislocating and shooting everywhere as small pieces of shrapnel. The brutes flesh was close behind, flinging everwhere as bullets and spikes flung everywhere on the battlefield.

A shrill sound rung throughout the air as shells dripped down from the sky, crashing into the mud and sending foliage everywhere--and sometimes Jiralhanae flesh with it. Arterus looked over the trench that he lay in--the one he thought in every battle to be his final resting place--no mans land curling out in front of him inbetween him and the opposing brute encampment. The firing seemed to temporarily cease, Arterus and his fellow clansman took no time to wait.

They jumped out of their trenches, Arterus grabbing his spiker and crawling out. They charged forward throughout the blaze of re-erupting fire from their bretheren. In a matter of seconds they were in the opposing encampment--staring death in the eyes. Arterus lept in, firing madly as he did so; a spike penetrating another brute through the neck and another through the groin; him only to be shot in the hearth seconds later. Arterus was then quickly gripped from behind by another, he quickly gripped the head behind him and flung it forward into the wall of the trench wall. Taking up his spiker, he released the entire clip in angst at this one.

The firing ceased shortly afterwards, all the brutes surviving--the Glangorn Clan--raised their weapons and fists high as they scrame out. The leader of the pack, Barthius, began to shoot in the air and growl. He stood up on the top of the trench, taking up a young brute from the opposing clan with him. Raising this young lad in the air, Barthius quite literally, tore his head off and threw the body down. No sooner, the head was on a pike.

The Glangorns took no time to begin looting their enemies. This was a custom after defeating another tribe, take their weapons and food rations--you would need them the next time a fellow clan attacked you more than anything. This was the daily life for a Brute on Doriac, live or die. Some of the older brutes can recall a time of enlightenment, of higher intelligence over this mindless civil warfare and brutal killing--but the younger--the majority--can not. Nor would they care. They only care about blood and honor, killing their fellow Jiralhanae out of some childish rage.

Arterus stood up and walked out, cracking his neck as a chuckle escaped his lips. Helping a fellow clansman and quite possibly his best friend, Martkus, out of the bloody pit. They both slapped the opposing shoulder and continued to laugh, a wry grin covering their faces as they celebrated their victory. Victory used very loosely. "Good fight, brother" Arterus bloated out, smiling approvingly of his friends performance--it was his first battle. "I will further continue spilling the blood of those whom expatriate themselves from our customs! Gods help us!" A few other brutes raised their hands and roared in agreement.

The sound of a horn rung out throughout the plane, all the brutes gathering and running off. It was time for dinner, as they jumped into the trenches again. Not to kill their fellow Jiralhane. But to feast upon them.

<<Pardon for the shortness of this. I have a bad knack for starting a story--once it gets started I tend to write much more descriptive and long segments. Chapter 2 will be coming later>>

                                                                    Chapter 2 - The Clan

This was the life on Doriac. You live and die by your clan--mere names decided your fate. The weak would perish--they were too soft to fight for their life, and therefore, they did not deserve it. Millions of Jiralhanae have died in these civil wars--and the intelligence of a race has also diminished into brutish tendancies and cannabilistic, instinctive monstrosities. There was no remorse in this world. It was, quite literally, living in a world without reason. It was a world of animals. A world of failure.

Arterus walked through the camp, blood stained his clothes as he made his way to his tent. To his left, a brute walking up to another female brute, tossing a head at her. She caught it as tears began to seep from her eyes, leaning over and holding the decapitated head in her head--it was her son. This was normal, and it was no sight for Arterus; however for Martkus it was. His only reaction was a personal frown however, any sign of weakness meant instant death--a sign of treason essentially to show remorse.

They entered Arterus' hut, curled up thick leather from the beasts of the land--held up by a hardened wood frame. Tee-pee like. A fire was already crackling from the wood in the middle. The flames cackling with glee as remains of the enemies' flesh was tossed on it, roasting upon the flames--it quickly being engulfed. It was not to be eaten--it was a sacrifice. Both of them got onto their knees and began to pray to their gods, the flesh withering away into black rubble.

About half an hour later, when the flesh was completely withered away they stood. Nodding to each other, both of them walked out of the tent to the outside--everyone else was finishing their personal ceremonies as well. Most of their armor already off and weapons put away--along with Arterus and Martkus. This was not strange, unlike to those of other worlds, to walk in nude in these plains. They -were- covered in fur which, afterall, covered any obscenities.

They gathered in the middle, Barthius walking up onto a platform and raising his hands. The entire congregation of Jiralhanae erupted into a roaring warcry. "Today our lives are defined more by death, and we prove our dominance in these lands--no one dares oppose us. We will move out within in the week--and we will conquer this entire side of the Continent!" The entire congregation roared again in approval, Barthius motioning his hands down for them to calm.

As soon as it was quiet, Barthius spoke again. "However, we must purge ourselves of the weak--a treason. One who refuses to fight, one who speaks heathen words of supposed peace--for my friends, we make peace through war! Not lying down our weapons and honor like he proposes. Do you want to refute your honor? Do you want THEM to win?" A roaring "No" escaped from the crowd, Barthius motioning for some guards to bring the prisoner up.

Four brutes moved up, what looked like halbeards in their hands--a pure ceremonial weapon--all holding the bloodied brute in their hands. They threw him down at the feet of Barthius, a sly grin on the Chieftan's face. Gripping the Brutes head, he lifted him up onto his knees and faced him to the crowd. The brute rose his hand to the crowd, soft words of pleading came from his mouth. They only laughed, they laughed at his misery--his death. To them it was but a mere game almost.

Barthius took a spiker's bladed edge and ran it down the brutes' back harshly--gashing him open. Reaching inside, he tore out one of the mans ribs and quite literally stabbed him to death with it. He reached down after the brutal martyr of his pacifist, an idea unknown to the Jiralhanae, now and forever, and threw him into the crowd. The congregation beginning to feast upon him like savages. Him all but bone within the hour--however most walked away back to their tents happily.

As they were about to sleep, the ground shook. Everyone rushed outside, looking up--a rupture in the sky. A blue sphere filled the sky, as ships exited and into the atmosphere of this planet. Their faces confused, not sure what to do or what this was--however they instantly bowed down--a sign from the gods they thought--maybe even their very arrival. Dozens of ships litter the sky, Spirits and Phantoms diving from the sky and flying down to the surface.

The Covenant has arrived.

--------------

                                                         Chapter 3 - The Covenant

The phantoms swarmed over the sky--seeming to block out the very suns that lit their world. Landing in all places and in all direction, not a single brutes' eyes were averted from this spectacle. Slowly starting to gather in one spot, all this species--bloodied and battered--seemed to forget their wars. They forgot their quite useless hate, this new race--these supposed gods to some--were coming. A phantom floated over the Glangorns' encampment; Sangheili descending from its mystical blue aura.

These new creatures--ones unknown to the Jiralhanae--along with other smaller and stranger ones descended from the sky. Almost at once, without a word, an unspoken alliance ever Jiralhanae on this planet--on Doisac--seemed to unite. One of the elites raised its weapon and fired off at the brutes in the clan, them quickly reacting with their own devastating weaponry--metal and plasma shearing over the plain.

