Halo Fanon:Survival of the Fittest/Season 4

Pilot

Felix-116's eyes flew open abruptly, and he realized with a start that he was already standing on his feet.

It was an odd feeling. He was no stranger to being unconscious for whatever reason; that type of thing was unavoidable and sometimes customary when you served in the UNSC. But he was certain that he had never woken up on his feet before, with nothing holding him in place.

There was no feeling of a headache, or haziness to his thoughts, or whatever usually accompanied the state of waking up that would give a clue as to how he had been unconscious. In fact, he couldn't even remember what he was before here; all he knew was who he was and that something weird was happening. He pondered this for another moment before military training kicked in, and he stopped trying to figure everything out, deciding instead to look around and see what he could do in his current situation.

He seemed to be in a room, except that wasn't quite the right word for it. He was standing in a large rectangular prism with about a dozen others—Marines, aliens, even a Spartan or two—except there didn't seem to be any doors, or any way out at all. Is this ONI pulling some kind of stunt? The others looked mostly confused, with one or two watching each other warily. None of them were armed, but they were fully armoured. He noticed that two of the aliens were a Kig-Yar and a Jiralhanae, and tensed. He should at least incapacitate them before doing anything else, and maybe a couple of the shiftier-looking Sangheili that didn't look like they were friends of the UNSC.

Felix tried to take a step towards them, but realized that he couldn't move at all. He couldn't even struggle; apart from moving his eyes and breathing in and out, he couldn't so much as tilt his head. What is going on?

Then a voice spoke. It sounded like it belonged to an adolescent, not an ONI officer. "Hey, can you all hear me?"

Some of the others grunted a reply. Felix looked around, trying to see where the voice was coming from.

"I'll take that as a yes," the voice said. "Well, let's not forestall any longer. Welcome to the fourth season of Survival of the Fittest!"

"And the second that hasn't been cancelled," a second voice muttered. This one belonged to an older person, but this speaker wasn't any more visible than the first. "Yet."

There was laughing heard in the background.

"Yes, yes, you can blame for that. But I happen to be more organized with that kind of stuff."

"Oh yeah, thanks," came a third voice, presumably belonging to the one called Actene. "I'm right here, you know."

"Of course I know. I picked you as one of the guest writers."

"Hey!" yelled one of the Marines. "Are you guys going to argue all day, or do we get to find out what the hell is going on?"

"LOMI, tell your Marine to shut up," said the first voice.

"Hey Brandon, shut up," said the fourth voice, LOMI.

But Brandon kept talking. "What do you mean 'his Marine'? I don't know anyone called LOMI."

"It doesn't matter," said the first voice impatiently. "And we're getting off topic here. You're all a part of Survival of the Fittest, and basically your goal is to kill each other."

Felix looked over the others in the room. There were some he certainly wouldn't object to killing, but a few of them were UNSC. ''Kill them? Why?''

"Wait, wait wait, hold on," said a female Navy officer. "First of all, who are you guys?"

There was a pause. "That's irrelevant."

"Are you ONI?"

"No. It's not that simple."

"At least tell us why we have to kill each other."

"Well...this is going to sound bad. But it's for fun."

"Fun?" repeated Brandon. "How is that fun?"

The Jiralhanae snorted. "This would be fun if there were more of them to kill. As it is, I count only thirteen of us."

"Ah, yes," the voice said. "It's not just thirteen of you. There are going to be sixty-two of you in total."

The alien gave a huff of approval. "I'm in."

"So where are the others?" the Navy officer asked.

"Oh, they don't know. They'll be dropped into the map and have no idea what's going on."

"That is hardly fair," objected one of the Sangheili that Felix recognized as Autel 'Vadam.

"Well, I like to keep things surprising."

"So why do we get to know?" asked Brandon. "Not that I mind, of course."

"Because it wouldn't be interesting to sit back and watch you guys wandering around for ages until one of you figures out you have to kill everyone else, would it?"

"Or because you want your characters to have an advantage," said LOMI's voice.

"Bullshit," the first voice replied, sounding offended. "I'm being perfectly fair here."

"Then how come you put both Felix and Autel into the room? Admit it, you want your characters to win."

There it was again. Felix wondered what LOMI meant. He glanced at Autel, who returned his confused look at being referred to as someone else's "character". ''This is bizarre. Who could these guys be?''

"Can we get on with it?" said another Marine. "I think you people are sick, but if we have to kill each other, I'd rather not listen to you teenagers argue over it first."

"Actually, I happen to be twenty-five," said the other unidentified voice, the older one. This statement was followed by a chorus of groans.

"Dude, there's no point being anal over details with fanon characters," said the first voice.

"You do realize that you're misusing the word—"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Okay, everyone, get ready. In about five seconds, you'll find yourselves in a gigantic map with sixty-one opponents. Consider every single one of them hostile, because when this is over, only one of you can be left standing. Good luck."

Felix's mind was whirling. He wanted to ask the voice how they got here, what he meant by "characters", and what the purpose to it all was. ''This could just be a dream. It can't be real. It just can't.''

Then the floor disappeared beneath them, and he felt himself falling. Some invisible force gripped him, penetrating through layers of shielding and armour without resistance, and he felt himself beginning to black out once more.

1
Justin-057 stalked through the forest, moving in almost complete silence despite the half-ton of armour on him and his own considerable weight. He kept his stance relaxed, looking almost like he was taking a casual stroll. Except the stroll happened to be in the middle of nowhere, and with no knowledge of how he got here.

It was weird, really. He had woken up in the middle of a forest clearing, instantaneously and on his feet, no less. Even his training in the SPARTAN-II program couldn't explain how he had managed that. It was like being drugged, except with the polar opposite of the side-effects.

He almost relaxed as he took in his surroundings. The forest seemed peaceful enough, reminding him of something between a childhood memory on his homeworld of Romulon, and a ten-day training exercise with the other SPARTAN-IIs on Reach. He felt out of place, wearing a full suit of MJOLNIR armour and in combat stance, but years of training had taught him to be careful in unfamiliar territory. There could be hostiles anywhere, and the fact that he wasn't armed meant he had to all the more cautious.

The Spartan made his way through the forest, his barely audible sounds of movement covered up by the rustling of the wind through trees, and the wildlife that chirped faintly around him.

2
Shinsu 'Refum peered down at the terrain stretched out before him. He had found a good spot, and although he was loath to admit it, it was thanks to luck or whatever guiding force that placed him here.

He didn't know how he got here, or what he was doing here, but knew instantly that he was put up to a challenge of survival, even if it was to no one in particular. But he wasn't unduly worried about that; he had won and lost many battles in the past, but if there was one thing he could do, it was to find his way to the top. No matter what disadvantages he had or what cost he had to pay, in the end, he always outwitted his enemies.

So when he found himself on a ledge on a mountainside, not too high off the ground and with a barely visible crevice that served as a proper shelter with fresh running water, he knew that he wasn't going anywhere. Although he had no scopes or binoculars, his sharp eyes were able to see far with the view given to him. As an added bonus, his armour blended perfectly with the colour of the stony ledge even without the use of his active camouflage, and the only way he would be spotted was if someone knew he was there.

He didn't know for certain if there were enemies around, but it was safer to assume there was. Although he was armed with only an Energy Sword and a few plasma grenades, that was really all he needed to take on an opponent. Once he spotted something below that looked like a threat, then he would engage his camouflage and eliminate it before it even knew it was dead. Feeling confident and more patient than he would have expected in a situation like this, he leaned back against a boulder, and waited.

3
Vinh-030 dashed through the dusty, uneven terrain, easily leaping over debris strewn on the ground and keeping her weapon aimed steadily in front of her. She knew she was making a bit of noise, but at the moment, silence wasn't her highest priority.

She had woken up from an odd state of unconsciousness, on her feet, fully armoured, holding a BR55 in her hand and carrying a quartet of fragmentation grenades and an M6 Laser Rifle on her back. She was in a vehicle graveyard, filled with broken UNSC ground and air vehicles.

She had searched briefly for working equipment and maybe a functional vehicle, but found nothing in the immediate area and decided to head for cover instead of waiting to be spotted by possible hostiles. She was currently heading into a narrow, grassy canyon, and decided that a vehicle wouldn't be of any use to her anyway. The canyon was only about forty feet high or so, and she intended on climbing to the top. Even if she somehow found a Hornet, it would be too conspicuous in the open space.

She glanced one last time at the junkyard before clearing it. Maybe if she was with a team, she would have searched harder for resources while the others kept the perimeter secured. Then they would all mount up on a Warthog and drive in the opposite direction of the canyon. As it was, she was on her own and had no idea where she was, so she decided to head for higher ground, search for possible allies, and hope there were no enemy snipers lurking in the area as she made her climb.

Although it was the best course of action, better than walking into the canyon below potential enemies, she couldn't help but feel a bit nervous. She wasn't in a great spot, even if she did make the climb as quickly as possible, she could be very easily killed if luck was against her. She didn't dare broadcast on any COM channels until she had a confirmed visual of friendlies. Although judging from the graveyard of UNSC vehicles, it was unlikely that any of them were in the area.

4
Stel 'Vadam kept to the cover of trees as he made his way around the massive lake. He knew he was very close to the body of water and could be spotted by enemies if they looked hard enough, but he decided it was worth the risk if it meant he had a mostly clear visual on the open area around him.

He looked down at his Needler to make sure every shard in the magazine was protruding from the top of the gun. If anything tried creeping up on him, they would suffer a very quick and painful death from the deadly weapon. And he also had a heavy Concussion Rifle on his back if he needed to flush someone a little more distant out of cover. It wasn't the best weapon for the job, but he knew how to make good use of what he had.

For a moment, he felt exhilarated, in contrast to the serenity around him. Survival of the Fittest, the voice had called it. It was almost like the old days in the Human-Covenant War, where he took on numerous humans, and killed as many of them as he could. Although he learned to accept the humans as allies after the war, he knew that the rules were different here. Here, everyone was an enemy.

He remembered how his nephew Autel had objected to the voice saying that they were the only ones who knew the objective, for now. Perhaps him and others like him would try and form alliances. A good idea, had it not been for the snag that they would eventually have to kill each other. Stel didn't want to trust his life to anyone else, not even his own family. Countless campaigns in a war against a species desperate to escape extinction taught him that even the noblest of individuals would do whatever it took to survive when they were threatened. He was not going to allow himself to be stabbed in the back by someone he placed a momentary trust in. If he found Autel or even someone like his friend Doug, he wouldn't hesitate to kill them, albeit with no sense of triumph in doing so.

5
Marco-025 moved down the hallway, trying to suppress his unease. He had been trained for something like this before, and he had even faced it more times than he would have liked, and made it out more or less in one piece. But this time everything was different.

He was one of the thirteen people in the black room, and had heard what the voice told them to do. Kill everyone else until you're the only one left. It didn't sound that different from some of the more extreme missions he had received. But hell, what was the point of it? He had no backup, no intel, and no one on the outside to communicate with. Even for a Spartan, this kind of scenario was enough to warrant panic.

Kill everyone else. He had killed human targets before; civilians, freebooters, even some unfortunate UNSC servicemen that had ended up on ONI's blacklist. And he was accustomed to being kept in the dark on those types of operations. But this just felt like something even he couldn't pass up questioning. It felt wrong.

It was for fun. That was what the voice had said. He didn't know whether or not to believe it. Here he was, inside some strange unoccupied human facility, his MA5B aimed at chest level and ready to light up the first thing that moved. The facility didn't even look abandoned; it was just completely empty. If he did spot another person, could he kill it? Even if it was an ally?

The door hissed open, dispelling the silence but making it feel more eerie. He swept his rifle around the new room he had arrived in, which was some sort of storage facility. It was completely lit, and crates were stacked in organized arrays all over the shelves. But it was, just like the last few rooms he had passed though, devoid of anyone except himself.

6
Richard Mack Jr. couldn't remember the last time he had regained consciousness outside an SOEIV. Then again, he couldn't the last time he was on a mission outside of Whiskey-04.

Mission wasn't really the right word for it, though. The word "mission" implied that you actually knew what you were supposed to do, not wake up standing perfectly upright in the middle of a deserted city and and clutching an MA5B. And that was precisely the situation Mack found himself in.

He could have spent more time dwelling on it, but he never was one to ask too many questions. It was clear that right now, he was cut off from the chain of command, in an unknown and possibly hostile location, and had with him only his ODST combat suit and other assorted equipment on him. So he decided to move through the city alone, sticking to cover and watching for signs of movement.

Everything in the city was broken, as he soon found out. Tall buildings were still standing, but looked quite worse for wear and had every single window blown out. Cars lay flipped over and trashed all over the street. A few electronics were still partially operational, although they were displaying unidentifiable images that were of no help whatsoever. It was almost like a war was fought here, except there were no bodies.

Has this place been hit by EMP or something? He recalled that a team of Helljumpers, led by an ONI officer, had been dropping in on New Mombasa during the Battle of Earth, when a Covenant carrier made an atmospheric Slipspace jump that devastated the entire city and scattered the entire team. They had somehow all survived and a couple of them made it into the city before they regrouped and pulled out the next morning. The story had been well-circulated among the 105th after the war.

Mack put the thoughts of the event out of his head, and refocused himself to watching for contacts. He didn't know where he was going, but he kept moving. He felt that if he wasn't doing something, then he might as well sit around and wait for someone or something to show up and kill him. He would keep moving until he found some way to make sense of this mess. He could always decide what to do from there when the time came.

1
Kane-099 made one more thorough sweep to make sure there was no one else lurking around before looking down the sights of his SRS99-S2 AM sniper rifle and taking aim at the targets in the distance. He had a clear line of fire to the thirty or so hostiles, and although they were inbound on his position, he knew he would be able to drop every one of the bastards before they made half the distance.

It was almost too easy. He had been perched in a sturdy tree at the edge of the forest he found himself in, watching for movement, when he saw a half dozen Jiralhanae squads running across the adjacent grassland, in plain open space. Kane had checked to make sure there was no vehicle support with them, and nothing lurking in his proximity inside the forest either. But the teams were heading in his direction, and whether they knew he was there or if it was just a coincidence, he knew he had to eliminate them.

His finger paused on the trigger. What if it was some kind of trick, meant to give away his position as soon as he start shooting? His sniper rifle was hardly a quiet weapon, and he didn't have a silencer on him. Sound travelled easily in the forest.

"Don't really have a choice," he muttered to himself, staring down the scope again. If he didn't kill those Jiralhanae, they would reach the forest, and with their excellent sense of smell, find him in minutes. And he happened to like his hiding place.

Besides, I've laid some insurance around the area. When he first woke up, he had found to his amazement that in addition to his rifle, sidearm, and combat knife, he had twenty-four fragmentation grenades on him. When he found a good place to watch for contacts, he strung them on a trip wire and laid them around a twenty-metre radius. No one was going to sneak up on him. It wasn't a foolproof protection, but right now, he decided to worry about the thirty Jiralhanae bearing down on him instead of the possibility of being heard by someone else who may or may not be in the forest.

Kane aimed at the head of a gold-armoured Captain Major, the one that looked like the leader of the whole rabble. It was too easy a target to miss. Taking a deep breath and holding it, the Spartan sharpshooter pulled the trigger.

The bullet flew through the air and took the target in the right eye almost instantaneously, dropping him like a stone. The aliens around him flinched in surprise, looking around to see where he was. He adjusted his aim, guessing that he could take out at least four more of them before they recovered.

2
Raphael Esquival-Cortez knew the peace was too good to last. He had been taking shelter in the hollow trunk of a large tree, taking a breather after the long run across the grassland and finding a hiding place with his weapons close to hand, when he saw a team of Kig-yar moving through the forest. One of them had walked so close to the tree that he could have grabbed its leg if he tried.

It then that he heard the sounds of a UNSC sniper rifle echoing through the forest. It was rather faint from where he was, but he guessed that the shooter was somewhere at the forest edge opposite to where he had been. It was possible that it was a potential ally, and while the ODST knew he should be careful, he decided to stick his neck out if it meant he didn't have to hide in a hole alone until his luck ran out.

Raphael eyed the M909 "Javelin" Sniper Rifle he propped against the inside of the tree. It was a powerful weapon, capable of tearing vehicles apart with just a few rounds, but it wasn't ideal for shooting Jackals in an enclosed forest. Besides, the thing made a lot of noise and he had a limited amount of ammunition for it. He stuck the long-barrelled rifle to his back and pulled his M12 SMG off his side, and without hesitation, leaped out from his cover and shot the nearest Jackal in the back.

Magenta blood sprayed from the alien's wound, and it was flung forward from the gunfire, and fell hard on its face. Most of the others were so far ahead that they didn't hear the quiet gunfire over the sound of them running, but a few turned around and hissed at him.

The ODST kept moving as he opened fire at a second alien, dropping it instantly. He took out a third by putting five bullets into its chest. A few plasma bolts splashed against his combat suit, but it held, mostly. He ignored the dull heat that partially penetrated the armour, and methodically shot down each alien, ducking behind a tree when he had to reload. He moved out of cover to find that there was one left, its shield held in front of its face and its Plasma Pistol glowing with overcharge.

Raphael shot it in the hand, causing the Kig-yar to flinch and shift its grip on its shield. He ducked as the discharged plasma bolt sizzled past his head, and before the alien could recover, he fired two bullets into its brain.

The ODST exhaled and counted the number of Jackals he had killed. Eight. Some of them had kept going, and were heading for his maybe-ally. He checked once to make sure there weren't any more hostiles behind him before he sprinted towards the sound of the sniper fire.

3
Jack-085 saw that one of them was still alive, and aimed his M6D at his victim's head, but paused and instead stepped over the body. ''He will die. Let him suffer.''

Walking around the room that was strewn with the bodies of those he had killed, and checked to make sure they didn't carry anything of use to him. Of course they wouldn't. But what they're guarding might. His combat boots were splattered with crimson from the pools of blood he had been stepping in. Human blood.

It didn't bother him unduly that he had just slain an entire unit of militia. What they were doing here didn't matter either, just that they were here and they hadn't stood a chance against him when he arrived.

Jack had found himself earlier in the middle of a desert. This would have been worrying if he was still half the human he had once been, but he no longer thought of himself as anything of the sort. His reconstructed body had little need for water, and he was able to tirelessly cut across the sandy terrain for over a kilometre before he found the facility in less than an hour.

It was a human facility, laid in the middle of the desert for no apparent reason. And inside it was about fifty human militia, who had been struck by fear at the sight of him. Their reactions was nothing new, but he knew that they probably wouldn't be of any use to him unless they were out of his way. So he killed every one of them he saw until he found the armoury.

And here he was. The large metal door was locked and reinforced, but he merely replaced his pistol, punched two deep holes into it, and ripped it clean off its frame with his prosthetic hands. Carelessly tossing them aside, he stepped inside.

He was surprised that to find himself in what was not just an armoury, but a vehicle bay as well. There were ground vehicles and aircraft laid in the middle of the room, which was like a mini hangar bay, and weapons were lined up along the walls, categorized by type.

He walked over to the single Sabre starfighter, recognizing it by description instantly but amazed that there was one here. He could certainly deal a lot of damage with it. He opened its hatch and stowed his MA5K under the seat before walking to the wall of shotguns. He selected an M90 and as many shells he could carry, and also grabbed some flashbang grenades and an Antilon AP mine, putting the lot of it inside the Sabre as well.

Now to get out of here. Jack looked around. The vertical hangar door was on the end of a short runway, but there didn't seem to be a control panel anywhere. He could go back to the control room he had found earlier, but that would take time. Grabbing another mine, he planted it at the base of the door instead. He climbed into the Sabre and remote-detonated the explosive, flying out of the facility from the newly created hole before the smoke cleared.

4
Riker-012 watched the Covenant teams taking positions around the corner of the building, and knew they had him in a bad position. Still, he wasn't too concerned. Maybe he was pinned down for now, but he had fought them for long enough to know that when led by some thickheaded, overzealous Jiralhanae, they were notoriously bad at overlooking their advantages. And when that happened, certain alien bastards tended to get killed.

Still, he had to move fast. There were three Mgalekgolo pairs lurking somewhere in the area, and he knew that at least two of them were closing in behind him. He was a Spartan, yes, but he didn't have a death wish. It would be easier to take out a couple of Jiralhanae and their terrified subordinates than dance his way around Hunters and try and single-handedly kill four of them with some not-so-heavy weapons.

He looked up at the facility he was currently positioned outside of. It bore a remarkable resemblance to OUTPOST Base, an ONI research station he had once been assigned to defend. Or maybe it was just a base with the same model. It didn't matter. But when he had spotted it from a distance, he decided to check it out and see if there was any chance there were possible allies inside.

He had attempted to contact the base via COM, but received no response. Instead, he unwittingly caught the attention of Covenant forces in the area, which he hadn't spotted upon scoping the exterior of the base before moving in. It was almost like they appeared out of nowhere.

''Since when did the Covenant get so good at intercepting radio transmissions? I was using one of the most secure channels too...'' It was possible that the Covenant owned the base, but there was no sign of a fight here at all. The Spartan decided to find a way inside and see what he could find. It was more comforting to be close to a UNSC facility than to wander around aimlessly, even if he hadn't spotted a single friendly yet.

Riker glanced back one more time to make sure the Hunters hadn't caught up to him. Satisfied, he pulled the pin on a frag and tossed it around the corner. It was followed by a thump and a squeal of pain. The following explosion sounded much closer than he expected.

''Must have hit one of the little bastards in the face. Oh well.'' Instead of tossing another grenade, he raised his MA37 to chest level instead and turned the corner, running through the cloud of black smoke and spraying the nearest Jiralhanae with full-automatic gunfire.

The alien's shields went down in less than two seconds, and the Spartan crushed its skull by bringing his rifle hard onto the side of its head. Moving around the eliminated hostile, he opened fire on the second one before its dead companion even hit the ground. The rest of the Assault Rifle's magazine ended up in the Brute's stomach.

Riker ejected the spent mag from the chamber, and realized that his shields were low. Dropping the gun, he pulled out two M6H Pistols and took out a score of Grunts while still moving. Letting go of the empty sidearms as well, he grabbed a dead Jiralhanae's Spike Carbine.

There were only five Unggoy left, and his shields were back up now that the enemy fire had dwindled. He easily took out the diminutive enemies before discarding the alien weapons and picking up his MA37.

He was halfway through reloading the Assault Rifle when he heard the clanking of Mgalekgolo armour, not so far off. It sure sounded like there were at least four of them. Hurriedly sticking the magazine into his weapon, he scooped up his M6Hs and dashed for the security door.

It was locked, but to his surprise, the panel accepted his access code, the same one he used as Codename: CHRONO. So was he at OUTPOST after all? The Spartan hurried inside and locked the door again. He reloaded his pistols before proceeding further into the facility.

The hallway was dimly lit and there was no sound save for the dull whir of machinery in the nearby rooms. But it felt reassuring to be inside the UNSC facility, especially because its layout was one he was so familiar with.

5
Sigurd-D1010 guessed that somehow, for whatever reason, luck was working against him. Unless the Flood had learned not to turn a healthy terrain into a total hellhole since the last time he encountered them, the others that were here with him probably didn't have to put up with them right now.

Not that they were that hard to kill. The parasite had caught him by surprise, which was what annoyed him more at the moment. Here he was, in a nice lush jungle, looking completely harmless, and he was being attacked by combat forms mutated out of an unrecognizable species and more besides. He had been aware of the possibility of hostiles, but hadn't been expecting the Flood.

The M99 Stanchion Gauss Rifle magnetically adhered to his back was powerful against most enemies, but was of little more use than the SRS99 at killing Flood. Unless he destroyed the infection form with it, but it would be a waste of ammo since he could do that with his heavy-barrel BR55 anyway. So the Spartan simply backpedalled from the advancing hordes, pumped rounds into their chest cavities, and made sure none of them sneaked up behind him.

Another cluster of infection forms appeared, joining the already overflowing group of parasite and eagerly crawling towards him. Sigurd wished he had some fragmentation grenades to wipe them out while they were bunched together, but right now the only form of explosive he had was the Lotus anti-tank mine he carried, and he was saving that for a rainy day. So he just kept shooting them one by one, making his shots count and reloading as quickly as he could.

He looked over his shoulder momentarily to see what was behind him. He was approaching a cliff edge which dropped into a steep waterfall. He had just come this way a few minutes ago, and had been shimmying along the rock face because there was nowhere else to go. There was no way he could go back the same way and keep the Flood at bay.

"Fuck this," he said to no one in particular. He emptied the remainder of his magazine, and not bothering to reload, grabbed the Stanchion and took aim. Time to blow a hole or two in this formation and run like hell.

6
"Kill him!" roared one of the Sangheili.

The statement triggered a mass of them sprinting towards him. They were armed with metal rods, utility knives, and other makeshift weapons that were close at hand. But their charge was uncoordinated, and Ro'nin easily gunned them down with his Type-51 Plasma Repeater. One or two bolts in the head each were fatal to their unprotected heads, and if they tried to rush him, well, they would only make easier targets.

One particularly daring Sangheili threw a small knife at him, which he easily dodged and retaliated by shooting the offender in the face. His weapon was starting to overheat from the excessive firing, but he was careful for them not to notice.

Still, one thing gave the mercenary pause for thought. These Sangheili seemed different. Even though they were clearly not in service to the military, they fell far short from the average civilian of his kind, who would even have a fair amount of knowledge on combat and also make fearless, and quite reckless attacks.

These civilians seemed more cautious though. Despite their bravado, Ro'nin could tell that they weren't too eager about rushing them, even if doing so meant some of them would make it far enough to injure him. They were almost like humans.

He had no sense of superiority over humans as many other Sangheili did, but he knew that these civilians acted a lot like them. Although why they decided to attack him on sight, he didn't know.

Have I become that infamous? he thought with a touch of amusement. He did have a lot of questionable endeavours with his fellow mercenary, the Jiralhanae Kenpachus. But they were able to remain unidentified to their victims and even sometimes clients. Mostly.

I wonder where Kenpachus is now, he thought, casually killing another civilian with a well-placed plasma bolt. ''He certainly would enjoy this kind of fight. Whereas I just find myself wasting ammunition on these pathetic semi-warriors.''

He felt a twinge of irritation. Kenpachus was usually around so often to the point where Ro'nin was unable to stand him at times, and it just so happened that irony decided to play its cruel joke on him by separating them when he actually wanted him here.

If he is in this strange land as well though, I know where he will most likely be, he thought. ''I don't know how big this...world is, but he certainly won't be in this dingy Sangheili village. I suppose I should try to find him, since I already grow bored of this slaughter.''

His weapon finally overheated, and its hiss was like the raising of a floodgate. The last handful of civilians charged en masse, brandishing their weapons and shouting threats. Without the slightest touch of concern, the mercenary activated his Energy Sword. ''There are only a few of them left. This will not take long.''

1
Kane lowered his sniper rifle as the last Jiralhanae collapsed with a 14.5mm round in the middle of its forehead. It was still more than fifty metres away, and was the last in a long line of dead aliens scattered around the grassland.

The Spartan checked his magazine, saw that there was only one round left, and ejected it, replacing it with a full one. He had only three mags left, but he could still inflict a lot of damage with twelve rounds.

He paused as he heard running coming from inside the forest, coupled with the barely audible rattle of a submachine gun. He turned around and zoomed in with his sniper rifle again, and it wasn't too long before he spotted a Kig-yar dashing through the foliage, weapon raised and looking around frantically. It was soon joined by three more of its companions.

Kane set down his rifle and switched to his M6D instead, aiming at the lead alien but not firing. He didn't need to give away his position if it wasn't necessary, and with any luck these guys would run straight into—

The Kig-yar stumbled, tripping over what seemed like an invisible force. It didn't even have time to maintain its balance before it was consumed by two explosions from his frag grenades.

The other Jackals hissed in shock, staring at the mutilated remains of their companion and looking around to see who triggered the explosions. Two more Kig-yar joined them, looking more like they were running from something. They didn't last long though; an SMG flared from behind the foliage, cutting down both of them in seconds.

When the last three turned to the bushes and started firing, Kane decided to lend the newcomer a hand. He shot two of the Kig-yar in the back of the head with his Pistol, and finished the last one by shooting it twice in the back. Silence fell over the forest again, only to be broken by the rustling of leaves as an ODST emerged from the foliage.

The ODST hadn't spotted him yet, but kept walking in his direction, weapon still up and looking around.

Kane kept his weapon trained on the newcomer as he called out, "You might want to stop there, before you trip one of my wires and end up like that one over there."

The Marine stopped, looking at the bloody remnants of the first Kig-yar, then to him. He depolarized his visor. "Hey, don't point that at me, Spartan. I'll help you, alright?"

Kane grabbed his equipment and jumped down from the tree. "I suppose I need someone to watch my back, and I'd rather it's someone from the UNSC. Nice job with the Jackals. I'm Kane. SPARTAN-099."

"Raphael Cortez," the ODST said. "Gunnery Sergeant."

"I don't think ranks are important in here...wherever we are. It's all about survival."

"You said it. What was with the sniping? I could hear you halfway across the forest."

"Let me show you." He led Cortez to the clearing, and pointed to the thirty Jiralhanae corpses lying in the grassland. The Marine pulled his own rifle off his back and looked down the sight. Kane examined the weapon. It was a Sniper Rifle no doubt, and it looked similar to the M99 Stanchion. He could probably tear a Hunter in half with one shot if he fired that thing. He was glad of the extra firepower, but hoped that he would run out of ammo before they inevitably had to fight each other.

The ODST finished looking over the area and whistled, one eyebrow raised. "Damn. I'm glad we're on the same side, Spartan."

2
Gutak 'Cyandenee reloaded his MA5C in half the time it took for the enemies to try and reach his cover. He poked his head out of cover and opened fire, taking down the two Marines that tried to rush him.

He grimaced as the humans fell, crimson blood leaking from their wounds. Things were just not going well ever since he arrived in this strange world. He had spent hours wandering alone, trying to find out what this was all about. He had finally reached what looked like a UNSC outpost, only to have numerous teams of Marines attacking him on sight, regardless of his protests that he wasn't the enemy.

I have broken my vow, he thought sadly. ''But I have no choice. I do not know why these humans seek to kill me, but I will not allow them to.'' He ducked back just as a sniper round passed in front of his face. These humans had been pushing him back away from the outpost, but he was almost at the tall hills where he came from. Perhaps he could escape and find allies elsewhere. In the meantime, he would try to do as little harm as possible to these humans.

There was an explosion not far off, and broken chunks of wall sprayed him. He could hear the Marines' shouts as they continued advancing. There wasn't much time. He broke from cover, shot one of the Marines, and knocked the other two down as he ran a few metres towards the others and took a burst of machine gun fire before he ducked into an alleyway between two buildings on the opposite end of the outpost.

His shields were still recharging when three fragmentation grenades rolled into the alley. Gutak backed away as quickly as he could, but the force of the explosions knocked him to the ground. He scrambled to his feet, and making sure he wasn't injured, ran out the other side.

There were five more Marines here, and they fired at him, but he ducked back into cover behind a storage unit. He looked around but saw no snipers or turrets in the area. Good. It wouldn't be too hard to escape from here. I will have to kill these humans though, he thought, stowing his Assault Rifle away and pulling out his Energy Sword.

Felix-116 heard the gunfire from the hills. It was mostly the sound of MA5s, although there was occasionally the sound of snipers and turrets. Readying his BR60, he ran faster over the hills and towards the distant cluster of buildings. ''It's like someone took a chunk out of a city and stuck it in the middle of nowhere. This is weird.''

He had been wandering the hills when he found what looked like Sangheili tracks. They had led him here, and he guessed that whoever was fighting humans in those buildings was probably one of the "contestants".

He soon arrived at the buildings, and spotted a pair of dead Marines lying in a pool of their own blood. They were riddled with bullets.

"Spartan! Come and give us a hand!" a nearby Marine shouted. "We've got one of the alien bastards on the run! He slipped into that alleyway!"

The game of survival begins, Felix thought. He had been unsure whether the Sangheili he was tracking was an ally or an enemy, but if these Marines were fighting it, then it was probably the latter. That would make it a lot easier for him to kill the alien.

He ran down the short alleyway, coming out the other end to see an armoured Sangheili standing over the corpses of five Marines. Snapping up his Battle Rifle, the Spartan opened fire.

The Sangheili flinched, but recovered fairly quickly and activated its Energy Sword. It lunged at him, but he was able to dodge it, retaliating by firing more bursts into it, taking its shields down bit by bit. It shifted its weight without losing momentum and unexpectedly leaped backwards, slashing at him again. The blades slashed him across the chest, taking his shields down to half and knocking him off his feet. And despite the intensity of the fight, a thought had time to cross his mind. ''Thank goodness for the Mark VII. The Mark VI wouldn't have stood a chance—''

The attack had thrown the Sangheili off-balance, but it still managed to lash out with its other hand and knock the Battle Rifle out of his grip. Felix retaliated by tripping it, causing the alien to lose what was left of its balance and fall to the ground. In one smooth motion, the Spartan pulled the C70 Assault Shotgun off his back and fired three rapid shots into its head. The first discharge of shells instantly took down the Sangheili's shields, the second blowing its brains out all over the ground. Purple blood splattered the destroyed cement, and the alien lay still, its hand still clutching its Energy Sword.