It was soon all out war, however it would not last long. Arterus ran forward at an elite in the melee, easily out-powering it and literally using it to beat another elite to death. Grunts running up and blowing themselves up in the fray, brute flesh flying in all directions. Barthius pushed brutes aside and ran up in full armor, literally punching his way viciously through the horde of elites--killing everything in his path.

The Sangheili were not used to the extreme gravity of this planet--the initial force of the Brutes completely overpowering them and ultimately defeating them. However, this was no match. Machines fell from the sky, weird machines with blue aura surrounding them--seeming to deflect whatever the Brutes threw at them. They, the Jiralhanae, came together and fought this new threat. War machines rampaging through the forests and plains--made of crudely configured metal shooting in any other direction--ramming through anything in its path.

Eventually, this defense became all but futile--the overpowering technology of the Covenant and their sheer numbers crushing the Jiralhanae resistance in a matter of days. Many were taken as prisoner--in fact all of them were--only temporarily though. As they were almost completely consumed up into these weird purple machines and into the cruisers in the sky--thinking their death was imminent--if only they knew.

--------

Arterus was fighting through the fray of elites, all he could and will forever remember was at one point tearing someone apart--literally--and then seeing black. Waking up--in some unknown time later in a strange room--only it wasn't a room--it was a ship. He sat up, looking around curiously as many of these strange beasts held their weapons at him from a distance--obviously scared to get into a melee brawl with this beast--loud growls escaping Arterus' mouth.

"Where am I?!" his voice roared out, seeming to shake the very metal that held the phantom together as it flew up. Other Brutes surround him, looking up at him--quite surprised at Arterus' audacity. He stood up, yelling louder, "Who the *** are you?! What do you want from us! Tell me damnit!" The elites did not respond, looking at him curiously and shrugging, keeping their guns poised. Arterus sat back down and became silent, growling in discontent--the same growl escaping his brethren. The same 'brethren' whom he would have killed only a day before.

They arrived on the ship, elites waiting along with hunters and jackals patrolling the rafters. They held their beam rifles poised--these new weapons not known to the Jiralhanae--at least THESE ones. This type of technology was known to their ancestors--but they were long but dust into the ground at this point. The brutes--walking out by the thousands onto many ships swarmed into the bays, the cruisers turning and flying off. Only a few remain on Doisac--little to none.

The old way of life is gone. The new is coming--and to them--it's their executions. To the Covenant--it's assimilation.

--------------------

                                                     Chapter 4 - Assimilation

The massive ships flew throughout space, dozens of these massive edifices of metal and elegance unknown to the Jiralhanae. The curious eyes looked out from the plasma shield that encased them inside, looking around the insides of these cell-rooms with wandering eyes. Some went crazy and erupted into their brutish rage, ramming headfirst into the plasma shields repeatedly. A few causing contusions, leading to their inevitable coma and death.

Arterus was sitting idly in the corner of his cell, Martkus next to him. They were both praying to themselves, a strange taste in their mouth--one of idleness and tameness. That's exactly what they were. Tamed. At least at this point they were; many elites standing guard outside--more than one would expect. They seemed almost scared of Arterus and his other beasts of men, a few screaming out furiously still in his cell. It got to the point where one of the Elites guarding the door shut down the plasma shield--bad mistake.

The brute--Cestrius--that was flipping out ran out and gored the elite. Ramming full speed into the Sangheli, head crashing against his stomach and sending him back a few meters right off the edge of the twisting path. The elite soon meeting his impending death, however, that was far from the end of it. All the brutes in the cell rose up and watched silently--it was an odd spectacle--why were they not helping their brethren? This was not right, at least to Arterus.

Cestrius gripped the second elite guarding the door and flung him to the ground, before a shot could even be fired off from his plasma rifle, a few other Jackals on the rafters firing down at him. He took it, stumbling back into a wall and continuing to charge. He ran like a mad football player through a crowd of elites and jackals trying to stop this beast. Cestrius managing to ram through--and knock off the edge--almost five more elites in no particular order.

His uprising was stopped just as quickly as it started however. A jackal from afar fired off its beam rifle, striking Cestrius through the heart and making him fall to his knees. Another elite walked up and gripped him by the throat, lifting him slightly in his grip and throwing him back down--sending an entire burst of plasma rifle energy into his face. The shield holding Arterus closing up again--they knew their place.

Soon they, the ships, entered the atmosphere of another planet. One unknown to them, one much too small to even be a planet--almost moon like but made of steel. As the ships orbited this small moon-like sphere of metal, all the brutes were hastily transported into Spirits and Phantoms alike. Mostly with no resistance at this point--what was the point? Arterus was picked up from his cell, along with the five others remaining and guided up the pathway.

They reached the top, floating into these mystical purple flying machines--the aura itself lifting him. This was his first conscious experience of this, and it was almost magical to him. He stood in a corner of the Phantom, watching the other brutes converse amongst themselves--the Elites laughing among each other at their own jokes--most likely at the brutes in some fashion.

As they were lifted off of the Phantoms, almost all the brutes were gathered into a giant congregation in the hundreds of thousands. All on a giant, open plain--many phantoms and banshees patrolling the sky to quell any uprising. Arterus looked about, he was alone at this point--Martkus and anyone else he knew was gone in the mist of the crowd--he was among his people; just as far as he knew, they were not his people--at least on Doisac. This was new.

As the last of the brutes were lifted onto the ground, a voice rung out through the sky. All throughout the congregation altar's arose throughout in the hundreds--maybe even thousands as large holograms of three prophets lit up in full figure. All three rose their hands and proclaimed to the Jiralhane, "Welcome, brethren."   Brethren? This word confused every single brute in the fields---many words escaping lips of curiosity--sometimes even rage.

One of the Prophets continued, "We apologize for your rather rough expulsion from your planet--but we have been watching you. You are a STRONG race" his fist clenched at the word strong, his eyes closing as his head tilted down. A soft sigh escaped from the prophets mouth, his face arising again--almost looking at these beasts if it were not for the hologram. "We need you, and your kind to become stronger than -ever- before. The Forerunners have commanded it---the creators of all---demand it."

This caused less of an uproar than one would have thought--this mention of the Forerunners. The brutes yelled out, almost comically in unison, "Who are the Forerunners?" The prophet obviously heard their demanding question, all of them as laughter escaped from them--almost like teenagers snickering at an inside joke. After regaining composure briefly afterwards, they spoke again, "The creators of the rings of course. The creators of most, your forefathers. They are the way to the Great Journey, they are the true path."

The brutes took this willingly--including Arterus--whom was watching them at this strange machine. How were they speaking--but not there? How could they make figures of themselves in such intricate lights? These thoughts flew through every single Jiralhanae's mind--they wanted to know, badly. The Prophets smiled again, "Do you accept my offer, my dear Jiralhanae?" he said in an unctuous manner--his attempts at cajoling an entire race was obviously working.

The entire congregation of brutes--every single voice--erupted into one word.

"Yes."

---------

                                                         Chapter 5 - All teched up

*Six Months Later*

Arterus stood confidently in his new bunk-room. He was poised upright, one chosen to be a brute chieftan in his race. He was to lead dozens of his brethren into battle, into glory, and into their inevitable death. However, the latter was unknown to him--and to others. Stepping outside of the bunks, he gave a small glance about--the usual motions were occuring. Jackals patrolling the rafters with their beam rifles ready, giving a friendly--almost curt nod to Arterus as he exited his quarters.