Felix replaced the Shotgun on his back and retrieved his BR60. He checked the five Marines in case they were still alive, but there wasn't so much as a pulse from any of them. He shook his head as he made his way back to the others. ''There are sixty-two of us here. But these Marines don't seem like they're part of this. Are they real, or just created by those teenagers?''

''Hah. Teenagers. This whole thing is bizarre.''

He returned to the other side of the alley, where there was what looked like a UNSC outpost. "The Elite's dead," he called to the Marines.

"Nice job, Spartan!" said the nearest one.

"Where's your commanding officer, Marine?" he asked.

The Marine looked confused. "Commanding officer? We don't have one."

Felix stopped. "Is your CO KIA?"

"No, Spartan. We...never had one."

And that doesn't strike you as odd? he wondered but didn't say out loud. Instead, he asked, "What are you all doing here?"

Again, the Marine faltered. "We're...we're guarding this facility, Spartan."

"Against?"

"Enemies."

This conversation was going nowhere. "What's your name, rank, and serial number?"

"My name is Clint Haverstock. My rank and serial number..." He trailed off.

Felix sighed inwardly. "Don't worry about it, Marine. I'm leaving now, if you don't mind. Unless you boys want to come with me?"

"Sorry, Spartan," said Haverstock. "We have to stay here and guard the outpost."

I figured as much, he thought, walking down the street away from the Marine unit. Although it would be nice to have some backup, he knew that he had to find another participant, someone who he recognized.

A sudden thought struck him. ''Who else is here? What if Jess was brought into this as well? Or Amber? Victor? How could we all make it out of this alive if only one of us will survive?''

''It doesn't matter. If they are here, I must find them.'' Gripping his Battle Rifle tighter, he broke into a run and was soon out of the isolated cluster of buildings.

3
Michael Robson knew from taking many ground missions that he was not alone in the forest. He could discern heavy but careful footfalls and guessed that it was a Sangheili. Checking to make sure that his M28A1 Assault Rifle was fully loaded and had its safety off, he kept walking with just enough noise, making a gradual change of direction that led to the arbitrary "east", where he had found a clearing to rest in earlier.

He had a plan to deal with the probably-hostile, but his heart was still pounding all the same. If the Sangheili decided to attack him before they reached the clearing, he could be a goner. Still, he kept his pace steady, deciding that it was better to avoid suspicion but knowing that the alien was gradually closing the distance between them.

Nico 'Killamee caught glimpses of the human he was tailing. He saw that it was encased in black body armour, and knew that it was one of the soldiers the humans liked to call "Helljumpers". Not exactly a worthy adversary, but certainly a threat.

He knew that he was making a bit of noise while following the Marine, and cursed the fact that for all his combat prowess, staying stealthy was never his strong suit. But if he was unable to stay completely quiet, it seemed the human was unable to hear it. He just continued walking at his normal pace.

'Killamee slowed down slightly just to be safe, and the Helljumper vanished from his sight, but his footsteps could still be heard. The Sangheili continued to follow, deciding to make his move as soon as they were clear of the forest.

Suddenly the footsteps stopped. He stopped walking as well, wondering if the human had detected him. He stood still, scarcely allowing himself to breathe. He listened hard for any more sounds ahead of him, but there were none even after he waited several long minutes. Slowly, carefully, he moved towards where he had last heard the Marine, this time making sure he didn't so much as disturb a leaf.

He stopped just short of a clearing. The human had to be around here somewhere. Was this some kind of trap? He was almost certain now that he had been deliberately led here, and knew better than to step into that clearing—

Something hard landed on him, knocking him over. 'Killamee hit his head against a tree as the thing rolled off him. He was dazed, but he could tell that it was the Helljumper, who was now grabbing at its weapon. The Sangheili's head was still spinning, but he knew he had to move fast. He picked up the nearest weapon that he had dropped, one of his Plasma Rifles, and fired a stream of shots at his adversary.

As his vision focused, he realized that he was firing too wide, and adjusted his aim to face the human, who was now rushing at him, its gun flaring as bullets sprayed him. 'Killamee managed to loose off two shots that failed to penetrate the Helljumper's armour before he was tackled to the ground again, his weakened shields flickering out from the impact.

He heard the click of the Marine's gun that meant he was pulling the trigger, but it was out of bullets. The Sangheili took aim again with his own weapon, but he felt two hands grabbing at it, pointing it at the sky and trying to pry the Plasma Rifle from his grip. It was surprisingly strong for a human.

His eyes still on the Helljumper, 'Killamee grabbed at another weapon on his waist. His fingers closed around his Energy Sword and he activated its twin blades. He twisted, preparing to deal the fatal blow.

The Marine punched him hard in the stomach, knocking the breath out of him and causing his swing to miss. It came down on the Plasma Rifle and sliced it clean in two. They both fell back, both clutching half the destroyed gun. The Sangheili regained his balance first, however, and discarding the useless rifle, he moved towards the human, who had fallen quite far back and was still trying to get up.

'Killamee felt the force of the explosion first that sent him flying through the air and landing in a heap next to the Helljumper. Then the pain kicked in, and he could feel the blood oozing out of the numerous wounds the explosion had opened in his back and the back of his arms and legs.

The human was on his feet now, and there was a Pistol in his hand. He pulled back the slide and pointed it at the Sangheili's head.

'Killamee heard a gunshot, then everything went black.

Robson placed his SM6D back into its holster as he stepped away from the Elite's body. His M28 was no longer where he had left it; the explosion must have either sent the gun flying or destroyed it completely. Still, it was worth it, considering that the alien hadn't even noticed when he dropped the grenade behind its feet and backpedalled as far as he could.

Still, the idea of walking around with just a pistol and some grenades didn't appeal to him. He took a Needle Rifle off the Sangheili's back and fired it experimentally a couple of times, amazed that the weapon still worked after being so close to an explosion. Taking a few ammunition cases off his now dead enemy, he walked away from the clearing, now alone.

4
"Nice hiding place you've got here."

Kayla-B261 jerked in surprise and instinctively reached for the M6D next to her. An armoured hand on her forearm stopped her. She looked up in surprise and saw that there was another Spartan looking down at her.

"Hey, relax," he said. "In the real world we'd be on the same side."

"In the real world," she muttered. "Too bad we're currently in the not-real world."

She peered out into the hallway from the crevice she was sitting inside. It was a long passage with only one exit on either end that led to other parts of this empty UNSC facility. She had picked this spot because it allowed her to detect anyone coming in from the other end, and also have herself braced to engage anyone who came in from the door next to her. If things got bad, she could run out the door rather than be pinned down on both sides.

"I was wondering how someone could have sneaked up on me like that," she said, letting go of the Pistol. "Should have known it was another Spartan."

"So let's stick with being Spartans and work together. I'm Basch. SPARTAN-138."

"Kayla. SPARTAN-B261."

"Well Kayla, do you have a plan?" he asked, sitting down next to her.

"Sure," she said. "Sit next to this door and shoot the first thing that comes through it."

Basch laughed. "I got you by surprise, didn't I? Is this how you usually do things, Kayla?"

"No," she said, a little defensively. "I'm a Headhunter."

"So what are you doing cooped up in here?"

"Because I have no idea what is going on. I may be a Headhunter, but I'm not going to stick my neck out if it gets me killed."

"I know what's going on. Do you want me to tell you?"

"Enlighten me."

"Well, I was with twelve others in this weird black room, except it has no doors or windows. And this voice tells us we have to kill each other—"

Kayla glared at him. "Are you screwing with me?"

"I wish," he said. "Anyway, we have to kill each other until there's only one left."

She stiffened. "You want to start on that now?"

"Hey, take it easy. How about we worry about that later and start with the ones we wouldn't usually have a problem with neutralizing."

"Such as?"

"Such as this tall robot guy lurking outside the facility. He looked like a tough son of a bitch, so I decided to go look for some heavy ordnance. I was on my way to the armoury when I found you. You can come with me if you want. Unless you'd rather stay here?"

Kayla thought about it for a moment. "Nah. I'm getting bored sitting in this hallway. Let's take this robot guy out."

5
Demolyn Syrico wondered what strange phenomenon had led him to this land. He knew that this was not the world he was accustomed to, and he hadn't yet decided whether or not he liked it here.

On one hand, it seemed that this place was free from the Necros threat that, as much as he hated to admit it, seemed unstoppable in the world where he had been putting every bit of effort to defeating. That in itself could mean that the beings here could be very well capable of living without the constant threat of extinction.

But on the other hand, there was something very eerie about the world. Although he had wandered far and observed a lot of things, he hadn't noticed any form of civilization. Yes, there were buildings in some places, and there were even people. But they all looked like soldiers, with no purpose other than to survive by their own means. He had seen them killing each other without check.

Is it possible that my brother Vevictus is here as well? he thought with a great dread. ''He would certainly revel in this world. And he would be as always a great threat to those he meets.''

''I must continue to travel the land. I will see if I can find out why the beings here know nothing except war. And I will be on the constant watch for Vevictus. If he is here, then it remains my duty to confront him.''

6
Vevictus Syrico wondered whether Demolyn had been selected for the deathmatch. It would make everything more interesting, since he guessed that no one else would be a match for him. He allowed himself a grin of anticipation. When he had heard the voice tell them that they were to slaughter each other until there was only one survivor, he was immediately interested. ''These voices, whoever they really are...must share my vision of how things should be. This will certainly be amusing.''

He had already found groups of beings and killed them easily. He doubted that they were participants, but it was satisfying nonetheless to exterminate them like animals.

If Demolyn would do if he really was here, he would no doubt protect these beings. Perhaps he would even try to stop the bloodshed and find a way to bring everyone out of this alive.

''Well, dear brother. I really do hope you are here. When I meet you really doesn't matter. Everything around us might be different, but I still await the day when I will find you. And I'm sure you do as well.

''I hope you are here because I would like to see you try to save them. Let me see you try and stop me from wiping every single one of them out.''

You won't.

1
"There it is," Basch said.

"I see him," Kayla murmured. "You're right. That guy does look like a tough nut to crack."

"But let's crack him."

The two Spartans had exited through an exit on the opposite end of the facility of where the robot guy was. They had an array of heavy weapons with them; Rocket Launchers, Laser Rifles, Missile Pods, and a couple of machine gun turrets they had acquired from the armoury.

"Alright, lemme get that thing's attention," Basch said, grabbing a turret.

"Wait," Kayla said, suddenly thinking of something. "What if this thing can help us?"

The SPARTAN-II eyed the black metallic creature hovering on the other side of the facility. "I don't know what it is, and I don't want to take that chance. Besides, we'll have to end up fighting each other eventually, remember? Let's just get rid of some of the competition first." He stepped out of cover and opened fire.

The turret sprayed bullets into the air, scoring several hits on the cyborg. It didn't seem to do any damage at all, but it turned to face him, and began flying towards them at an impossibly fast speed.

"Help me out here," Basch grunted. Kayla snapped into action, holding a SPNKr over each shoulder. She alternated between the two weapons, firing four rockets at the incoming enemy in half the number of seconds.

The thing dodged three of the projectiles, although the fourth missile, which had been fired after a slight delay, managed to curve enough to blast it in the leg. The explosion seemed to have some effect, causing the black cyborg to stagger in the air. She noticed that its armour was now somewhat damaged.

"This thing should be easier to take down than I thought," she said.

"Don't bother reloading," Basch said, still firing at it. "Grab another weapon. What the fu—!" he leaped back suddenly as a long extended claw grabbed the turret right out of his hands and flung it sky-high. To his amazement, he saw that the claw had extended from the cyborg's "arm", from which a long thick cable snaked.

He ducked behind the facility wall as the second arm flew past, barely missing him. "Shit," he panted. "This thing is dangerous. Kayla, take that laser and the missile pod, and follow my lead. We'll keep moving, but be careful you don't fall off the cliff."

"Hey, I'm a Spartan, not an idiot," she said, but she did as he said and grabbed the missile turret after placing the laser rifle on her back. They broke from cover on the other side of the facility, firing missiles at the cyborg and moving along the cliff edge next to the building's rear exit. The launchers had a much faster rate of fire than the SPNKrs, and sixteen missiles were flying towards the cyborg in a matter of seconds.

It seemed to have caught on to their plan, however, because this time it easily moved around array of missiles, causing them to overshoot. And before either of them could react, one of its claws had Basch in its grip. The SPARTAN-II was hefted into the air as the arm retracted.

Kayla had the laser rifle out now, and was aiming it at the cyborg's cable, a thin red line appearing as the weapon charged up. The cable was flailing a bit, but it wouldn't be too difficult a shot for her.

The claw holding Basch suddenly flew towards her at lightning speed, smashing her off the ground before she could blink. Her weapon was knocked out of her hand, and she couldn't hold back a scream of horror as she realized she had fallen over the cliff and was plummeting into the abyss.

Basch saw her disappear over the edge and knew there was nothing he could do for her. He was trying to free himself when the cyborg's arm moved again, this time flying rapidly downward. He saw the ground coming up fast towards his face. Oh shi—

Strifalex Benvora released the dead Spartan and retracted his arm. He had seen this one sneaking into the strange building earlier, but decided to let it go until it came out, possibly with some of its friends.

The other human, the one that had fallen off the cliff, had damaged him. He didn't like that. The damage is not extensive, but all the same...I don't think I should underestimate them like that again.

Whether there were more of them inside the building or not, he decided it was time to leave. ''I see how it is now. I've been brought here because this is a challenge. A game of survival. If that's the case, then I look forward to it.''

I don't intend on having these humans defeat me, he thought as he flew away from the facility. But I hope that at least some of them will prove to be a challenge.

2
Erin Coney checked the Spartan's body over with both technological and old-fashioned methods before accepting the fact that he was dead. She straightened up, wondering what kind of monster had the capability of hurling a supersoldier into the ground with such force. He landed so hard that he had created a three-feet crater in the ground. His armour was still mostly undamaged even from the impact, but the bloody remnants inside the suit had not been pretty.

She didn't recognize him, and wouldn't have even if what was left of his face wasn't pulverized. But she managed to identify him as Basch-138. Strange, she remembered keeping records on a SPARTAN-138, but his name certainly wasn't Basch. Nonetheless, she grimaced at the sight of the corpse. Another dead Spartan.

And why was he dead? She had observed others here—humans, Covenant, and God knows what else—but they seemed to be intent only on killing each other. She even saw some turn against their allies the moment their enemies were dead. It was like a fight for survival.

She felt a coldness seeping into her thoughts. ''How did I enter this world? Where am I, and why have things become so barbaric here?'' For a moment, she wondered if this had something to do with Parangosky; it seemed that everything had some sort of connection to her. But Coney dismissed the thought. Not even ONI would be capable of something like this.

Unless it was all a trick. Some kind of simulation, a test, for...what? What was her purpose here?

''I don't know exactly, but I'm going to stick with what I'm best at. I'll try to link up with UNSC forces in the area, and I'll try to keep us all alive. And if I consider anything a threat, well, I haven't lost my touch in combat yet.'' With one hand on her M6D, she walked towards the door to the nearby UNSC facility. She doubted there was anyone inside, but at least there was bound to be resources that would prove to be useful there.

3
Sona 'Demal instantly recognized the person that was standing at the water's edge. Encouraged by the familiar face, he ran towards him. "Stel!"

Stel turned around slowly. "Do not take another step, Sona."

He faltered. "What?"

The other Sangheili activated the Energy dagger on his wrist and held it in front of him. "Draw your blade."

"Why?" Sona stared at him incredulously, but moved his hand to the hilt of his Energy sword nonetheless.

"This is a fight for survival. And if I am forced to kill my allies, I intend to at least do so honourably."

"Stel! We should be on the same side. We can work together..."

Stel's eyes glimmered. "And how will I know when you intend to turn against me? You could kill me when my guard is down."

"I would never do that. Never."

"Sorry, old friend. But I take no chance here. It is nothing personal." And without another word, he charged, dagger raised.

Sona reacted quickly, activating his sword and in one smooth motion, blocked the attack. Stel didn't let up, following his first attack with another, and another, using both blade and fist in his barrage.

Sona knew his opponent was older, but that didn't make him any less dangerous. Stel was still nimble enough to keep him on the defensive, and come dangerously close to striking fatal blows a couple of times. He focused on blocking the deadly dagger, although a couple of times he felt Stel's fist landing painful blows.

Sona ducked under a horizontal slash, and without losing momentum, kicked the other Sangheili hard in the chest and knocking him into the air. Stel landed on his feet, however, and raised his weapon again.

"You will have to try and kill me, if you intend to live," he said.

"I can't allow myself to do this."

There was pain in Stel's eyes, even though Sona could tell he was trying to appear indifferent. "Then you will die."

Sona braced himself as his former friend rushed at him, readying his Energy sword. ''He's right. I have to kill him to survive.'' The older Sangheili must be getting desperate, because his charge was far too reckless. It wouldn't be difficult at all to strike him down before he even managed to attempt another attack. ''Goodbye, Stel. Forgive me.'' The twin blades came down—

On empty air. At the last second, Stel had feinted, spinning to the side and grabbing Sona's right wrist with his left. Then he raised his right hand again, the Energy dagger flashing through the air.

Sona felt a sharp pain on the side of his neck, and fell sideways to the ground, blood spurting out of him. His sword hilt clattered onto the ground beside him, the plasma blades hissing as purple liquid splashed onto it. His vision was fading, and the noise around him slowly became a quiet, consistent ringing.

He heard Stel's voice from a great distance. "Goodbye, Sona. Forgive me."

4
The sniper rifle's sight danced across the Elite's skull as Bryce-073 tracked the lightly armed warrior's meandering path through the forest. This one didn't seem to be moving with any real purpose, as if he himself wasn't quite sure of where he was going.

Bryce had already stalked and killed several Elites identical to this one. None of them had spotted him in time to even put up a fight. Bryce attributed this mostly to his years of experience of fighting in woodland environments like these, but he had also noticed that the Elites only seemed mildly aware that there might be a threat like him to be on the lookout for.

With a quick sweep of the surrounding area to make sure this one didn't have any friends nearby, Bryce exhaled and pulled the trigger. A sharp crack split the air and the Elite slumped, its head hanging from its neck by a small sliver of skin.

Bryce frowned as he hunkered down inside the discreet nest of dirt and branches he had built for himself. The problem with this kind of fighting was that he had no clue about the rest of the battlefield. He had no map data or reconnaissance that would have made planning a bit easier, and while he was confident in his ability to hide himself he would eventually have to take on some real contestants.

With a sigh, he shifted himself and rose carefully from the nest, sweeping the area again with his rifle. There was no one in sight save for the scattered corpses of the Elites he'd already shot, but that didn't mean there wasn't any danger.

His eyes peeled for any signs of movement, Bryce advanced deeper into the woods.

5
"Alright," Aksel-113 said calmly. The burly Spartan had his battle rifle trained on the smaller supersoldier in front of him, but kept his finger off the trigger. "We can work this out."

"Sorry," the less imposing Spartan replied. The FOF tag flashing from his brown armor marked him as Isaac-B312. "You heard the rules. There's only one winner, and I'm not waiting around for you to shoot me in the back."

Isaac's words hung in the air, punctuated only by the trickling of the small creek at Aksel's back. The surrounding woods seemed to be listening in on their standoff. Aksel was keenly aware that it could be moments before another combatant came out of nowhere and started shooting.

"Ah, that's too bad," he said, eying the sniper rifle Isaac had pointed at his chest. "Because I don't plan on shooting anyone in the back today, or at least, not a fellow Spartan."

"I move faster on my own." Isaac's voice carried no emotion, but Aksel could practically feel the tension radiating from the SPARTAN-III. He was making up excuses, trying to justify what he was about to do. The whole thing made Aksel terribly sad. He didn't know what was worse: dying right here from a sniper bullet or dying slowly as he was forced to kill men and women that, in another time and place, he would have given his life for.

He let out a deep sight. "Alright," he murmured. "Have it your way."

Closing his eyes, he lowered his rifle. "Go ahead and shoot."

The next second stretched into an eternity, but the expected bullet never came. When, after five more seconds Aksel was still alive, he opened his eyes. Isaac had lowered his rifle and was staring at him, head cocked to the side in confusion.

"What are you doing?" the other Spartan demanded.

"I already told you, I'm not shooting another Spartan," Aksel explained patiently. "If that's what I have to do to win, then I quit."

Spartan emotional sigsn were enhanced by the armor they wore, and Aksel could see that Isaac was actually quivering. "This is a trick..." the younger Spartan said uncertainly.

Flicking the safety on, Aksel dropped the rifle and reached for his other gear. "No trick. If you want to shoot, hurry up and finish the job."

Isaac hesitated a moment longer, then sighed and slumped against a nearby tree. "This is ridiculous," he muttered.

"My point exactly." Aksel bent to retrieve his rifle. "Now, you may move faster on your own, but I like to go it slow. Mind moving at a snail's pace?"

"I thought you said you quit," Isaac said suspiciously.

"I said I wouldn't shoot Spartans," Aksel replied. "Any comrades at all, really. Not for someone's entertainment. But I've got no problem with watching someone else's back, and if that's all it takes to get you to back off you'll definitely need some protecting."

"Fine," Isaac said, defeated. "I don't suppose you know which way to go."

"Towards the shooting," Aksel replied. "Let's see if we can't save some soldiers."

6
"Please," Kenpachus rumbled. "Don't make me laugh."

He wrenched the tip of his sword out of the Sangheili's belly and kicked the dying warrior away. Two more darted down the small village's dirt road, their plasma rifles firing wildly.

Grinning with anticipation, the hulking Jiralhanae charged forward, leaving the corpses of a dozen other Sangheili lying behind him. He brought his blade up to waist height, slashing as he approached the two warriors; they fell in pieces on either side of the road.

Three more Sangheili, these garbed in dirty peasant robes, came at him from all sides, brandishing clubs and knives. It would be an insult to his sword if he dirtied its blade with scum like this. Kenpachus merely waited for their attack and, one after the other, simply snapped their necks with his open hand.

It had been like this for the past hour, nothing but a never-ending stream of hostile yet disgustingly incompetent Sangheili. Kenpachus had enjoyed the exercise at first, but now this was starting to get boring.

A stream of plasma fire struck his armor. Kenpachus turned in time to see another warrior charging towards him. With a shrug, he stepped forward and cut the warrior in half.

Boring this might be, but Kenpachus was alight with barely contained excitement. An entire world filled with nothing but worthy opponents? He could hardly believe his luck. Somewhere, somehow, he had died and been taken up to this glorious place, to fight on and on against whatever was thrown at him until he fell to another's superior skill or stood victorious atop a mound of bodies.

Either result worked for him.

Two more warriors emerged from the small huts around him, energy swords crackling in their hands. They moved together, coming at him with a maddening caution.

"Come," Kenpachus said, readying his blade. "I'll show you what fighting with swords is all about!"

1
Korgus paused and sniffed the air. He searched for the scent and honed in on the scent to make sure he didn't imagine it.

Yes, there it was again. It was faint, almost undetectable under the more subtle scent of metal that encased it, but he had no doubt that he had come in luck. This forest wasn't just devoid of something of interest to him after all. He knew what he had smelled, having become so familiar with it over his years of "experience".

Human.

Justin looked into the distance, very slightly to the right. Something was coming. He couldn't see it or hear it, but he could tell because the constant chirping of birds from that direction had dimmed. That usually meant there was something predatory heading this way. Whether or not it was sapient, it could be dangerous, and he was at the moment unarmed.

He looked around for somewhere to take up a position where he would have an advantage, but all that was around him were flimsy trees that wouldn't hold a Spartan and his suit of armour. I'll use what I have then, he thought, grabbing a large jagged rock off the ground.

Korgus had his Plasma Rifle held in front of him, watching for signs of the human. It wasn't moving very quickly, that was for sure. Perhaps it had set up camp somewhere in the forest. Trying to stay as quiet as he could, he continued to follow the scent, resisting the urge to rush. ''Patience. Soon it will be mine. It will be most satisfying to—''

A sharp stone flew towards his face in a blur, striking him hard in the eye.

Justin didn't waste another second. As soon as the rock hit the Jiralhanae in the face, he dashed towards it, closing as much distance between them as possible before it recovered.

As the alien howled and pawed at its bloodied eye, it fired several shots from its Plasma Rifle. Most of the crimson bolts missed, but a few landed hits that merely took down a fraction of the Spartan's shields. He reached his enemy and gripped the weapon, careful to point the barrel away from himself. The forest echoed with the sound of the gun firing its rounds into the ground, burning away patches of grass between their feet.

The Jiralhanae was now grappling with him, momentarily ignoring its injury. It was much stronger than him, and was slowly causing the Plasma Rifle to slip out of Justin's grip. It opened its mouth and roared in his face.

The Spartan took one hand off the gun and forced his opponent's fingers down on its trigger, while pointing it upward. Bolt after bolt rapidly discharged into the sky. He watched the overheat metre slowly increase as he kept both their hands on the weapon. Just a little more...

The Plasma Rifle stopped firing as it shook and vented crimson steam. Reacting quickly, He pressed the barrel of the gun into the Jiralhanae's hand, who roared as the deadly vapours burned its unprotected palm. Instinctively it let go of the weapon, and in that split second, Justin snatched the alien's Mauler off its side and jammed the bayonet into its already wounded eye.

Its roar was abrupted cut off as the metal blade entered its brain, and it fell back onto the ground, still. Panting, Justin relieved the dead Brute of its Plasma Rifle, and yanked its Mauler out of its head, placing it on his armour's magnetic hip holder after a quick wipe. He decided to take its spiky grenades as well as its long, curved combat knife.

It's a start, the Spartan thought, resuming his leisurely pace, now with a weapon in his hands and just a hint of satisfaction.

2
The shotgun went off, blasting the Grunt's head apart and bowling over the Jackal behind it. Matt-075 knocked the dead aliens aside and planted his weapon square in the midriff of the blue-armored Elite who had been crossing the rocky stream with them. The split-jawed warrior didn't even have time to cry out before the next shotgun blast tore his abdomen apart.

Thumbing more shells into his weapon, Matt gritted his teeth and scanned the area. Five more Grunts were wading towards him through the stream, firing scattered plasma shots from their pistols as they came. Two Jackals, shields locked into a tight formation, covered a second Elite at the other end of the stream. The Elite glowered at Matt from behind the formation and raised its plasma rifle threateningly.

This wasn't good at all. What had started as a passing ambush of a trio of Grunts had turned into a full-scale battle. It seemed that every Covenant soldier in the area had come dashing through the woods to take him on.

Matt's shields took several hits and warning alarms flashed inside his helmet. He reached down for his grenades; he hadn't wanted to use them against small-fry like this, but there didn't seem to be much of a choice.

With a snarl, the Elite primed a plasma grenade and cocked its arm back to throw. Out of the corner of his eye, Matt saw two of the oncoming Grunts do the same.

A terrific clattering split the air. The Elite's shields flared and died as heavy rounds tore it to shreds. The active plasma grenade slipped from its limp fingers. The Jackals didn't have time to notice before it blasted them apart.

Matt spun to see the source of the gunfire. A slim Spartan in dark, uneven armor was crouched on a rock just above him, a large machine gun held up in a firing position. Adjusting her aim, she pumped a trio of bursts into the Grunts, sending their corpses floating down the stream.

"Look like you could use a hand," she commented, sweeping the area for more targets. "And don't give me any of this last-one-standing crap. You won't get anywhere out here without backup."

"I wasn't going to," Matt replied, lowering his shotgun. "Thanks for the assist."

"Don't mention it." The other Spartan looked around, clearly not satisfied that the coast was clear. "What's with the Helljumper getup?"

Matt tapped the ODST helmet integrated into his MJOLNIR armor. "I'm an honorary ODST," he said proudly. "SPARTAN-075. Matt."

The Spartan shrugged. "Never heard of anything like that, but there's plenty of crazy to go around out here. I'm Evie-D2541."

Matt blinked behind his helmet. "What was your tag again?"

"D2541. SPARTAN-III, Delta Company. What's the deal?"

"Never heard of anything like that, but there's plenty of crazy to go around here."

She cocked her head. "Smartass, huh? And I thought you IIs didn't have a sense of humor."

Evie brought the machine gun up again. "Anyway, we can swap stories later. Watch my back, we're heading out."

Matt readied his shotgun. "Heading out to where?"

She leapt off the rock and landed in the stream with a splash. "I don't know, whichever way gets us out of here. Just get your boots ready to kick some ass."

3
Brandon Smith fumed as he trudged over the rocky mesa, weapon raised even though he hadn't spotted anything bigger than a spider for the last few hours.

Normally these kinds of situations wouldn't have annoyed him. Sometimes he even enjoyed these long, solitary treks on missions. But that usually meant he had some sort of objective. But he didn't appreciate being zapped into the middle of nowhere, looking for someone to kill for the entertainment of...of a bunch of teenagers!

''Who was that LOMI guy? Or that other kid, the one that sent us all here? If I ever get my hands on that one...''

What annoyed him the most was that he just didn't understand how something like this could have happened. He was no prodigy or ONI spook, but in his long years of service in the Marine Corps and SPARTAN-IV program alike, he had never been in a situation where he was completely unable to figure out what he was supposed to do. Obviously, to kill the other participants was the "objective" given to him by the teenagers, but to hell with them. The only people that decided something for him was himself or a ranking officer. He wasn't going to kill so much as a fly for these kids' entertainment.

He took a few calming breaths to focus his thoughts. ''Right. I'll treat this as a mission for now and just try to stay alive.'' Maybe he didn't like the idea of killing without reason, but the others probably didn't think that. And he wasn't going to lay down his arms and let them beat him out of sheer stubbornness. ''I'll find some allies. And I'll try to find a way out of this. There has to be some way I can get into space, get out of here.'' He didn't entirely believe it, remembering how the unnamed adolescent had held them still and teleported them to this planet's surface, but he kept his mind on his objective.

Frustration forgotten, he moved for the landmark with a steely determination.

4
Coney did a thorough scan to make sure the lone human approaching was indeed alone. You never knew if he was laying some type of trap. She adjusted the main screen camera to focus on the human, who was now examining Basch's body.

Activating the facility's external loudspeakers, she spoke into the microphone. "Get in here, Marine. Double time."

The human looked up in surprise, and immediately raised his assault rifle, sweeping in the general direction where the sound came from.

She sighed. Her patience running short after spending hours alone operating an unidentified UNSC facility, she said sharply, "Enough with the theatrics, Marine. Get your ass into the facility." She pressed a button that opened the door closest to him. He stared at it for a moment before walking in, weapon raised. She locked the door behind him, grabbed her M6D off the nearby pedestal, and swiftly left the operations centre to meet him.

They met on opposite ends of a long hallway, and both of them paused. He didn't aim his gun at her, though. "Who are you?" he called.

"Erin Coney," she said. "You?"

"Roy Koel. You alone in here, Coney?"

"Unfortunately. Mind joining me?"

"I suppose not." Rifle pointed at the ground but still grasped firmly in both hands, Koel cautiously walked across the hallway towards her.

"So what are you doing here?" he asked as they made their way across the facility.

"Been keeping an eye out for UNSC forces. You're the first one I found."

"Lucky me. What about that Spartan?"

"Already dead when I got here. I'm guessing it took on something really powerful."

"So you decided to hide in here."

Coney bristled. "I'm not hiding, Marine. I can look after myself just fine. I'm actually trying to find a way off this planet, which in my opinion is smarter than going out there and joining the shooting contest."

"Okay. Any luck with that?"

"Well, I'm still here, aren't I?"

Koel gave a short humourless laugh as they stepped into the operations centre. "Looks like we're going to along fine, Coney."

5
Robson had reached the edge of the forest. He debated whether or not to break from the cover of trees and head out into the mountains. It would be a challenging climb, but at least he wouldn't have to stay on the alert all the time for enemies lurking in the trees.

''Stay here. Your first priority is to survive.'' He had heard that voice inside his head many times throughout his career, and while it hadn't always told him to put his own safety first, he had learned to trust it well. He turned around and lacking a combat knife, pulled out his M6C/SOCOM, his quietest weapon. He aimed it at a nearby tree trunk to mark it, when he saw a blur in the air moving towards him.

He didn't even blink twice. He recognized a camouflaged enemy when he saw it, and opened fire with the gun in his hand, the silenced M6C. Immediately, the enemy's energy shield lit up from the gunshots, outlining the silhouette of a Sangheili and compromising its invisibility. Robson emptied his magazine into the alien, but the handgun's rounds failed to destroy its shields. Without thinking, he grabbed the first object on his hip—a flashbang grenade—and pulled the pin.

The explosive detonated, turning the forest into a field of white, and all he heard was a ringing sound. His vision began to recover immediately, but he couldn't spot his assailant. Deciding not to take his chances, Robson ran into the forest in a random direction, hoping the Sangheili's hearing was still impaired enough so he couldn't hear his footfalls.