Walking off up the pathway, he passed many other brutes--of all ranks and armor--all giving him the same nod of respect. This was a new feeling for Arterus--he liked it. It was a soothing thought in his mind, the Jiralhanae all together in one unified, glorious, wrecking ball. Arriving the top of the pathway, a large circular platform was atop this giant edifice of a spiraled pathway of dorms. A grav-lift, as he has learned to call it along with others, awaits--giving a blue glow.

Two elites nodded to him, standing at attention and pounding their chest once, bowing their head in the process. Arterus merely winced and nodded back--he was not accustomed to such respect--only a year ago he was but a lowly, trench fighter on Doisac--and part of him misses that. Another part, can never go back to that life. He liked it like this.

The grav lift launched him into the air, going quickly in the air and past many floors of unexplored turf on the cruiser. He finally stopped at the top, being suspended temporarily in midair and gently planted a few meters forward onto his feet at the edge of the platform. Stepping down, he slid on his helmet and approached other Jiralhanae of his same rank--the other Chieftans. This consisted of Martkus as well, who stood up and gave Arterus a brief pat on the shoulder before motioning him to sit.

They both did sit, about fourty chieftans overall were sitting there. Along with a Prophet, the Prophet of Regret, whom spoke solemnly to an elite, "Show them."   The elite in gray armor nodded and walked over, he took out a handle and pressed--soemthing--and what looked like pure energy from the gods exited from this, in the fashion of a blade. The chieftans, every one of them were taken back--almost in shock of this new equipment. "You will be introduced into your glory days again--you will gain the technology and intelligence only surpassed by the very Forerunners themselves."

The brutes looked amongst themselves and talked, Arterus speaking to Martkus. "These new weapons they show us...they are fancy but hardly reliable. They are...flimsy...break too easy no?" Martkus nodded in response--almost every brute in the room uttering similar grievances of these "advanced" weapons. It was not long until the Brutes began to configure their own weapons after these demonstrations, the Covenant's previous weapons were not for them---they were meant for a sophisticated warfare. The brutes were no sophisticated. They were brutal killing machines.

Such advanced weapons were created in short time as well, along with advanced versions of Covenant weaponry by these great, intelligent--and more importantly heinous minds. Weapons that could manipulate the very forces that hold every being down onto his feet, and slam with incredible speeds. Plasma bolts are twice the speed of a normal elite plasma rifle, and viscious spikes that would tear through the very flesh in cold metal.

Some weapons these brutes accepted, shoulder mounted launchers that shot pure plasma exploding shells at enemies. The brutes liked this--very much--lots of carnage, no? The chieftans were specifically given a hammer, a large one--the hammer that could manipulate gravity itself as spoken before.

                                                ---------------------------------------

Arterus took his hammer from the rack and slung it over his armored shoulder, walking off. He stomped down the hall in full armor, a shield lightly eminating around him and covering his body--light silver. However hardly noticed, the hulking beast of flesh and metal-clad armor trudging slowly towards you was much more distracting than his energy shield. These were new weapons, new ways to kill--much more deadly ones, ones that any enemy had to fear.

Arterus and Martkus gave one last pat on the shoulder before walking off from each other in the hall. Arterus walked out to the bay, many phantoms taking up and flying off. He trudged forward, many Brute-Minors and other foot soldiers followed him into the awaiting Spirit that was to transport them. Banshees patrolled the skies, and voices rung through the intercoms of the cruiser--of all cruisers.

"These heathens shall face righteous fire!"

It was time for war.

Part One: The Czech

Offensive Bias — Thu, 29 Oct 2009 01:17:24 GMT

In 1936, the Nazi's have rose to power. Europe is in a fragile state, the fears of another great war, equal or greater than the "War to end all wars" is hanging heavily around the world. All it takes to ignite the final spark, is an over zealous government and a fast paced invasion. In this alternate word war story, we see what would happen if Germany had managed to stay out of war with the Soviet Union and invaded Britian. We see what would have happened if the US had decided not to embargo the Japanese oil. In the newest enterprise of Offensive Bias':

The Fragile World

Prologue: Czechoslovakia

The army marched into Czechoslovakia in the Summer. It was a warm day, barely a cloud in the sky. The sound of marching feet echoed down every street corner and public park. The Germans were here. There were many who celebrated, Czech Germans who were delighted to see their people the overlords of this nation. But, there were those few who looked on at the marching hordes, looks of disgust, contempt...

Hate. Branded on their pale faces. There was a huge chance of a fight developing. There were a few riots at the smaller demonstrations. But the riots were just a small picture of what was to come. In a few weeks, a depot would be raided by a small band of men, and this small action would start an uprising which will tear the country to pieces.

Hans had his K98 rifle slung over his shoulder, his grey uniform worn proudly, displaying the Swastika on a red armband. Hans had never felt so euphoric. His nation, oppressed for years, humiliated after the end of the great war, now had its former holds back, and now its glorious army was forging a new German empire, one to last through the ages. In the camp, the sun spread its rays among the laughing men as though to congratulate them. The smell of roast beef drifted to him, and as he walked with purpose to the Commanders tent, he felt another wave of happiness wash over him.

Hans swatted aside the flap of the tent, and entered inside. Radio equipment was propped up against the rightmost wall, and in a small wooden chair, the Commander sat, reading through a report that had come through earlier that day. Hans coughed to announce himself. The Commander looked up partially from the paper. “Ah, a new message I believe?” Hans nodded his head.

“Yes Sir, it just arrived for you now. It came from General Gudarian himself.” Hans handed the letter over and stood still. Waiting to see the reaction of the Commander. As his mouth moved silently, tracing the words, his expression changed to a frown.

“You may go now Private.”

“Sir, is there someth-”

“GO!” Hans gave a little jump and walked quickly back through the tent flap. From inside, he heard the Commander shouting orders into the radio. Something was wrong... Hans had a feeling he would find out what it was soon enough.

It was nightfall, and a large series of half tracks had arrived to drive the soldiers off to a depot somewhere North of the camp. Hans heard the roar of another engine, and the light from the vehicle bathed the soldiers waiting for it to stop, shadows danced across the empty tents as they swayed in the breeze. The half track stopped in front of Hans, he still had his rifle slung over his shoulder. He lifted his helmet up and placed it on his head, and began walking to the truck. He climbed inside and sat on the seat closes to the gunner. They exchanged quick, curious glances and turned away from each other, the gunner returning to his night vigil, and Hans looking at the metal flooring. Boots clanged as the truck filled up. When it was completely full, it gave a little jump, and was roaring off after its brethren, towards a depot the soldiers knew nothing about.