He didn't know how long he ran, but he stopped after hearing no sign of pursuit. He knew it was still possible that the Elite was after him, but it wouldn't do for him to be making so much noise and alerting anyone else in this forest. The Marine reloaded his magnum and slipped it back into his waist holster before pulling out his Needle Rifle.

"You're sure in a hurry, Marine."

He looked up in surprise and saw a Spartan stepping into view from behind a thick tree. He was armed with a sniper rifle but kept it aimed at the ground.

"Someone after you?" the supersoldier asked casually, as if inquiring about the time of day.

"Yeah," Robson said. "Camouflaged Elite. Not sure if he's following me."

The Spartan flicked the safety off his rifle. "Really. Well, I think I'll teach him a lesson. I'm Bryce, by the way. SPARTAN-073."

"Michael Robson. And I was hoping to get out of this forest. It's getting tiring trying to stay alive in here."

"I like it just fine. If you stick with me, you won't have to worry about getting killed. Besides, I've already taken care of some of the bastards. If you kept running you would have found their bodies." He pulled a familiar-looking gun off his back. "By the way, Robson, is this yours?"

"That's my assault rifle," the Marine said in amazement as Bryce held the M28A1 out to him. He propped the Needle Rifle against a tree and accepted the weapon, looking it over.

"I found it tangled in some branches a while back. It was a bit busted up, but I fixed it."

Robson confirmed that the chamber was full, and hefted the gun, glad that he hadn't discarded his extra magazines. "Well, thanks."

"Don't mention it. Now how about we go find that Elite?"

Shinsu was irritated by how badly the potential fight had gone. My first opportunity to defeat an actual opponent, and it goes wrong because of my blunder. He had prided himself on his ability to move unnoticed while camouflaged, one of many skills he had honed in his training. When the human had somehow spotted him and pointed its pistol at him, he had been forced to rush it.

He had been shot a dozen times too, and although his energy shields held, the human had surprised him a second time with its incapacitating explosive that both blinded and deafened him long enough for it get away. ''I was too careless. That will not happen again. Cannot happen again, not in a world where survival is everything.''

He was just getting ready to begin tracking the humans when he heard voices. They were far off, but he recognized them to be humans. Activating his camouflage, he carefully followed the sound.

He stood still when he spotted them. There were two humans. One was a Spartan, the other a black-armoured Marine. Neither was the one that had gotten away, as they were both armed with dissimilar long-barrelled rifles.

Shinsu silently readied his Energy sword. This time he would not fail. The humans were armed with sniper weapons, and would be at a disadvantage. Once he got close enough, he would be able to dispose of them before either of them could reach their sidearms.

6
They never saw it coming.

Raphael had just slipped behind Kane, hefting his Javelin to scan the woods around them. The imposing Spartan slowed to do the same, and in that instant a shimmer passed between them.

The ODST turned at the sound of a sudden hissing noise, like an angry predator, behind him. He cried out in alarm as a dark-armored Elite flashed into sight before him. One arm was wrapped around Kane's neck, restraining him as the other plunged an energy sword through his back.

Raphael tried to bring his own rifle to bear, but the Elite kicked him back with a jerk of its foot. He tumbled into a tree, the sniper rifle slipping from his grasp as he collapsed on the forest floor.

But Shinsu had underestimated the durability of his Spartan opponent. With a gurgling cry, Kane whirled and clamped an armored fist down on his attacker's sword arm. As the energy sword continued to burn a hole through his body, he lashed out at Shinsu with a series of lighting-fast punches that flared against the Elite's shields. Shinsu bore the attack without a sound, grappling with Kane only for a moment before drawing back, wrenching out of Kane's grasp and tearing the sword out his side.

Kane gasped in agony. He clamped one arm down on his injured side as blood seeped down his armor. His sniper rifle lay at his feet; there was no time to pick it up. Gritting his teeth against the pain, Kane reached down for his sidearm.

It wasn't there.

The Spartan's gaze shot back to Shinsu in time to see the Elite bring an M6 pistol--the one he had stolen from Kane's side during their brief melee--to bear. A heavy crack split the woods.

As Kane's corpse crashed to the ground, Shinsu heard a faint rustling from off to the side. He snapped his head around in time to see Raphael, Javelin in hand, struggling to take a bead on him.

Shinsu darted to the side just as the dazed ODST pulled the trigger. The Elite renegade jerked as his shields collapsed, torn away entirely in the wake of the tungsten slug. Kane's pistol was ripped from his grasp as the high velocity round clipped and shattered it.

Raphael swore and braced to fire again, but it was already too late. Shinsu's blade flashed once, and the ODST's arms--still gripping the heavy rifle--flew off into the bushes. Raphael screamed as blood gushed from his severed stumps, and then fell silent as Shinsu buried the sword in his helmeted head.

Shinsu deactivated his blade as his shields recharged. Two miscalculations this time, he realized. The Spartan had lasted longer than he'd anticipated and he'd forgotten to keep his companion in mind during the struggle. He would need to withdraw for now, find someplace away from the fray and get his mind in order. He couldn't afford any further mistakes.

His dark armor shimmered and disappeared as his active camouflage returned. In a moment the bloodied patch of forest was empty again, save for the corpses Shinsu had left in his wake.

1
Eirikur Quinn knew he shouldn't be hovering in the open air like this, but up here, the Covenant on the ground had no way of reaching him, and they made easy targets for him. Besides, he didn't think any of the other participants had jetpacks.

The aliens below him were armed with only close-range plasma weapons, and their energy bolts flew past him by a wide margin. In retaliation, the ODST fired shot after shot from his M392 Marksman's Rifle, dropping the Grunts without difficulty and reloading at ease.

The Jackals and Elites were proving a little trickier to take out with their energy shields, but he had salvaged a round dozen fragmentation grenades off some dead Marines earlier, and now he tossed them down at the enemies, marvelling at how far the explosives could fly from this altitude. He watched in satisfaction as groups of aliens disappeared in a flash and a spurt of blood seconds after every throw.

There were only about ten of them left, so the ODST descended from his height a bit, using another half magazine on the last of the Unggoy and one Kig-yar that was too slow to bring its shield up. He was switching over to his MA5C when he saw something out of the corner of his eye.

He looked up and spotted a speck in the sky, rapidly getting closer. He couldn't tell what it was from this distance, nor did he intend on finding out until he was safely out of sight. Quickly bringing himself down to the ground, he held his assault rifle ready, knowing that the remaining Covenant soldiers were still somewhere nearby.

He was not wrong. A trio of Kig-yar spotted him, but hadn't managed to loose more than a couple of shots before another well-placed grenade wiped them out. That left just the Elite, who was now dodging between trees and taking pot shots at him. Quinn stumbled back half a step as a blue plasma bolt caught him in the midsection, searing his armour. He fired back in sustained bursts, expertly leading his target as it dashed diagonally and closing the distance. He took down its shields just as the ammo counter on his rifle read zero.

The ODST reached for his DMR again, and two more plasma bolts hit him; one in the shoulder and one in the side. The first round burned through to skin, and he gasped in pain but fought to keep his aim steady and fired five shots at his opponent. The first two were unsteady and missed, but the other three entered the Sangheili's torso, killing the alien instantly.

Quinn checked his armour and saw that it was partially breached by the plasma bolts but was still otherwise perfectly functional. He reloaded both his weapons, wincing every time he moved his injured shoulder. He didn't usually carry a medical kit, but always had a canister of biofoam with him on missions. This time, however, he had nothing of the sort.

''Damn. I need to get some medical supplies. But where am I going to find some?''

His thoughts were interrupted as a Sabre fighter screamed over his position, the sound of its engines fading as it flew off just as quickly. ''A starfighter, in atmosphere? I guess nothing's too weird here.'' He walked off in the opposite direction of the Sabre, his gun gripped tightly with one shoulder tensed.

2
After what seemed like an eternity, Sigurd had escaped the Flood and put enough distance on foot so they couldn't catch up to him. He had left behind the falls and was now approaching what looked like an ancient village.

He couldn't deny that the effort of his escape shook him, Delta Company SPARTAN-III or not. He sorely wished that the rest of Hydra Team were here to watch his back. He couldn't take much more of this on his own.

Then two Medusa missiles landed three feet on either side of him, instantly vaporizing the supersoldier and lighting the ground around him on fire.

Jack grinned in malicious satisfaction as he watched the Spartan disappeared in the twin explosions before he angled his Sabre parallel to the ground again. That one had been making a long panicked sprint and had made himself too easy to detect. I wish that could have been you, Marco.

A screen beeped. He checked it and saw that there was another heat signature nearby, moving away from the village. Turning the Sabre around, the former Spartan readied the starfighter's weapons. This will be far too easy.

Ro'nin cursed when he saw the starfighter turn and start flying towards him. He knew he should have been more careful, but he had just managed to make it out of the Sangheili village and was putting some distance between it and himself in case the civilians were tempted to pursue him. But now it looked like he had bigger problems.

A deadly spray of bullets flashed by him, tearing holes in the tree cover he had just entered. He pressed himself flat against a thick trunk, and he checked himself over to see if there was anything he could use to retaliate. Nothing. All he had was his plasma repeater and his energy sword. Not so much as a grenade to throw at the starfighter. How was he going to—

The mercenary was thrown off his feet as something exploded ten feet away, his energy shields flaring and draining as the force tossed him through the air. This was no good, that ship obviously had sensors to know where he was even though he was in cover. The trees weren't even very close together, so his adversary might even be able to see him. Quickly picking himself up, he ran around the trees, knowing it was futile to give the starfighter pilot the slip but refusing to stand still and wait to be shot.

More bullets sprayed the ground behind him, a few hitting him and rapidly chipping away his shields. This is no good, he thought, more frustrated than scared. Whoever is controlling the ship will shoot me to bits before I even run out of breath.

He felt heat on his back, and was thrown forward again as two missiles impacted on the trees he had just run past, blowing them apart and starting a fire in the cluster of trees. His shields well and fully drained now, Ro'nin struggled to pick himself up and keep moving.

He paused. He couldn't believe what he was hearing, but it sounded like the starfighter had turned around. His suspicious nature getting the better of his relief, he looked around, wondering what had happened.

Then he heard a whistling sound above him. He looked up and saw a single small pod dropping through the air towards him. He just stared at it, wondering if it was some kind of deadly missile. If it was, it was already too late to run.

The pod landed five paces away, digging into the earth with a surprisingly quiet thud. It didn't dig very deep into the ground, or even sprayed dirt around, both of which were odd considering how fast it was falling.

He cautiously approached it. It was solid black and capsule-shaped, and there was a rectangular panel on the side. A single blue light blinked on top. Slowly, he reached out and touched it. Instantly, the panel flew off the pod, nearly whacking him in the stomach.

Inside was a human-made device and a white slip of paper. He took both, reading the paper first. There were two words, written in ink in his native language. "Look up."

Ro'nin complied, and realized that the starfighter was coming back now that the danger had apparently passed. The mercenary examined the device in his other hand more closely, and realized it was a detonator. Checking the inbound ship one more time to make sure it was far enough away, he pressed the single button.

Jack froze when he heard the Antilon mine stowed behind his seat beep. He frantically thumbed the emergency release, and was reaching for the eject button when the explosive detonated, consuming the Sabre in a fireball in the blink of an eye.

Ro'nin slumped back against the nearest tree, watching as the conflagration in the sky settled and bits of the starfighter's scraps rained down around him. He knew he was letting his guard down, but he didn't care very much at the moment. He looked skyward, wondering who had sent him the detonator.

"That was certainly entertaining."

He stiffened at the sound of the voice. A massive Jiralhanae face appeared over him, looking down at him with a grin.

"Kenpachus," he said. "What are you doing here?"

"The same thing you are," his partner said, easily helping him to his feet. "Searching for worthy opponents to kill."

"I guessed you would find this enjoyable," Ro'nin said. He paused. "You just happened to find me now?"

"No, I have been watching for a while. From a safe location, of course."

"And if I had been killed?"

Kenpachus shrugged. "Then your life would have been claimed by someone else, not me. Not that I intend on taking you on until the time comes, of course."

Ro'nin gave a scornful huff as he retrieved his plasma repeater. "Sometimes I really cannot stand you."

3
Matt kicked an Elite's corpse--his shotgun's latest victim--out of the way and nodded to Evie, who darted past him. Her machine gun swept the forest ahead of them, ready to cut down anything hostile that flashed into sight.

"Still no one but these Covies," Matt commented. "Where are the other contestants?"

"We're bound to run into them sooner or later," Evie replied, taking a moment to rest against a tree. "And the longer we take to find them, the less of them we'll have to deal with."

"What about other Spartans? Other humans?" Matt asked. "Shouldn't we be worried about them?"

"Worry about yourself right now," Evie advised. "We can cross that bridge when we come to it."

Matt frowned inside his helmet. He wasn't sure he liked being treated as a subordinate by a younger woman from a later generation of Spartans--a generation he hadn't even heard of. He had no idea where she came from, but there was a question burning a hole in his brain that he needed to get out now.

"Before we go any further," he said, slipping a shell into his shotgun. "I need to know one thing."

Evie looked up. "Yeah?"

"Did we win?" Matt asked. He felt crazy asking it, but this whole situation was crazy. "Was it all worth it?"

Evie studied him for a moment before nodding slowly. "Yeah, we won. Humanity survived. Is that all?"

Matt nodded, sighing with relief. Yes, that was all he needed to know. The details weren't important, but all the friends he'd lost could rest easy now. Their sacrifices hadn't been in vain.

"Good." Evie straightened and prepared to move on. "Is it just me, or is this place getting colder?"

Matt looked around. She was right: his armor's temperature settings were reading a much colder environment than they had been a few minutes ago and there seemed to be frost gathering on the trees around them.

"Great," Evie muttered. "As if this place wasn't crazy enough already."

"Let's keep moving," Matt suggested. "See if we can't get out of this forest."

Together, they moved away, the frozen ground crunching beneath their armored feet.

4
The Grunt's head trembled against the battle rifle's sights as Joshua-G024 dispassionately took aim and slid his finger over the trigger. Adrenaline was pumping through his veins, adrenaline from the dozen other Covenant he had left dead on the rocky beach behind him. This Grunt, idly making its way up towards a thicket of palm trees, was his latest target.

But not, he knew, the last.

Joshua pulled the trigger and the Grunt slumped like a puppet with its strings cut.

Scrambling up the side of the rock he'd been using for cover, Joshua scanned the area with his battle rifle. There was no one in sight save for the dead Covenant. He was alone on the beach, with only the sound of the gently crashing surf for company.

Still perched on the rock, he did a quick scan of the radio channels inside his helmet. Nothing but static, for now, but he would keep checking nonetheless. He wouldn't pass up the chance to link up with some friendly forces, but he would also need to be wary of traps set by the other contestants.

The Spartan-III shook his head as he climbed down from the rock. He could handle taking missions by himself, but this was different. There was no backup waiting for him, no mission objective to pursue here. There was only survival, kill or be killed, and that made Joshua tenser than a regular mission ever could.

He needed someone to watch his back. He needed Amy.

But there was no sign of his teammate, and Joshua couldn't waste any time looking for someone who might not even exist in this strange world. He'd been on the beach for hours and he hadn't seen anyone besides the simple minded Covenant patrols.

He looked up at the palm forest the last Grunt had been heading for. Right now, he had the advantage of having the ocean at his back. As long as the other contestants didn't have access to dropships or fighter craft, he wouldn't be easily attacked from that direction. But the only defensive positions the beach could offer were the rocks, and he couldn't dig in and defend them by himself.

To stay would be risky, but so would moving further inland. Moving would make him easier to ambush, but he would also have the chance to link up with fellow soldiers, possibly even more Spartans.

Josh frowned. He was tempted to simply dig a foxhole in the sand and wait things out, but he still had no idea as to how this world worked. For all he knew, the tide might rise and flood the entire area. If that happened, he'd be completely exposed as he swam for his life.

He straightened, his decision made. He would press on into the palm forest and try to find out more about this strange place. Marking the beach in his HUD's map, he jogged up past the dead Grunt and towards the palm trees, conscious that one false move out there could be his last.

5
The snow-covered ground crunched beneath Demolyn's feet, heavy on his ears in the thick silence. For several hours now, Demolyn had made his way up into the mountains, searching for some sign of civilization, to no avail. It had now been over an hour since he had seen any forms of life, and aside from his own breathing and footfalls, the snowy forests of the mountains were oddly silenced.

Did I die and not realize it? he wondered. ''If this is the afterlife, then it truly is a place for wandering souls. This land, while lush, is emptier than a sepulcher.''

As if in tune to his thoughts, Demolyn suddenly caught a noise on the breeze, a low growl or bark. At first he dismissed it, thinking perhaps his mind was playing tricks on him in this solitude, but when the sound came again, Demolyn gripped his Auxiliary Rifle-I slightly tighter. Moving in the general direction that the increasing sounds were coming from, the Vanguard warrior stayed defensive, being careful to not walk into a potential ambush.

However, as he crawled over a rise, Demolyn found the source of the noises: a small camp of Jiralhanae, resting around a fire and feasting on some something that was roasting over the fire. Despite the possibility that these hunters had simply caught a creature wandering the woods, Demolyn knew that the speared meat was, more likely than not, once a sentient, perhaps a Human or Sangheili. Resisting his urge to upchuck, Demolyn began to withdraw, hoping to leave without the primates noticing.

However, chance was not on the Voren's side. The wind changed suddenly, and with it Demolyn's scent drifted right into the Jiralhanae's nostrils. Alarmed, they turned to face Demolyn, and with a roar, the Brutes grabbed their weapons and charged. Demolyn, for his part, reacted quickly: diving backwards, he opened fire with his rifle, firing semi-auto bursts into the two lead Jiralhanae, penetrating their armor in multiple places. They both crumpled to the ground, one on his knees in pain, the other dead from a head wound.

Lacking the needed time to reload, Demolyn pulled out his Personal Defense System-VI and his Specialist Melee Weapon-II, brandishing both weapons with the skill that came with years of serving in CivSec and the Vanguards. Firing at the remaining half dozen warriors with the VI-model pistol, Demolyn managed to wound a warrior and kill another before the hoard was upon him, hacking and slashing with their tools of war. Fleetingly, Demolyn noticed that the Jiralhanae's weapons seemed very crude, more so than normal for them, but the thought passed quickly in the heat of the battle.

Adrenaline rushed through his veins, Demolyn parried a blow with him VI pistol, then stepped back and swung with his vibro-blade, cutting deep through the brute's mid-riff. Dodging a new assailant's blow, he swung again, stunning the Jiralhanae long enough to shoot him through the skull through the chin. Brandishing his blade, Demolyn whirled through two opponents, literally disarming one and decapitating the other before shooting a third, one of the earlier casualties.

The last three Jiralhanae charged, the one with missing limbs rushing forward in a reckless, headlong death run. Sidestepping at the last moment, Demolyn stabbed this foe through the back, then shot at the other two, hitting one in the shoulder as the other rolled sideways. Holding back to read their attacks, Demolyn noticed the one still standing twitch, and the Voren fired two shots, emptying his clip. Without thinking, Demolyn rushed at the Jiralhanae with his sword drawn, but even as he moved for the kill, he heard the other warrior draw a new weapon.

Demolyn glanced sideways, and attempted to dodge as a pair of throwing knives flew past his body, aimed for where his head had been. However, as he dodged, his first foe slammed an uppercut into Demolyn, sending him flying through the air. Demolyn tried to rise, but he found his whole body badly wounded, with his right arm feeling broken in multiple places. As the two Jiralhanae stalked towards him, Demolyn focused, trying to fight through the pain and raise himself up: succeeding to an extent, Demolyn struggled his way into a sitting position, and watched the approaching Brutes.

The Vanguard warrior tried to think of an escape, but his mind was numb, his vision somewhat blurry. May the Ancestors watch over me, he prayed. Both his weapons lay far out of reach at the edge of camp, leaving Demolyn without anything to defend himself. The light of the fire flickered off the Jiralhanae's blood-stained coats as they approaching, glistening in the dusky light.

A thought struck Demolyn, a crazy idea with no reason behind it besides the wish to survive. Watching his opponents, Demolyn fought to focus his mind so that he might judge their distance and speed. Deciding that he only had one shot, Demolyn forced himself to jumped backward, fighting through the pain that raged through his mind as he dashed for the campfire. Icy fire raged through his veins, but Demolyn ignored it and simply focused on outrunning his pursuers.

Then, just as his foes closed in, Demolyn ducked and cut short, causing them to overshoot him and fall to the far side of the fire. Reaching down into the fire, Demolyn grabbed a log from the fire: thicker than his arm, the Voren rushed forward and smashed the log against one Brute's head. Injured and disoriented, the Jiralhanae flailed, but Demolyn ducked and then struck again, smashing in his foe's skull. As one fell, the other closed in, and Demolyn spun around, kicking the Jiralhanae before repeating the bludgeoning on this second foe. With somewhat greater difficulty, and a slowing speed, Demolyn at last defeated this foe as well.

The body thudded to the ground, his blood oozing out into the snow with that of his comrades. Demolyn released his breath, and then dropped the log before he fell to his knees. Ancestors... protect me... he thought, his vision blurring. The pain and loss of blood from his arm was beginning to effect him, and though he tried to fight through it, Demolyn knew he would soon pass out. And then, with a sideways slump, Demolyn fell unconscious, and silence engulfed the mountains again.

6
Riker gripped his Assault Rifle slightly tighter as he descended cautiously into OUTPOST. He steps were slow, not for any lack of knowledge on where to go, but out of worry that this was some sort of trap. At first, Riker had felt somewhat calmed by the knowledge that he was now in OUTPOST Base, given he knew it's layout; but now, a new thought had struck him that worried him. How was OUTPOST still standing? When last he had been here, the base had been falling apart from the Covenant's orbital bombardment, and even given the years it had been since then, to recreate the entire base seemed odd.

Perhaps more than that, if this was OUTPOST, why did the surface not look like Coral? There were numerous questions now pushing into Riker's brain, but he pushed them aside and kept moving through the facility. He tried to open a COM again, knowing that the facility's command wing was near, and if he could get there, he could -

Riker froze as his motion tracker pinged. One red dot, 15 meters. Two. Five, closing distance. Riker back-pedaled, dove into another tunnel, but the group of hostiles were still approaching. Whatever they were, Riker figured they had found him just like the ones outside, and were following him one way or another now.

Losing time, Riker ducked into a room, and took cover. Now it was time to show what Spartans were made of.

Andrew-306 rolled to the side as more plasma bolts flew past him. He had pretty much no clue where he was, only that he had awoke in a UNSC base, standing on his feet, weapons at the ready, and a Covenant task force closing in on him from 20 meters away. Needless to say, the adrenaline rush had made sure he was ready to move immediately.

Andrew opened fire with his Battle Rifle, blowing through several Grunts heads as he rushed forward, brains spewing everywhere. Punching a Jackal that refused to move while trying to dent his shields with an underpowered Plasma Pistol; the Jackal flew backwards from the blow, bowling through several others as Andrew continued his march towards the oncoming group.

Ripping an energy shield from a dying Jackal's arm, Andrew activated it and threw it towards his opponents, cutting off a Jackal's head before embedding in a Grunt behind him. In that brief moment, Andrew armed a fragmentation grenade, throwing it into the group and blasting open a hole, allowing him to charge through a tumble into another room.

Sepia-G330 dropped another flashbang and finished plugging another canister into her NA4 Flamethrower. Emerging from her cover, she briefly sprayed the hallway before her, hearing the satisfying cries of anguish as her foes were consumed with the fire. Turning and fleeing further down the hall, Sepia was unsurprised when a contingent of Grunts tried to block her path. Pulling out a Combat Knife, she rushed through them, stabbing the first before somersaulting over him and landing kicks on the second and third.

With a flash, Sepia was down the hall, rounding a corner with her Grenade Launcher in hand. A small lance tried to attack from a side corridor as she dash forward, but she expertly launcher a single shell, ending their threat swiftly. The end of the hallway was in sight, and with a quick glance to note whether it was possible or not, Sepia smashed her way through.

Rolling as she fell, Sepia rose to a crouched stance facing her entrance. Noting the distance her pursuers, she unloaded another Grenade Launcher shell into the group, then turned to run.

Only to find herself surrounded by the bulk of the taskforce.

The vehicle hangar was large, and connected to several outside platforms arranged along the cliff-face. Aiming through his sniper rifle's scope, Riker surveyed the situation as the entire Covenant taskforce entered and prepared to search out and destroy the Spartan. Riker was preparing to detonate several of his C4 charges when things became more complicated.

From the side, one of the doors smashed open, revealing another Spartan crouched in the opposite direction of the taskforce. As she spun around, this Spartan and the taskforce became fully aware of each other, and Riker was forced into a split second decision: hide and deal with the Covenant later, or reveal himself by saving the newcomer.

The choice was obvious.

With expert aim honed by years of practice, Riker fired off four shots from his rifle, cracking through numerous skulls and bodies in a matter of seconds. Jumping from his perch in the ceiling support, Riker crashed down and landed on top of two Jackals, using their shields to form a landing pad before pushing off them and slamming into an Elite.

“Switch!” Riker yelled. The Spartan knew what to do. The sniper rifle and flamethrower traveled over several heads and returned to owners who immediately set them to work. Flamethrower in hand, Riker spat torrents upon the Elite, breaking his shield and burning him to death within a few short seconds. Sepia, meanwhile, covered him with the sniper rifle, including some well placed melees.

Making a dash and a signal, Riker charged into the group, blowing through them while returning the flamethrower. Pulling out his pistols, Riker threw one to Sepia while popping through several Grunt and Jackal skulls, while Sepia caught it mid-air, coming down on top of a Grunt and kick-bashing another so that it knocked back the surrounding crowd.

Spraying his Assault Rifle up the front of an Elite before stabbing it through the skull, Riker pushed forward through the thinning crowd, headed for the nearby Warthogs. For a moment, he was forced to pause as even more of a commotion arose from in front of them, but it soon revealed yet another Spartan.

The three Spartans charged together now, working as a unit through unspoken consent and commands. Dancing around foes, attacking in sequence, trading weapons on the fly: the Spartans knew how to work together as if they had all trained together and worked together for years. With the Warthogs near, Sepia dropped a flashbang behind the trio, allowing her to not only toss Andrew her grenade launcher to cover their front, but to use her flamethrower against their pursuers.

A lumbering roar accompanied by clinking turned the Spartans attention to their forward right, where two Hunters neared. Riker signaled for Sepia to move towards the Warthogs, which she did, while he and Andrew diverted to deal with the Hunter pair. Andrew moved in first, attacking with his Assault Rifle as a distraction while Riker somersaulted over the first Hunter and landed behind the second, knocking two Elites heads together and killing them before he unloaded his Magnums into the Hunters rear weak point.

With one falling to the ground, Riker and Andrew circled the second, and as it struck with its shield, they whirled behind it. However, enraged by its partner's death, this Hunter tried to fire its cannon at point blank range: dodging sideways, Andrew barely escaped the shot, which incinerated a half dozen Grunts behind him. However, rolling beneath the Hunter's shield, Andrew sprayed into the small gap on the Hunter's midriff, while Riker attacked the more obvious rear weak point.

The pair of Hunters both downed, the Covenant closed in, sending the duo back to the defensive. However, with the engine roaring, Sepia quickly charged through the Covenant and cut out an escape route: jumping onto the passing vehicle, Riker and Andrew took up their positions in the gunner and passenger seats, the former firing with the chaingun and the latter with Sepia's grenade launcher.

The Warthog barreled down the outer pathways of the base, moving quickly to escape pursuit. Thinking it safe, Sepia momentarily allowed herself to think about the situation. Looking at her compatriots, she stated, “Sepia-G330. You two?”

Riker almost answered, then signaled Sepia to watch the road. Sepia turned around quickly, noting that the corner they were taking ended in a massive gap in the bridge in almost a few dozen feet. Stomping the brake to the floor, the Warthog refused to pull to a stop, sending the group tumbling downward. The vehicle smashed once, twice, and then a third time off the cliff-faces before coming to a final, destructive stop at the bottom of the valley.

Riker picked himself up with some slight difficulty, then helped Sepia to her feet. Riker nodded towards Andrew, then looked to Sepia. “Let's move.”

1
"I'm picking up movement," said Coney.

"Trouble?" asked Koel.

"I wouldn't say that." She tapped a few buttons and moved a camera display to the main screen. "Skirmisher. Looks like it's alone."

She frowned. "It's carrying a lot of weapons for a Skirmisher. It doesn't look like it'll be able to run too fast." The alien was not only holding a Type-52 Focus Rifle in its claw-like hands, but there was also a Type-31 Needle Rifle on its back and a Type-25 Plasma Pistol strapped to its side. It was approaching the facility warily.

Koel grabbed his MA5K off a nearby table. "Right. I'll go deal with that thing."

"Shouldn't we just wait here?"

"It's going to try and find a way inside, and I don't fancy playing hide-and-go-seek with any aliens today. Besides, if that thing is alone, it's a good bet it's one of the 'contestants'."

"You have a point," said Coney, standing up. "I guess I'm coming with you then."

"Nah, you stay here and watch for anything suspicious. And if this is a trap, well...at least one of us will survive it."

Against her better instincts, the officer felt a sense of gratitude towards her companion. Koel was someone she hadn't met before today, and although they were both UNSC, trust was hard-earned in this world of survival. The fact that he was willing to risk his life for her own was touching, and for some reason, gave her the feeling that they had an unexplainable connection...

The Marine walked out of the operations centre, and the doors slid shut behind him.

Cor'R-Vus knew he was taking a risk in getting so close to this facility. There could be enemies, or worse, those who considered him an enemy. There weren't a lot of people who were aware of his defection from the Covenant, or his alliance with the human Lucius Clark and his ragtag group.

Still, he couldn't stay in the open like this. At the moment, he was a little overburdened with the weapons he was carrying, but he decided it was better to hold onto them since he didn't know how much ordnance he would come across in the future. He knew that if he became a target, however, that he wouldn't be able to run at the speeds he was normally capable of.

Cor'R-Vus froze. His sharp eyes caught a flash of something in a crater outside the facility, and it was the colour of armour used by human Spartans. He slowly approached the hole, and saw to his horror the body of his friend Basch-138 laid there, his helmet half-crushed and blood leaking out of rents in his armour. Who has done this to you?

Something moved in the corner of his eye. The Kig-Yar moved fast as a burst of bullets flew past the spot he was a moment ago. ''An ambush. This must be the one who killed Basch.'' Placing both his rifles on the ground, he took his Plasma Pistol in his hand and dashed towards the human, dodging to and fro to avoid his opponent's shots. He returned fire, landing two hits on its chest. The Marine didn't seem to notice, and continued firing.

Cor'R-Vus realized too late that he had been counting on the human to falter from his shots, and he clumsily dodged yet again, avoiding the worst of the gunfire but taking a single bullet in his pectoral. He hissed in pain, resisting the urge to clutch the wound. He continued firing, and was rewarded when he saw his shots burn through the less reinforced armour in the human's side.

But the sight of the Marine's pained expression and the red blood soaking its side gave the Kig-Yar no satisfaction. He had never liked killing humans, especially not when he served the Covenant. Why was everyone an enemy in this world?

The human recovered faster than he anticipated, and now it was dangerously close. It swiftly adjusted something on its weapon, and something discharged from the underside of the gun. Still injured though, its aim was unsteady, and the shot barely missed Cor'R-Vus. He realized that it was some type of attached shotgun, and quickly closed the distance between them, smashing down on the weapon hard just as it fired again.

Half the shells from the second shot went flying into the ground between their feet. But the other half cut deep ugly lines into the human's leg, and this time, it stumbled back with a cry of pain. The Kig-Yar raised his pistol and prepared to finished it when he saw it holding a grenade in its hand. The Marine intended to die and take him with it.

He lashed out with his unarmed hand, sending the explosive flying into the sky. A second later, he felt the human's shoulder slam into his chest, knocking him backwards. He tripped over something—his Focus Rifle—and fell in a heap on top of Basch's body.

Cor'R-Vus heard something ping as it landed next to him, and unfortunately he already knew what it was...

Boom.

Koel limped away from the smouldering corpse of the Kig-Yar and the already mutilated Spartan, wincing as he wiped rivulets of blood off his thigh. It kept flowing.

"Looks like you could have used my help after all."

He turned around and saw Coney behind him. She held out an arm to support him, and helped him hobble back into the facility.

"For a Skirmisher, that one seemed pretty tough," she said as they headed towards the medical room. "And you ain't that old, Marine."

"Hey, I killed it, didn't I," Koel grunted.

"You were lucky. And you'll need more than luck to survive this." She shifted slightly to open the door to the medical room, and placed him on the nearest bed. She rummaged through the medical supplies as he began taking off his damaged armour.

"By the way," Coney said as she started disinfecting the plasma burns in his side. "While you were playing with your Kig-Yar friend, I managed to establish contact with another Marine. She's on her way here right now. Her name is Jess Morley."

He gave a start, or perhaps he just flinched from the disinfectant dabbing on his burned skin. "Jess Morley?"

"I'm guessing you know her."