Chapter One: The Depot

The men were quiet, the only sounds being the occasional cough, which could barely be heard anyway among the roaring of multiple engines. Hans looked out over the side of the vehicle. He couldn't discern where they were, it was dark, there were no lights, the dark shapes of bushes and trees were the only things he could recognise as they zoomed past. He heard the radio in the drivers cabin crackle, a voice came through, there was no telling what it was saying, but the half track suddenly began to slow. The others around them did the same. The vehicle turned to the left sharply, jostling the soldiers around. It gave a small whine and came to a complete stop, the engine still purring. Hans looked out into the darkness again. This time, he saw a small clearing, with a lot of people moving around in it. There were some figures who lay on the floor unmoving. A chill ran down Hans' spine. “Everyone out!” The order was bellowed by the driver. All the men marched outside, and into the clearing. The men were lined up, and all of them had the same confused, tired, cautious look Hans wore as a high ranking soldier approached them. He inspected every one of them, a glance at them as he walked past. Eventually he stopped.

“This is all that sorry dog can send me? You will do for now. There was an attack here around three hours ago. We tried to hold them off, but everyone was killed apart from the three who sealed themselves in the bunker. They stole things precious to us. Over 70 crates of weapons, ammunition, grenades. Five half tracks, three loading trucks and a new Panzer II tank. This is a big thing now, we have rebels roaming the country, with a tank! And no one can find them. You are here to spearhead our initial assault at what is thought to be their headquarters. Get some rest, there are beds inside the bunker, and be ready to move out by dawn. Dismissed!” The soldier turned and walked away from them. Hans followed the others down towards the bunker. As they passed the area of the fighting, they saw the body of a young German, maybe 17- 18, sat against the wall, his head drooped and blood lay in a pool around him. In one hand, he held an MP38, in his other, he held a bloodstained photograph. Hans turned away from the sight, and walked just a little faster.

Hans had slept badly in the night, his dreams disturbed by the face of the dead soldier, the face changed to his own, blood spattered across one cheek, then the face changed to his wife's and then his mothers. The photo was of his family, taken in the Spring of 32. The dream then changed to a battlefield, the stolen Panzer loomed before him. Men were screaming, dismembered body parts lay everywhere, the Panzer fired and his world turned black. The darkness changed back to the battlefield and the Panzer firing at him and killing him, repeated itself again and again and again, until he awoke with a start at dawn.

The world seemed darker after his nightmare. The men filing into half tracks had an almost sinister feel to it. As though they were going to commit a great evil. The weight of his K98 was like paper to him, his feeling of complete dread was heavier than all of his gear combined. Once he was sat in the half track, he stared at the wall, thinking about everything he had ever done in his life. Somehow, the concern of an approaching firefight wasn't much of a concern to him. The soldier next to him had an MP38, he was yawning as the sun rose over the trees. He turned to Hans with an interested gaze. “We should be back at the camp enjoying our victory shouldn't we Private? Better than driving around at the early hours of morning on a wild goose chase.” Hans nodded and grunted in reply. “A silent type eh? I was only trying to have someone to talk to for the journey.” The Corporal leaned back in his seat and sighed. He yawned again. Hans spoke suddenly.

“Fine, we'll talk.” A grin spread across the Corporals face.

“So, you have a girl back home Private?”

“Yes. My wife.”

“Ooh, leaving a wife behind? What made you join up?”

“The adventure, the glory... The propaganda. Same as everyone else I guess.”

“So, what can I call you instead of Private, Private?”

“I'm Hans. You?”

“Joseph.” Joseph held out a hand. Hans shook it and they smiled. Then the half track jostled violently, throwing the inhabitants onto the floor. The deafening sound of the half track MG42 firing filled the air around Hans. He was still squeezing the hand of Joseph. The tangle of bodies struggled to stand and get out of the vehicle. Hans let go of the hand he had been holding, and pushed a soldier off him. He pushed himself up, and still the clatter of the MG42 was sounding, but it was answered by pings and bangs as bullets hit the armoured car. Hans unslung his rifle and looked over the top of the half track. The gunner was firing towards a group of armed men. Some had rifles, and many had machine guns. Hans steadied his rifle on the edge of the vehicle and fired. He didn't know if he had hit one, as most were falling through the gunners deadly volleys. The other soldiers had by now, managed to sort themselves out, and some had run out of the half track to take cover in the surrounding terrain. Three soldiers attempted to reach the cover of a nearby boulder, but were torn apart by heavy machine gun fire. Their lifeless corpses were the first German casualties. Hans fired again, and this time he saw his bullet had struck one of the rebels in the hip. The rebel dropped to the ground, writhing in agony. A bullet pinged off the armour plating of the vehicle just below Hans' wrist. This was real war.

Chapter Two: The Panzer

Hans fired another round, the rifle recoil comforting him somehow. His bullet missed, and as he went to draw the bolt back, a hail of bullets pinged off the armoured hull an inch away from his elbow, and he had to duck. He looked up at the gunner, he was still firing and was yelling as he did so. The back of his head suddenly exploded outwards, bits of brain and skin flying everywhere. He crumpled to the floor. Hans covered his face with his hands, his heart was racing. A second ago, it had been adrenaline, now it was pure fear. He heard German shouts, the other Half tracks were still around and were unloading their troops at the fight. This ambush was probably to try and get some of the half tracks. “Fall back to the main road!”

“We can't hold them!”

“Get to cover, they are everywhere!”

“It's the fu**ing tank!” Hans' insides froze. He risked a peek over the edge of the vehicle, the crackle of gunfire all around him. He saw the behemoth. The newest tank produced by the Germans, the Panzer was heavily armed, and heavily protected. Men were sat on the back of it, firing their rifles and machine guns. A soldier was mounting the MG42 positioned on the rear, and its crew manned machine gun was firing away at the men hidden by the trees. Hans didn't want to see, he felt exposed with just the tip of his nose showing over the edge, and yet he couldn't look away. The turret turned, with a great mechanical whirring. His stomach clenched as he knew what would happen next. His eyes widened, and he covered his ears, just as the tank bellowed forth with a loud BANG! A shell. There was a huge explosion, and the whole battle ceased. There were no more sounds, the tank was silent, and it seemed all stared in awe at the first ever firing of this grand tank. Then, in a split second, a single rifle shot, turned into another full scale battle.

Joseph quickly stood back up from his prone position, and fired his MP38 at a charging rebel. He took the brunt of the bullets in his chest, releasing a cloud of blood. His face creased in pain and he fell backwards, dead. Joseph heard his men screaming about something. He looked over the mass of half tracks blocking the road, and saw the armoured hulk of a Panzer II. A second of awe, shock and fear washed over him all at once. The turret turned, and as soon as the behemoth started moving, the spell on Joseph was broken. He cleared his head and called out to the eight or so soldiers near the edge of a forest.
“COME BACK! IT'S FIRING! MOVE BACK! IT'S GONNA SHOOT!” It seemed to work, as all but three of the men ran back to where Joseph and the majority of men were fighting. The remaining three turned around, wondering where the others had gone, when there came a mighty boom. They were in the act of turning their heads, when dust, smoke and dirt enshrouded them. The bang was terrible, and the ground shook. Joseph watched in horror, as the smog cleared. There was nothing left of them. No blood, no bodies, no limbs... It was as if they never existed. A single thought appeared in his head. Retreat! He shook his head and fired a last burst, causing a rebel to duck down behind a tree trunk, and blindfire his machine gun over the top. Joseph ran back, without a thought, he just ran, determined to get as far away from the tank as possible.