"Yeah. One of the Marines I used to serve with...in Project ORION."

Coney stopped dabbing his side. "Project ORION."

"Don't tell me you've heard of it? I shouldn't have told you, I guess, but ONI classifieds mean jack shit around here..."

She absently grabbed the electronic tweezers and carefully removed the shotgun pellets embedded in Koel's leg. After almost a minute, she said quietly, "Of course I know about it. I was once part of it."

So why, she thought. ''Have I never heard of you? Or this Jess Morley?''

2
Matt-D761 had spent eight hours on the ice shelf now and still had no idea where he was. But he had weapons and supplies, and he could shoot better than anyone in the immediate area, so it suited him fine. He wasn't happy with his predicament. But it suited him fine.

Maybe I should cover up some of those bodies, he thought, sweeping the area again tirelessly. ''They really stand out in the snow. And so do the blood stains.''

A particularly strong gust of wind blew at him, not shifting the Spartan even an inch, but covering his BR62 Battle Rifle's right side in snow. Without looking down, he carefully wiped it off. ''Then again, the weather's kicking up into a storm. The bodies should be covered pretty soon.''

He wondered vaguely whether the rest of Manticore Team was here. He didn't feel too exposed at the moment; there was an overhanging ice ridge over him that covered him from above as well as to the other three directions. Everything that could get a shot at him from a distance was within his field of vision, and he usually spotted the enemy before it spotted him.

Matt paused. He took aim at a speck that appeared on the horizon. No, more than one. His battle rifle didn't have a scope attached, but his helmet had one integrated that could link up with his weapon. The rifle itself had a maximum range of eight hundred metres, although it became a lot less accurate if he had to shoot that far. He usually preferred letting them move within at least 1 klick before opening fire. There had been a lot of enemies he spotted that he simply allowed to pass.

He zoomed in and spotted two Spartans being attacked by what looked like humans—pirates, mercenaries, and assorted rogues. He checked their distance, and was satisfied to see they were about six hundred metres away. Aiming his Battle Rifle, the Spartan began firing in semi-automatic mode, the most accurate setting. He had to lead since his shots took a split second to reach their targets, but was satisfied to see some of the humans clutching their necks or their arms as if out of nowhere. Careful to aim away from the Spartans, Matt emptied his first magazine and reached for another.

An ominous cracking sound from above caused him to freeze. Looking up, he saw the ice above him start to break and fall towards him. Without wasting a moment, the Spartan grabbed his gear and sprinted for the opening.

There was a whoose followed by a whump, and he felt a shockwave push him back, his feet parting with the ground as he fell into the cave. He caught a glimpse of a Jiralhanae wielding a massive hammer before the ice blocks crashed down over the exit, leaving him trapped in the dark.

Hephaestus growled in frustration as he saw the demon disappear behind the now collapsed cave. He had been so careful to sneak up from behind the ridge and not be detected; he had set the trap perfectly, laying explosives at the top and waiting next to the exit. But his attack had failed to kill the human and instead left it inside a cave-in.

This would not do. He couldn't turn his back on his prey in a game of survival. He had to move aside the rubble and finish it.

I hope you are watching, teenagers, he thought, walking up to the broken chunks of ice. ''Because it's not over yet. This is about to get more entertaining.''

3
"Fancy finding you here, Marine."

Brandon turned around to see a Spartan step into the tavern, armoured and all in yellow metal and holding an MA5B in his hands. All eyes were drawn to him, but none of the Sangheili in the room reacted otherwise.

"Well, what can I say?" Brandon replied. "I've been on my feet for a few hours and I like to kick back now and again." He shifted his hand back to his glass, using the movement to conceal the fact that his other hand was now gripping the silenced M6C at his side, just in case the Spartan wanted a fight. It was also possible for the score of Sangheili lounging around to break out into a brawl. Either way, he wouldn't be caught unawares.

"And you picked a hangout like this?" the Spartan asked, walking up to him and casually placing one arm on the counter. "How are the refreshments?"

"Surprisingly...not that different. I didn't know these squid-heads fancied old-fashioned beer." In fact, he had never known Sangheili to have these kinds of bars at all, and not ones that so closely resembled human ones. Either something's changed with them in whatever time I'm in, or one of those teenagers has a very bad imagination.

"So what's your name, Spartan?" Brandon asked, his eyes still on the newcomer.

The Spartan hesitated for a very brief moment. "Bailey. SPARTAN-132. And for your information, I'm a Lieutenant—"

The Marine snorted. "Spare me the crap, Spartan. I'm not going to play games with you. It's not about ranks here. Just how well you can survive." He moved his gaze to where he guessed Bailey's eyes were behind his visor. "So what will it be? Are we going to fight, or do you want to try working together?"

"You won't last long in a fight against me," the Spartan said, with a clear tone of condescension. "But I have no inclination to kill Marines. Unless you give me a reason to."

''Gung-ho, are we? Just my luck.'' Brandon took a gulp of his beer. "Whatever you say, Lieutenant. Why don't you take a seat and get yourself a drink? I don't feel like going anytime soon."

Bailey was just about to respond when there was the sound of gunfire across the street. Both UNSC servicemen turned around and saw through the tavern's doors that a Sangheili and Jiralhanae were engaging in a fight against a squad of Marines. The pair were being cornered, but they were putting up a good fight. Several of the humans fell to gunfire before the two aliens entered a ruined homestead and held their ground inside.

"Those are some of our boys," Brandon said, downing the remainder of his drink in one go.

"They look like they could use some help," said Bailey, turning for the exit. "Are you coming, or are you just going to sit around in here all night?"

The Marine grabbed his BR55 from where it was propped up against the counter. He took his helmet off the nearby chair and sealed it over his head. "I could use a bit of excitement. I can always come back later if I feel like it."

4
"Well, this is another fine mess you've gotten us into."

Kenpachus chuckled as bullets whizzed through the battered fragments of the Sangheili homestead they were using for cover. "There certainly are a lot of them, aren't there?"

Ro'nin glowered at his partner before ducking out of cover and cutting loose with his plasma repeater. A UNSC marine who had been making a run for the hovel's open doorway dropped instantly, but the kill was met with a renewed hail of gunfire. Like all the mindless drones Ro'nin had encountered, these soldiers weren't the brightest of specimens but they were dangerous in large packs. And somehow, he'd managed to get cornered by these idiots.

He put plasma blasts through the heads of two more humans as they charged the house. There had to be over a dozen of them; it was only a matter of time before they circled the house and caught him and Kenpachus in a crossfire.

"Kenpachus," he growled. "How many of these idiots can you take?"

His partner considered this, running a coarse finger down the length of his sword. "Interesting," the Jiralhanae mused. "If their aim doesn't improve, I'd say... all of them."

Ro'nin believed him. Kenpachus never exaggerated his fighting ability. "Then get out there!" he demanded. "What are you waiting for?"

Kenpachus sighed and stretched his massive arms. "I was just trying to be fair and let you have some fun first," he commented.

And then he was a blur of motion, darting through the door and into the battleground outside. Ro'nin crept around his cover in time to see his partner slash through a whole squad of surprised marines before darting out of sight. The gunfire increased, but it couldn't drown out the yells of those unfortunate enough to find themselves within reach of Kenpachus's blade.

Staying low, Ro'nin moved to the doorframe and took aim. He dropped three more humans as they rushed to take aim at Kenpachus, who was busy slashing his way through a column of advancing soldiers. For once, Ro'nin was not gratified for being right. There were more than a dozen of the humans outside. He could see their forms darting in and out of the battered homesteads, taking a moment to open fire before retreating into cover.

Ro'nin kept up the fire, killing humans every time he let plasma fly, but there was no end to these soldiers. For every one he killed, three more seemed to materialize to take his place.

His plasma repeater coughed, sputtered, and finally ran dry. Cursing, Ro'nin darted out to the nearest dead human and snatched up the dead man's assault rifle. He was practiced in wielding the primitive human weapons, and he cut down the next soldier he saw with a throaty burst.

Further up the dirt road, Kenpachus stood amidst a heap of human corpses. His sword ran red with blood, and while it seemed a few lucky shots had slipped through his armor he didn't seem to have been slowed down at all.

Snarling more curses, Ro'nin sprinted through the crossfire to reach his partner's side. As his shields flared and whined, he fired the assault rifle until it clicked empty. Flinging a pair of scavenged fragmentation grenades into the nearest building, Ro'nin scooped up two pistols from Kenpachus's carnage.

As he stood at his laughing partner's back, Ro'nin spied two new humans emerge from the outskirts of the village. These, to his dismay, were different from the other humans. One was in the black armor of an elite ODST; the other one wore yellow-tinged Spartan armor.

"Kenpachus," he called out. "I hope you haven't had your fill yet, because these two are for you."

5
Tuka 'Refum slid past a row of bushes, one hand on his energy sword's hilt in case he needed to use it quickly. It hadn't been long since he'd caught a glimpse another Sangheili in dark armor headed this way. A careful loop around had revealed the corpses of two humans, a dark-armored soldier and a heavy Spartan. It hadn't taken Tuka long to decide who had killed them.

Now he was moving in what he thought was the direction that warrior had been headed. While Tuka wasn't the least bit confident he would find an ally in someone who could cut through two elite humans, this was the first he'd seen of anyone since he arrived here. Even if this warrior was as dangerous as he seemed Tuka really saw no other option but to trail after him.

Still ready to fight back against an ambush, the young Sangheili moved carefully forwards as the forest around him thinned. A mountain loomed in the distance, and Tuka knew that would be his destination. Even if the Sangheili he had seen wasn't there, he could still use it to get a stock of this mad world he had been taken to.

---

The cave was just large enough to include a small pool of water which, after a careful tasting, turned out to be fresh. Confident that there was only one entrance, Shinsu 'Refum settled down in the center of the cave and fixed his eyes on the opening.

He had discovered the small haven after returning to the mountain he had begun this contest on. His brief descent into the forest had revealed just how unprepared he was for hunting other contestants; his skills with the blade remained as sharp as ever, but it had been a long time since he had fought in this kind of environment. If those he faced were indeed the best fighters the galaxy had to offer, it might be best if he withdrew for now and let them fight it out amongst themselves. It was a strategy he had used on a grander scale in the past, letting the players weaken themselves before moving in for the kill.

The one problem here was that he could only go for so long before a lack of food dulled his senses. He would need to find a food source up on the mountain, and he was certain he wasn't the only one foraging out here. And if someone had tracked him from the forest, he would need to fight even sooner. But he was ready for that.

More than ready.

Seated on the dirty cave floor, Shinsu kept his eyes on the entrance even as he withdrew inside his head to meditate.

6
Dyne-G217 observed the other Spartan from his perch in the palm tree. He didn't recognize him, but identified him as "Joshua-G024". Strange, since he knew the names of every Gamma Company candidate off by heart, and didn't recall a Joshua among his family. Still, a Spartan was a Spartan, and they would make a good team even if they didn't know each other. As he watched Joshua come nearer and nearer to his position, he knew he should show himself soon.

Dyne suddenly became aware of a whistling noise from above him, and looked up to see a jet-black metal pod falling through the air. No, not falling. It was being propelled, and was flying rapidly towards Joshua. "Look out!" he called.

The other Spartan looked up and spotted him, but didn't manage to reply before the pod landed in front of him, digging into the dirt effortlessly and surprisingly, quite gently.

The capsule-like pod burst open, and out fell a large, dark grey cloak. Joshua picked it up, reading the note that came with it. "Live in the shadows; remember your training - my training."

He looked up to see the other Spartan jump down from his tree and walk up to him. "Looks pretty," he said. "What is it?"

"It's a camouflage cloak," Joshua said, stowing it in his armour compartment. "And who would you be?"

"SPARTAN-G217. Call me Dyne."

"You're from Gamma Company?"

"Yeah. I know what you're thinking. No, I don't know you either. But hey, we might as well play nice."

This guy is pretty talkative, Joshua thought as he continued walking into the cluster of palm trees. The cloak he received would have come in handy, had he not just met Dyne. Not that he minded. Two Spartans always were better than one.

"So how'd you receive that pod thing? I can think of a few things I could use."

"I have no idea."

"Where are we going?"

"Don't know that either."

"Well, okay. This whole thing is crazy, isn't it? All of us stuck in this weird place. We're both Gamma Company, but we don't know each other. It's like we came from different universes or something..."

"Stay focused, Spartan," Joshua said. He wanted to treat the situation like a mission, but he didn't particularly care how much Dyne liked to talk. Then again, he wouldn't care if his companion was sniped that very moment. I'd much rather he didn't, but if he did, I can't say I would lose much sleep over it.

"Yeah, sure. I'm focused. It might not look like it, but I'm on the alert. Hey, I notice you have the same gun as me, almost. Your rifle is the heavy barrel variant, but it still uses the same ammunition as mine. How much ammo do you have? I ran into a bit of trouble earlier, so I'm a bit short..."

1
Benjamin Janson stopped again to check on his companion. He wished he had some medical supplies on him, and not just because it would allow them to reach the distant village faster. When you entered the service, everyone who served with you was a brother or sister. A part of you. A lifeline. When he found the ODST in the cluster of trees, the trooper was already injured. He learned that the younger serviceman's name was Eirikur Quinn, but decided to leave the details until they were somewhere safe.

At least the Marine's injury didn't seem to be getting any worse. Of course, being stubborn like every Helljumper, he had insisted on moving without help. Janson was impressed that they were moving without being too slow, but they were about to break from the trees and move across a wide clearing before reaching the village. If there were any enemies lurking around nearby, there would be no way they could make it without being attacked. Still, he wasn't about to desert his injured ally.

Quinn's eyes met his from behind the depolarized visor. "Goddammit, I told you not to slow down. I'm fine." There was no venom in the remark, but his voice was tense with pain.

Janson looked over his damaged body suit. The plasma's cauterizing effect was wearing off on the ODST's wounds, and blood was now leaking from the armour. "We'll take a break before we move across the clearing. Sit against that tree."

"I'm fine," Quinn repeated.

"Take a breather. That's an order, trooper."

The Marine laughed humorlessly. "Is that how it's going to be, Lieutenant? We already agreed not to form a chain of command."

Janson ignored him and helped prop him up against the thick tree. "Normally I'd put you somewhere out of sight, then run for the village for help. But right now I don't like the idea of leaving anyone behind even for a short while."

"Well, I wouldn't mind. I can take care of myself just fine—" The trooper suddenly stiffened and grabbed the closest weapon to hand, his marksman's rifle. Janson turned around and aimed in the same general direction.

"What is it?" he said quietly.

"Something's hiding behind those bushes."

Janson didn't ask if he was sure. He slowly reached for his belt.

"Hey, it could be a friendly," Quinn murmured.

"I know. But this is to be safe." In one swift movement, he grabbed a flashbang grenade off his side, flicked off the pin with his thumb, and hurled it at the bushes. He turned away and covered his eyes.

Janson waited for the muffled explosion before running towards the bushes, knocking into a bulky armoured figure. He realized that the person he had stunned was a Spartan, and aimed his gun away from the supersoldier and helped him to his feet. "Sorry about that, Spartan. Better safe than sorry around here."

The Spartan was shaking his head. "Ow. Should have gotten the armour upgrade to filter out flashbangs, but that's expensive as—" He suddenly looked up and his hand twitched towards his weapon. "Who are you?"

"Lieutenant Benjamin Janson, UNSC Army," he said, warily noting the Spartan's involuntary movement. "You?"

The Spartan hesitated, which the officer also did not miss. "Simon-G294...SPARTAN-III program, Gamma Company."

"Where are you going, Simon?"

"I don't know. Not going anywhere, just trying to stay alive."

"Aren't we all. There's an wounded ODST with me, and we're heading for that village on the other side of the clearing. Feel free to join us."

"I suppose I should," Simon said, walking with him to Quinn. The two of them helped the Helljumper to his feet and they headed away from the cluster of trees.

As they headed towards the village, alert for signs of enemies, Janson scrutinized their new ally. There was something not quite right about this Spartan. He could understand why he hadn't revealed himself to them immediately; he had seen others in this world fighting to the death when they were supposedly allies. But what kind of Spartan's first instinct was to reach for a weapon when speaking to another member of the UNSC? And why would he be concerned about spending money on armour upgrades?

''Our situation's a little too precarious right now to ask questions. But I'll be keeping an eye on this one.''

Simon managed to fight down his nervousness as they headed across the clearing. He had spent so long as an outcast of the UNSC that he had nearly attacked the soldier out of instinct. ''There's no way these guys would know who I am. And I need someone to watch my back. As long as no one from Gamma Company shows up, I should be fine.''