Hans, even though he was crouched down in the half track, where no one could possibly see him, dared not to move. The Panzer was driving straight past his position. The ground shook slightly, and the whirring sound of the turret moving overhead made him open his eyes. The turret was hovering overhead, slowly moving forwards and towards the frontline. Hans heard gunfire suddenly rage all around his half track, the rebels were moving forward. He heard shouts in Czech, and then the half track suddenly rumbled to life.

Chapter three: Stolen

Hans was struck dumb by the sudden motion. The roar of the engine and the truck beginning to drive away from the battle. After a few seconds, the situation sank in. He saw the Panzer behind the moving half track, as he drove away; it fired another round, the explosion a muffled boom in the distance. Hans had to get off the half track, it was heading back to the rebel base most likely and he didn’t want to be caught on it when they arrived. He took up his rifle, and aimed it through the small slit that looked into the driver’s compartment. He took a careful aim at the driver, and delivered a single, lethal shot. Blood painted the window, and the driver slumped onto the wheel heavily, causing it to veer sharply to the left, the vehicle did the same. Hans was thrown into the armour plated side, knocking the breath from him; he collapsed to the floor wheezing. There was a deafening crash, a slight moment of weightlessness and then total darkness.

He awoke at night. He was out for hours; he had been unconscious through the day. He could taste blood, and there was a murderous pain across his forehead and lower back. He was lying on grass; wet with what he hoped was water and not blood. He blinked several times to clear the haze, and tried to sit up. As soon as he tilted his head up, a sickening dizziness came over him. He was caught unaware by the sudden effect, and let his head fall a little too quickly. He smacked it hard on the cold earth. “Ah! Sh*t!” He decided to lie and let his body prepare itself. He dared not look around, the pain was already too much to bear, and any more would probably make him black out. The stars were out in force that night, lighting up the sky like a thousand burning fires. He took in their otherworldly beauty, and decided to try and sit up again. This time, he did it slow. Besides a little aching in his neck, he managed to get upright this time. He exhaled a huge breath, and examined the surroundings.

The half track was in complete ruin. Its remains charred, the fire had extinguished hours ago, ashes lay in heaps around it, the ground blackened. The metal was twisted in most places, and the driver compartment was completely smashed inward, if the driver had been alive at the crash, the metal would have crushed him like someone stepping on a bug. To his right was a small copse, which housed the tree the half track had veered into. The only scar the tree bore was a large chunk of wood missing from the impact point. To his left, was the road, and after it lay the forest that stretched on into the distance, eventually coming to an end five miles from where Han was sat. He wondered how the battle had gone, and what happened to the Panzer. He looked back at the road. Above it, the moon was beaming down. He watched it for a while, when there was another closer, much brighter light. He saw a flare falling down from the sky into the forest. It was followed by another flare, right at the edge of the forest. Distant, shouting voices drifted to him. He couldn’t make out the language, but he had a sinking feeling it wasn’t German…

He could see silhouettes on the road now. He squirmed as he tried to shakily stand. When he got up, he swayed a little but managed to stay on his feet. He exhaled and took a step forward. As soon as his foot touched the floor, pain shot up it like fire. Despite the need for silence, he gave a yelp. He collapsed to the ground, which probably saved his life, as gunfire opened up behind him, and bullets filled the space he had occupied just a second before. He rolled onto his belly and put his hands on his head.

“Please! Don’t shoot! I surrender, I surrender!” He shouted at them in German. There was an answering voice, using his language.

“It’s okay! We won’t shoot. Stand up!” Hans shouted back.

“I can’t… I’m hurt.” There was the sound of murmured conversation and five men appeared out of the darkness, their shadows making the night seem just that extra bit darker. Two grabbed an arm each and he was aware of the rest standing above him. The slight *** of metal and the drawing back of a bolt told him they were training their guns on him in case it was an ambush. The two men grunted and he was on his feet. His legs were shaking furiously, and one of the men had to support him. The German speaking one was asking him questions as they slowly moved next to the forest at the edge of the road.

“How did you end up all the way back here?”

“I was hiding inside one of the half tracks you took. I…” He hesitated, thinking it better not to tell them he had killed the driver. “I was wondering how I could get out, when the driver crashed. I was knocked unconscious, didn’t wake up until just now.”

“Well, if you want to know how the battle went, you lost. We took heavy damage to the Panzer. The Germans who didn’t retreat put up a hell of a fight towards it. They hurled themselves and grenades at it. We were stunned to say the least.”

“Where are you taking me..? OW!” Hans fell to the floor, dragging the man supporting him too. Hans had his sore ribs pressed against as the rebel pushed himself up on Hans. He gave a small groan of pain, and curled up. Hands tried to get him back up, while two rebels chatted angrily towards each other. “What are they talking about?” Hans asked the translator.

“They want to kill you and leave you here.” Hans felt a chill creep up his entire body. “But I won’t let them do that to you German.” Hans felt a little better at his words. The translator began speaking calmly in Czech to the other two. The two guarding him stared on in mild interest. After ten minutes, the argument was broken up by the flash of lights, and the roar of a motor coming down the road. Hans stared at the lights, as they drew closer he saw them to be the lights of a half track. The Czech all ran to hide in the forest, leaving Hans to stand there. As he expected, the half track pulled up next to him and drew to a stop. The men in the back were Czech; it was a captured half track.

When they saw his uniform, every rifle of the 15 men in the back were pointed at him. The soldiers in the forest came out and shouted to the driver. There was a brief exchange of words, and the translator told him what was happening.

“Okay, they are going to take you to a small prisoner camp they set up after the battle. They will not harm you, I promise.” Hans took his word for it, and had help clambering awkwardly into the vehicle. He was placed with care next to an angry looking Czech rebel. Hans felt the vehicle start up, and he was off into the night.

why humans was almost wiped out

saints — Fri, 30 Oct 2009 19:34:16 GMT

this is a bungieverse post i wanted to share with another halo forum that i thought was quite humorous

At the beginning of the Halo series, humanity had weapons that made the Covenant crap their pants. The standard UNSC pistol could be used as a freakin' anti-air weapon! The rocket launcher obliterated everything nearby, and the vehicles were completely indestructible.

Meanwhile, the Covenant were equiping their highest ranking Elites with fuzzy blue things that did nothing but make the humans laugh, as they used bullets to kill enemies rather than fists.

Then, the UNSC had a sudden urge to "balance" their equipment. They made it so the pistol couldn't kill a grunt, let alone a Covenant ship. They also made it so the vehicles were basicly fast-moving death traps that the enemy could now hijack. The only improvements were that the rocket laucher now fired rockets that could lock on to vehicles, and the UNSC finally saved up enough money to get every marine a driver's license.

At the same time, the Covenant had upgraded their blue fuzzy things into something that resembled a sword, which could now allow the user to fly 50 feet towards any target they wanted. They also developed a weapon similar to the UNSC SPNKR, except the user could fire approx. 1 bajillion rounds before reloading.

The UNSC then developed a weapon similar to the original stardard-issue pistol, but instead of making it standard issue, it was reserved for maniacs who enjoy getting launched from an orbital station into a city for a living.

The Covenant then realized that marines were using the plasma pistol and BR55 together to kill shielded Covenant easier, so they did the only logical thing and made the plasma pistol completely useless.

In order to combat Banshees in the absence of the pistol, the UNSC designed Hornets, a slower moving, hard to operate vehicle that was only semi-competent at killing infantry units.

Not wanting to fall behind on the manufacturing of over-powered weapons that make no sense, the Covenant designed a seven foot tall hammer that could destroy any enemy with one hit. This weapon was of course down graded when the Covenant realized it was useful.

Only with the help of the Elites with their retarded glowy things that are somehow enabled the user to fly towards enemies, was humanity able to survive.

Weapons in the future suck.

Whispers On the Battleground.

Eternal Vigil — Tue, 03 Nov 2009 17:54:28 GMT

I was looking through my archive and I forgot that I never posted this here, ah well, here you are. It was my ODST FF entry, it didn't win, but I thought it was a decent effort for something I conjured up at the last minute.

Whispers on the Battleground.

In the UNSC forward trenches- Jericho VII

12^th February 2535 Military calendar 01.00

Corporal Robert Shortland ran as needler fire and plasma bolts whizzed past him. As he ran he looked back at what had once been a peaceful and tranquil rocky valley, which had now turned into a living hell.

He and the rest of the 105^th Drop Jet Platoon had been dropped here to hold the line against the advancing Covenant ground forces. At first it had looked like an easy job, they had dropped down from orbit in their Human Entry Vehicles also as HEVs. They had walked into this valley, and had seen a large contingent of Grunts. Their Sergeant; Harry Winslow had seen them as target practice, and all the other ODSTs had as well. They had been gravely mistaken.

They had moved forward and engaged them, wiping a large chunk of them out before they had realised what was going on. But they had underestimated their numbers, and the sheer tenacity of the creatures. They had swarmed at them, forcing them to fall back. It had been truly terrifying as it seemed every Grunt they had killed five more crawled over its corpse and came after them guns blazing. Losing numbers fast they made a last stand at the top of the large hill that lead into the valley. The steep climb had been their only chance of winning this battle. Robert remembered how he had given his all, killing hundreds of the short stocky creatures, using up all his ammo, forcing him to grab more from the rising piles of bodies.

But it was to no avail. The Grunts continued to swarm them, no matter the hundreds they killed. Robert had watched in fascinated horror as he had seen his comrades, his friends die as plasma burnt though them, or they were blown apart by needler fire or plasma grenades.

Robert had been hit in the shoulder by a plasma pistol and had gone down, where he had played dead, keeping deadly still amongst the bodies of his comrades, as the Grunts scrambled onward killing any who were still fighting. He could hear them braking and growling in high pitched yelps as they started to make their way back down the hill. By some twist of fate, they hadn’t decided to check the bodies more thoroughly.

He had waited until he could no longer hear their footsteps and grabbed whatever weapons and ammo he could and made for the large pine forest that spread around this side of the valley. He suddenly realised he had been drawing two much attention to himself as he turned to his left, he saw a pack of Grunts pointing and barking in his direction, weapons raised. Wasting no time, Robert raised his MA5B assault rifle and opened fire in short controlled bursts. The bullets tore through their environmental suits, spraying blue blood as they fell. One of his shots must have ruptured the methane tanks of one of them, as they exploded, send bits of Grunt in all directions.

Unfortunately the sound of the explosion had alerted more of the little creatures to his presence, as he saw a large force of grunts, around thirty clambered back up the hill to investigate the noise.

Robert knew he couldn’t take that many Grunts alone, especially in his condition, he had to retreat into the cover of the forest, and try to lose them, or at least make them spread out into more manageable groups.

Plasma bolts and needles shot past him as he made a dash for the trees. He could feel the heat of the plasma bolt as it shot past his left ear. Their aim was improving and they were gaining on him fast. It wouldn’t belong until those bolts hit him. Pushing himself even harder, Robert summoned every tired muscle and kept going. He was almost there, the tall pine trees towered above him, their vast trunks and thick branches serving as excellent cover. With a last ditch effort, he ran as fast as he could and made it into the thick underbrush.

He knew he only had a few seconds before the Grunts entered the forest as well, he needed a good place to hide from them. Wading through the thick brush he saw a massive tree, which overshadowed the fifty foot trees around it. Without a second thought he started to climb the wooden colossus, taxing his already tired body. The wound on his shoulder screamed in protest, but Robert ignored it. He could felt his heart pounding like jackhammer, as the only thing that kept him going was his own will and adrenaline. When he felt he couldn’t go any further, he stopped on a large branch, as he was pretty sure it could support his weight. The branch gave an uncomfortable groan, but held.

Taking a second to catch his breath, he took his helmet off. He placed it next to him and put a hand on his face. His brown eyes closed as he thought about all the friends, all the good men he had just seen die. He was still a young man, only in his late twenties, and had dark brown stubble on his shaven head. He stroked the bristles on his chin as he thought what he could do next.

Above them, a massive space battle was underway, while UNSC ground forces tried to repel the Covenant ground assault. His unit as well as the rest of the ground forces had done very well, as they had held the Covenant advance for three long days. As Robert had been fighting most of that time, bolstering the regular marines’ lines, and slowing their advance. They had been in the valley to clear the area, so the rest of the UNSC forces could push the Covenant further back.

He had to get back to UNSC lines, so he could tell them what happened, so that none of the other marines down here suffered the same fate as them. The only problem was the Grunts would no doubt still be searching for him, and he couldn’t stay up this tree forever. From the last he had heard, the ships overhead were taking heavy losses to the Covenant fleet. Robert had a bad feeling that in only a few more hours, this planet would be turned into glass by Covenant orbital bombardment. Robert really didn’t want to still be here when that happened. He would have to move, the sooner the better. He grabbed his helmet and inspected it. It was covered in red and blue blood from the battle and had several large dents in it, much like the rest of his once black armour. Fortunately, it seemed to be in working order. He put it back on and activated the zoom and turned on the thermal vision of his suit. In the sea of light blue, he could see several very dark blue cold spots. Grunts in their cooled environmental suits. They were very spread out in small groups of four or five. Robert guessed they were searching the entire forest for him. He waited for the Grunts to leave, and prepared to climb down when a voice yelled,

‘Shortland? You up there you son of a ***?’

Robert recognised the voice, but for some strange reason he couldn’t find the orange colour of another human being.

‘Sarge is that you?’ Robert tentatively said downward.

For a second there was no reply. Robert thought he must have imagined it. After an unbearable pause, the voice replied,

‘Yeah I’m still here Corporal, why don’t you come out of that *** tree so I don’t have to shout at you to hear me and alert every goddamn Grunt in this forest.’

Convinced, Robert grabbed his gear and started to scale down the tree. During his descent he realised how high he had climbed, he was surprised his tired and broken body had managed to get that far. He wondered why the thermal vision hadn’t picked the Sergeant. It must have been malfunctioning, which didn’t surprise him, especially as it his helmet had been through a rough ordeal, like the rest of his armour.

Still that wasn’t important, getting out of here and back to the UNSC lines was. As his feet landed back on the ground he turned to look for the Sergeant. Again, the thermal vision wasn’t picking up anything, so he switched to normal vision and there, right in front of him was Sergeant Harry Winslow. Like Robert his armour was covered in scratches and dents, as well as human and Grunt blood. He took of his helmet and let off a weak grin. He was older than Robert, in his mid thirties, and a veteran. He had many scars on his grizzled face. His cold grey eyes looked at him as if they were peering into his very soul.

‘Nice to see you Sarge. I thought I was the only one who made it out,’ Robert confessed.

‘The feelings mutual trooper. That was one fight I’m surprised we walked away from,’ Winslow replied.

‘How did you find me?’ Robert asked?

‘Your IFF tag. I managed to pick up its signal as I was making my own retreat from the battle. I homed in on it and found you,’ Winslow explained.

Robert understood immediately. Identification of Friend and Foe tags let off a specific signal that would register to a UNSC HUD as a friendly.

‘Sir we need to get back to the UNSC lines. If they aren’t warned about what happened, they will walk right into that nightmare,’ Robert said grimly.

‘Agreed. The longer we wait, the more likely the rest of the UNSC forces will walk into that death-trap let’s go.’

‘What about all the Grunts in the forest?’ Robert asked.

‘I saw their patrols on my way in, there aren’t the smartest I’ve ever seen. I’m pretty sure we can find a blind spot in their patrol routes and slip past them. If not we’ll just have to deal with them the old fashioned way,’ Winslow said raising his assault rifle.

And with that they set off, slowly creeping through the forest underbrush. Robert’s eyes and ears where keeping a look out for Grunts as he followed the Sergeant as he lead deeper in the forest. He paused and raised a hand to stop him as he drop down to one knee. In front of them four Grunts barked at each other as they waddled by them. They hadn’t been seen. Winslow slowly crept forward, making painfully sure he made as little noise as possible. As the Grunts barks slowly faded away to nothingness, they picked up the pace.

The forest was at its thickest here, the trees seemed to be as close together as they could possibly allow, and the underbrush became even thicker. Robert had to wade through the small bushes and brambles as if he was up to his middle in water.

Unfortunately it made moving quietly nearly impossible, so both men had their weapons raised, ready to attack any Grunts that approached them.

Sure enough another pack of Grunts appeared twenty meters ahead of them, searching the area. Winslow buried his head in the sea of bushes they waded through, which Robert quickly copied.

The Grunts got closer and closer. Robert could hear their footsteps as they approached his hiding spot. He held his breath hoping they would go by. Unfortunately things were never that simple. A Grunt stumbled as it went past his hiding space and saw the ODST sitting there. Their eyes connected and it rose to its feet quickly screaming and barking insanely. Wasting no time Robert rose to his own feet assault rifle blazing.

The Grunts had no time to react and were cut down, as Robert tore through them. Winslow rose to his feet and then said,

‘Nice work, but the other Grunt patrols probably heard the gunfire; we need to get out of the forest now. On the double marine!’

Without even replying they waded as fast as they could through the bushes, and when they started to clear began to jog. The trees darkened the sky but through the canopy he thought he caught a glimpse of a Pelican speeding by. They had to be getting close to the other side of the forest though Robert had no idea where they were going; he was relying on Winslow’s sense of direction. Luckily for him, Winslow seem to know exactly where he was going, and after a few minutes of jogging, the forest began to thin out even more, and in the distance Robert could just about see were the trees ended.

There was however on problem. It seemed that the Grunts had beaten them to it. Around twenty Grunts slowly advanced from the exit of the forest, weapons raised. Robert was tired of hiding from these creatures, which had killed his friends and comrades. He thought it was time for some payback. He slammed a fresh clip into his assault rifle and readied a grenade. When they Grunts got close enough he threw it with all his might at the pack in front of him. It detonated reducing four of them into bits. Robert fired a barrage of bullets at the two closest Grunts. The bullets tore through their weak environmental suits, killing them in seconds. He turned and sidestepped as the remaining Grunts returned fire. Plasma bolts whizzed past him as he picked off another three grunts with the remainder of his clip. He took cover by a large oak tree, as he threw his rifle aside and pulled out his pistol. He popped out of cover and fired taking another five grunts out as bullets slammed into their skulls with a satisfying squish.

With over half of them dead, the Grunts started to panic, as several turned and ran screaming in fear. Only four remained, the more senior ranked red suited Grunts. It only took a few more seconds to deal with them and any lingering stragglers. When he was certain the coast was clear, he got back to his feet and looked for the Sergeant, who was behind him.

‘Where were you? I‘d have appreciated the help a minute ago,’ Robert said, slightly annoyed. This made it two fire fights where he had done all the work, while his senior officer just seemed to vanish, leaving him.

‘Sorry Corporal, I was just making sure they didn’t try and flank you, you seemed to handle it fine all by yourself,’ Winslow commented.

‘Yeah, but I’m almost out of ammo. We’ll have to hope we don’t run into more Covenant before we get back to UNSC lines,’ Robert replied.

‘I doubt we’ll run into anymore Covies, especially if we move now, follow my lead,’ Winslow ordered.

‘Yes sir,’ Robert replied in an arrogant tone.

‘Look I know you feel like I’m not helping, but I can get you out of here. Trust me and we can get out of this alive,’ Winslow pleaded.

Given his position, Robert really didn’t have a choice but to trust him. If he was going to survive, he needed all the help he could get, despite any grievances he had.

‘All right lead the way,’

Winslow nodded and walked towards the edge of the forest, with Robert beside him. As they got closer they started to see the orange glow of the sun as it slowly crept into view. When they finally exited the forest they could see the horizon was bathed in light. Directly in front of them was a plain field of grass and in the far distance, Robert made out a green building: the UNSC forward base.

At the sight of the base, both of them picked up the pace, and were practically running through the field. The base got closer and closer. The large green doors were dead in front of them, as they approached they opened. Then Winslow just stopped. Robert turned at him with bemusement.

‘What’s wrong?’ Robert asked.

‘I’m going back to see if there are anymore survivors,’ Winslow said.

‘But there are hundreds of Grunts back there. You won’t stand a chance,’ Robert warned.

‘Maybe, but if there are any more I need to find them,’ Winslow replied.

‘It’s suicide. Look, I you know I don’t think you were the best team-mate ever, but you did lead me to safety, don’t do this,’ Robert pleaded.

‘Go Corporal. That’s an order. I’ll be fine,’ Winslow demanded.

‘But sir-,’ Robert started.

‘Not another word. Go,’ Winslow ordered.

Robert didn’t understand. Why was he so desperate to go to his own death? When Robert had made a run for it, he hadn’t seen anybody else doing the same. All of them were dead still. He doubted anybody was still alive back there; it was of waste of a good soldier’s life going back. Robert understood Winslow’s pain at the loss of their entire platoon, but they had to live to fight another day. The Sergeant’s stubbornness wasn’t helping.

‘No. I’m not letting you go off and get yourself killed. We are going to leave this planet together. There is nothing left you can do here. Don’t throw your life away,’ Robert said, walking closer to the Sergeant, preparing to drag him kicking and screaming if necessary.

‘If only there was a life to lose. You leave me no choice then,’ Winslow said cryptically.

‘What the hell is that supposed to mean?’ Robert replied.

He never found out. Winslow lunged at him, and smashed him in the face with the butt of his rifle. His vision darkened and blurred as he crumpled to the dirt. The last thing he saw before he lost consciousness was Winslow slowly walking away, then just as the darkness was about to take him, he seemed to become transparent, and turned into a wisp of smoke. Then he blacked out.

12 hours later

UNSC Destroyer- Foolhardy Medical bay.

Robert awoke in a bed with a jolt. He looked around. Gun metal walls, with rows and rows of beds filled with wounded and dying soldiers. He felt the dull vibration of the deck beneath him. He must be on a ship. A nurse stood over his bed, looking calmly and pleasantly at his return to consciousness.

‘Ah good to see you’re awake,’ the nurse said, giving him a small smile. She was young. In her twenties, with raven black hair that was tied in a bun. Her hazel eyes looked intently at him as he summoned the words to reply.

‘Where am I? What happened?’

‘You’re on the UNSC ship Foolhardy. You’re safe now. Several marines found you at the front gate of the base. They had opened the gate for you when they had seen you coming, but when you didn’t enter they looked for you. They found you collapsed right at the gate, due to exhaustion. They carried you in and put you onto a Pelican for evac and medical attention. They said you looked half dead when they found you,’ the nurse explained.

‘My whole platoon was wiped out, the 105^th…,’ Robert croaked.

‘Yes, command heard about their fate from the other survivor,’ the nurse said.

‘Other survivor? Was it Sergeant Winslow?’ Robert asked.

‘I’m afraid I don’t know that name. The man who told them was called John Heller,’ the nurse replied.

Robert felt his heart sink. So Winslow had indeed gone to his death, as he had feared. He wished he could have talked reason into him, but the man had gone mad with grief. He doubted anybody could have gotten through to him. He then spun the name John Heller round his brain before it clicked. John had been a new addition to the platoon, a fresh faced private. Robert couldn’t believe he had managed to survive when veteran troopers with years of experience had been butchered.

‘What about the battle? Did we win?’ Robert asked.

The Nurse’s face dropped as she gave him the grim news, ‘It was the same old story. We won on the ground but those *** aliens beat us in space. We were lucky to get out of there before they started glassing the planet.’

So another defeat. Another UNSC planet lost. Robert’s worse case scenario had come true, and another world left barren and lifeless as they Covenant brought fire to its skies.

‘I’m sorry, but I have to continue my rounds. Will you be okay?’ she asked.

‘Yeah. I’ll be fine,’ Robert said bitterly.

‘If you need anything, just press the buzzer and I’ll be there as soon as I can,’ the nurse said as she walked away, tending to the other wounded soldiers.

Robert sat there for a few hours letting the information sink in. Then he wept. He wept for his fallen comrades. He wept for all those who died on that planet. He wept for Harry Winslow who he had failed to save. And he wept for the planet that now burned.

After he had regained his composure he examined the plasma burn on his shoulder. It still had a dull ache to it, but it was bearable. Satisfied he was able to get up. He slung himself out of the bed and put on a t-shirt and trousers as well as a hooded top and military boots and discharged himself from the med bay.

As the doors opened as he left he saw two marines who nodded at him and turned to talk him.

‘Corporal Shortland?’

‘That’s me,’ Robert said dully.

‘We were asked to pass on a message. John Heller would like to talk to you,’ the marine said.

Robert could understand why. With only him and John being the only survivors from the platoon, they were the only thing they had left for each other.

‘Where is he?’ Robert asked.

‘On deck twelve. Take a right at the next intersection and take the elevator up two floors. His room is the third door on the left. You can’t miss it,’ the second marine explained.

‘Thanks,’ Robert said as he followed the Marine’s directions.

He walked silently through the ship as marines and crewmen walked by him. He stood alone in the elevator as it thrummed up and took him to his destination. The doors opened and he looked for the third door on the left until he stood in front of it. He tapped his knuckles against it once and the door swung open.

John looked right at him. He was just a few years younger than Robert and had short ginger hair and freckles. His blue eyes looked on the verge of tears when he saw him.

‘Robert come in, we need to talk,’ John said as he closed the door behind him.

The room was small; Spartan with only two chairs a small table and a bunk bed and wardrobe filling it. John sat on one of the chair which Robert did as well.

‘So what do you want to talk about?’ Robert asked.

‘I just needed to talk about what happened to somebody who was there. We both need to get it out of our system if we are to move on,’ John said, as if he didn’t believe a word he was saying.

‘All right, I suppose your right in a way. We are soldiers after all. People die in war and we can’t do our jobs if we’re hung up on this even if this is unbearable right now,’ Robert reasoned.

‘So…how did you survive?’ John asked, starting the conversation.

‘I played dead after I got hit by a plasma bolt in my shoulder. When they moved on I made a run for it and they chased me into a forest,’ Robert explained.

‘I ran away when they pushed us back up the hill. I knew that was basically the same as deserting but my mind just snapped you know? It felt like I wasn’t even in control of my actions I was just running on instinct. You must think I’m a massive coward,’ John admitted.

‘Not at all. I hid up a tree. I don’t know why, it seemed like a good idea at the time’ Robert replied.

‘You hid a tree? Like some kind of ape? Nice man,’ John said laughing, which Robert joined in.

‘So did you stay in the tree or did you make a run for it?’ John asked.

‘Well I was using my thermal vision to work out where they were when I heard a voice and it was Harry Winslow, and he lead me out of the forest and to the nearest UNSC base,’ Robert continued.

‘Sarge Winslow? You must have been off your trolley man. I saw him die,’ John said.

‘What? When he went back to find survivors?’ Robert asked.

‘No, during the battle. I saw him get hit by a dozen needler rounds and he blew up. There wasn’t anything left of him,’ John said.

‘Are you sure?’ Robert said.

‘100%.’

Robert couldn’t believe this, but oddly it made sense. He hadn’t picked up Winslow on thermal vision, he hadn’t killed any of the enemies and when they had got to the base he had gone crazy and knocked him out. But that can’t be true, was he hallucinating? That last thing he saw, as he blacked out… A transparent Winslow who slowly dissipated into a cloud of smoke like a ghost. Robert passed for a moment to think about that. Had Winslow had been a spectre of his imagination? Or a Ghost? He decided to pursue this further.

‘John. Did command tell you anything about my recovery when you were debriefed?’ Robert asked.

‘A little. They said they had seen you walking alone towards the base and they found you unconscious,’ John said.

‘You sure they didn’t see two people?’ Robert asked firmly.

‘They definitely said, you were seen alone, there was nobody else when they spotted you or when they found you. Nothing about Winslow being with you,’ John replied.

‘Did they examine my gear? Did they find a glitch with my thermal?’ Robert asked. He doubted John would know anything about that, but he had to get to the bottom of this.

‘Funny you should say that. After my debriefing, I gave my gear to the engineers and the guy looked at it and said that was the second time he had been amazed by ODST armour. He said that even as dented and buckled as mine was it still worked perfectly. I assume the first one was yours, so I doubt there was a problem with your gear,’ John theorised.

Robert sat their silently and thought about this information. He then continued his conversation with John long into the night, but at the back of his mind Robert thought about the mystery he had left back on Jericho VII. A mystery he guessed he would never know the answer to.

The End.