As much as he hated to admit it, he wished Diana was with him. Annoying as she was, she knew how to keep him alive and help him out of tight spots. He knew from watching the others kill each other that he had ended up in the midst of a massive deathmatch. Not something he fancied getting involved in, but it looked like he was here whether he liked it or not. And sooner or later he would have to kill everyone he ran into, including Janson and the ODST.

He had no qualms about being an enemy to them; he had grown accustomed to fighting the UNSC, and it had become a part of him. No, what bothered him was how he was going to do it. Janson had already caught him by surprise once. He didn't want it to happen again.

2
Kyle Olsen ejected a spent magazine from his MA37 while backpedalling down the cave tunnel. The Covenant forces continued to advance while he reached for another magazine, but he forced himself to keep both hands steady. He could reach for the M6G at his side, but eight rounds was not going to be enough to take down these aliens. Besides, he was a fast reloader.

The fresh magazine slid cleanly into the rifle, and he switched the firing mode from burst to semi-automatic. Screw accuracy, they were too close for him to miss. And if he let them close in on him, he was a goner. The soldier fired full-burst into the group of Unggoy, who were eager as always to charge him only to be shot down.

Thirty-two rounds emptied much quicker than he would have liked, and he was still facing lots of enemies in an enclosed space. If he tried to run, he would be shot in the back before he took ten steps.

There! All three of the Elite bastards had finally lost patience and ran into the centre of the formation. Olsen slipped the assault rifle onto his back and reached for a frag grenade. He only had four, but he knew that if he didn't use them now, he would soon be dead.

The magnum was in his other hand, and he fired at the squid-heads to get their attention. Their shields sparkled from the gunshots, but they were unable to move clear of the cluster of Unggoy in the tight space. Perfect. The pin flew off the M9 and landed with a ping in the centre of the group. Olsen turned and ran, hearing an explosion echo behind him a second later, followed by the sound of rock blowing apart.

He turned for a second to see the damage. Thick smoke obscured the tunnel, and a couple of Unggoy had landed nearby in bloody heaps. He couldn't see if he had taken out all three Sangheili, but no one charged after him. The walls and ceiling had collapsed completely from the explosion, so maybe the ones that didn't die were blocked off.

He decided not to stick around to find out. He kept running down the tunnel, hoping he would come out into a more open area like an underground cave. Or better yet, reach the surface. After putting some distance from his possibly-alive enemies, he stopped to reload both weapons before continuing. If there were more hostiles ahead, he didn't intend on running into them unprepared.

3
Vinh knew she couldn't stick around forever, but she wasn't about to give up her advantage until it was no longer an advantage. She had twenty magazines of ammunition for her battle rifle, and she was fine with picking off the masses of Flood that had been dwelling on the other side of the canyon. They were unable to scale the walls from this side, and she was impervious to all but airborne enemies or snipers.

There were only a few of the parasite left, and she had only used six magazines. There were a few infection forms crawling around, but they weren't her biggest concern at the moment.

She aimed at a combat form's chest cavity and fired, killing it with the battle rifle's triple-burst. She switched targets and took down two, then three, then four. The Spartan swept the area below to make sure all the serious threats were eliminated. Now to get down there and destroy the bodies.

"Well done, Spartan," came a low voice behind her. She turned around to see a gold-armoured Sangheili standing ten feet away, a deactivated energy sword hilt in each hand.

Vinh kept her rifle trained on the alien. "Are you an ally or an enemy?"

"Normally I would be your ally," the alien replied. "But I am afraid that here, we are enemies."

"So that's how it's going to be. I could shoot you dead right now."

"I think not. I would strike you down before you got through my energy shields."

The Spartan adjusted her grip on her rifle. "Try me."

"We will fight. But it will be fair." The Sangheili tossed one of his energy swords at her. She caught it.

"I do wish we had met under different circumstances," it said. "But since we are meant to kill each other, let us make it good."

Vinh set down her rifle and activated the energy blade. "I'm game." Time to show this guy why they call me the Swordmaiden.

And she charged.

Jemsal 'Emvadson could tell immediately that this human was highly skilled with a blade, even for a Spartan. Her attacks were aggressive but not reckless, and she moved gracefully on the flat canyon plateau, driving him in whatever direction she pleased.

Still, he was able to block every one of her attacks, even though it was no easy task. He occasionally saw an opportunity to counter, but his attacks were hasty and easily deflected. The duel intensified as their attacks came more rapidly, their energy blades becoming blurs.

The Spartan's sword moved too close and sliced off a chunk of armour from Jemsal's shoulder; he had jumped back just in time to avoid it cutting off his arm. He blocked the second slash, locking blades with the human and twisting his wrist. The disarming movement would have worked, had the Spartan not smashed into him, sending both of them sprawling and the energy swords spinning away. He quickly regained his balance and ran to recover his weapon.

The Spartan appeared at his side, this time tripping him and making a grab for the swords. She took both of them in her hands and stabbed downward; he rolled away and brought his hand down hard on her wrist.

Surprisingly, she maintained her grip on her weapon, and in that single moment, she slashed him across the belly, this time penetrating armour and leaving a deep wound. Jemsal gasped but didn't falter; he grabbed her wrist and this time forced the energy sword out of her grip. He made a stabbing movement at her, but he was impaired by his wound and was easily blocked.

The Spartan's foot came up and kicked the energy sword out of his hand, sending it flying into the air. A split second later, the other twin blades were embedded into his middle and protruded out his back.

The Sangheili fell back on the ground, feeling his strength drain away. There was only a dull pain, for which he was glad. He knew he was finished.

The Spartan pulled the sword out of his body as the second one landed neatly in her palm. She deactivated them and placed them at her sides. "I'll be keeping these, if you don't mind. You won't need them anymore." She retrieved her battle rifle before climbing down the canyon wall and disappeared from his sight.

4
The human soldier jerked and spasmed as Ro'nin emptied the last of an assault rifle's magazine into his chest. The Sangheili mercenary had cast aside the empty weapon and snatched another up out of the dirt before the man had time to hit the ground.

The village around them rang with an endless clattering of gunfire. Humans were coming at Ro'nin and Kenpachus from all sides, firing wildly as they came. The Sangheili homesteads had been eviscerated by stray bullets; a few had been sent caving in by grenade explosions. Ro'nin and Kenpachus were in the middle of it all, making a desperate stand amidst the ruins of what had once been a small hut. The hovel had been blasted completely away in the lethal storm.

Bodies were everywhere. These humans came on with no regard for their own lives or the lives of their comrades. Every rifle Ro'nin scavenged off the fallen humans claimed the lives of half a dozen or more before he needed to look for another. Those few humans that made it through Ro'nin's gunfire met their end at the edge of Kenpachus's flashing blade. A mound of corpses was beginning to form around the Jiralhanae warrior's feet.

Through it all, Ro'nin's eyes flashed desperately to all sides as he hunted for the ODST and yellow-armored Spartan he had glimpsed earlier. They were the real targets, not these drones.

Kenpachus chuckled. The grip of battle was on him completely now, not even leaving him enough pride to care about the inferior caliber of those he was cutting down. Ro'nin could practically feel the unbridled joy radiating from his partner as they stood back to back amidst the storm of gunfire. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Kenpachus bleeding from several wounds, but none of them had slowed him down in the slightest.

There! A flash of darkness in the entrance of a homestead across the dirt road, and Ro'nin was already dropping down. Battle rifle bursts thudded over him as he yanked a human corpse over in front of him and fired the dead soldier's pistol over towards the homestead. He fired blindly until the weapon clicked empty, then threw it away and readied another assault rifle. He needed to end this fight, and quickly.

"Kenpachus!" he yelled. "The building across from us! Let's go!"

All he needed was his partner's roar of reply, and then he was up and darting across the road towards the homestead. His shields flared as bullets began to find their mark, but he didn't hesitate so much as an instant. He could feel Kenpachus at his side, hear his massive footsteps shake the ground beneath…

And then a flash of yellow collided with the swordsman and Kenpachus was falling, a mass of muscle and armor amidst the pummeling of the yellow Spartan. Ro'nin began to turn, but remembered the ODST and whirled back to his target.

It was too late.

A flash of searing, blinding light robbed Ro'nin of his sight, and even as his head cleared he could feel the jolt as his shields failed. He blinked desperately, firing his rifle at what he thought was the target, but then a mass of buckshot blasted him in the arm. The muscle and sinews were torn to pieces, dropping the injured arm down uselessly at his side. Ro'nin whirled to the side, dodging the second shotgun blast and activating the energy gauntlet on his good arm.

Brandon Smith pumped the shotgun and braced for another blast, but Ro'nin came in fast and slashed the weapon in two. The ODST jumped back, unslinging his battle rifle and firing point blank into his enemy's chest.

Ro'nin staggered back as purple blood seeped down the front of his armor. The pain was fading quickly and the corners of the world were slipping away.

He coughed up blood and whirled, sending his limp arm out before him like a club. The battle rifle was knocked from Brandon's hands and in the next instant Ro'nin had him pinned against the wall of the hut, the fingers of his good arm wrapped around his throat in a tight vise. Brandon chocked and gasped behind his helmet, beating desperately on the Sangheili's arm with both hands. A thin film of red slid over his vision. He couldn't see…

---

Behind them, Kenpachus and Bailey-132 dodged in and out. Kenpachus grinned like a demon and slashed the air with his sword. Bailey's assault rifle had been knocked away but his magnum was out, firing and punching holes in the warrior's armor and skin every time he saw an opening. The Spartan leapt over a low swing from the blade, landed, and darted in, priming a grenade as he did so. The explosive clattered against Kenpachus's chest as Bailey leapt back at the last second.

The explosion blasted Kenpachus back, smashing through the wall of a homestead. The roof trembled and collapsed in on him, burying him in beams and tiling. Bailey slid a new magazine into his magnum and strode towards the ruined homestead. He could hear Brandon struggling behind him, but that could wait until after he'd finished off this tough bastard.

Just when he reached the rubble and peered in, Kenpachus erupted out from under the wreckage. Bailey had no time to react; the sword flashed towards him like a bolt of lightning. The next thing he knew, he was on his knees, crying out as he reached for the stub of his left arm. The arm itself lay in the dirt a few feet away amidst the corpses of the dead Marines.

Kenpachus let out a burst of laughter. His armor was cracked and burned, blood oozing from cuts and slashes all over his body. One of his eyes was shut tight, the retina blasted to pieces by shrapnel. He stood there, surrounded by the dozens of corpses, and laughed until it seemed the remaining homesteads were trembling in his wake.

But Bailey was not done yet. Gritting his teeth against the agony, he reached over and seized his magnum with his remaining hand. As Kenpachus turned, blade up at the ready, Bailey staggered to his feet. The warrior came on, a tidal wave of blood and armor, his blade angling to take off the Spartan's head.

Bailey raised the magnum and fired once.

The sword missed his neck by centimeters. Kenpachus slowed, his feet growing heavy for the first time he could remember. He slumped to his knees, weighed down by his grievous wounds, but the smile never left his mangled face.

"Good… fight," he gasped through broken fangs. "Good fight."

The sword fell to the dirt, joined moments later by its master.

---

Ro'nin couldn't keep his fingers closed. The human was still struggling, but he couldn't force his body far enough to kill the tenacious ODST.

Damn, he realized numbly. This is it.

He relaxed his grip, letting Brandon fall gasping and choking to the ground. With a tight breath, Ro'nin went limp and slumped back. As he slid towards the ground, he saw the yellow Spartan standing over Kenpachus.

Funny. He'd always thought he would die before the swordsman.

"You bastard," he whispered, his mandibles parting in a weak smile. "I'll see you in hell."

---

Brandon's neck burned from where the Elite had nearly throttled him. He staggered past the dead alien and retrieved his battle rifle before sitting down heavily, gasping for breath.

He looked up slowly as Bailey approached. The Spartan had used fabric from the uniform of a dead Marine to stop up the bleeding from the stump of his left arm. Brandon couldn't deny the fortitude of the ornery Spartan. If it had been him, he'd have been too paralyzed by pain to do anything but bleed out.

"Don't worry," Bailey said, indicating the magnum on his hip. "I can still shoot."

Brandon looked morosely around the remnants of the village. None of the Marines they had come out to help were left alive. Their bodies littered the street and doorways as far as the eye could see. "We couldn't save them," he muttered grimly.

"But that's two of the competition down," Bailey noted. He was putting up a brave front, but Brandon could see that he was swaying. If he wasn't treated properly soon, he'd go into shock, Spartan or no.

Rubbing his neck, the ODST glanced up at the gray sky. It was starting to rain.

"I need a drink," he murmured.

5
Richard Mack Jr. continued to walk through the broken streets of the abandoned, war-torn city he had stumbled upon, wondering what exactly was going on in this world he had awoken on. He had traversed from one side of the city to the other in an hour's time, and until five minutes ago, he had seen nothing to suggest there was another living thing in the city, or the planet even.

But that changed five minutes prior. That was when Mack had started finding the bodies. At first it was just one corpse, its' right arm missing and a large gash across the chest and stomach. Shortly thereafter, he had found a trio, also mauled in vicious ways, and after that it became something of a trail, a path of dead Human soldiers and explosive craters or large bullet streaks.

Inside himself, a small part of Mack said he should turn around, head a different way and ignore whatever was obliterating entire squads of Marines. But he couldn't pull himself away: for the most part, Mack was hoping to find that he was following a vehicle that he could possibly commandeer; a smaller part, however, was curious as to what could cause such destruction.

Lost in his thoughts, Mack almost walked around a building corner straight into a small company of soldiers.

Back-pedaling, Mack gripped his Assault Rifle and peeked around the corner again. Thankfully, the soldiers had not noticed him, and instead were, for the most part, hiding in dug in positions, their faces turned at an angle away from Mack. Confused, Mack tried to get a view of what they were hiding from, but he could not without revealing himself. Deciding that he could move to a safe position that was in line with the soldier's sight-line, Mack prepared to dive to his new cover.

Then, all Hell broke lose.

Before he moved, the entire company of soldiers were blasted with a barrage of missiles, raining down from the sky in the direction they had been watching. Mack shielded his eyes momentarily from the blast, the explosion quickly obliterating a large portion of the soldiers and throwing the survivors in various directions. Then, with a heavy impact of its own, a massive, terrifying form crashed onto the ground.

Mack wasn't sure what to make of it, exactly, aside from it looking robotic. It was tall, over eight feet, and either covered in or made from a spiky, dark blue metal plating. This figure had apparently fired the rockets, as two packs on its back retracted and folded into a smaller position. Pulling out two blades from its' sides, the robot dashed forward with incredible speed, slashing through several soldiers before they could hit the ground. Slashing through three Marines with its left arm, the robot fired a grappling hook at a pair of fleeing soldiers, reeling them in through the air before crushing them under the figure's feet.

As the remaining soldiers recovered, they opened fire on the behemoth, only for it to project a huge energy shield to block the weapon fire. Several soldiers tried tenaciously to destroy the energy shield, opening fire with rocket launchers, but as the smoke cleared from their blasts, they saw the robot charging them. As the robot began to pick off the front, several broke file and ran, while a few others fired the remaining rockets, and watched as the attacking robot became static-filled and then vanished. The deception revealed, the true robot dropped from a nearby building, annihilating all but two of the soldiers.

Mack was filled with slight fear as he watched, and more so as the last two soldiers ran in his direction, trying to escape. Pulling back around the corner, Mack cringed as the robot smashed past the corner of his building, striking it accidentally and causing it to explode outward as he skewered and crushed the two soldiers.

Mack now tried to steady himself and think of a way to escape. He knew that he could never take the robot head on, but to run would be suicidal in its own right. So, carefully, Mack began to step away slowly, trying to escape inside the building without being noticed.

A slip on a small piece of rubble ensured failure to that plan.

With a snap, the robot looked at Mack, and swung his swords. Silently thankful for his Spartan-1.1 augmentations, Mack managed to dodge the attack and opened fire with his Assault Rifle, which pinged off the armor near harmlessly.

"Hmm... faster than the other fleshies, I see," said the robot, "I might have some fun with you."

The robot swung again, and Mack rolled out of the way, trying to escape and reach the dead soldiers ahead, hoping there might be a rocket launcher or two that he could use to try and battle this monstrous foe. Throwing his Fragmentation Grenades in the hopes of buying time, Mack was seemingly granted a temporary reprieve: however, his foe instead jumped over Mack's head and landed in front of him, grabbing him in a tight arm lock. Mack began stabbing his combat knife at the robot with his free arm, trying to break through the armor somewhere, but to no avail.

"You... bore me. And here I hoped for a greater challenge. I suppose I'll have to look elsewhere for a better specimen." With that, the robot crushed his arms together, crushing through muscle and bone, ripping his body in half. Dropping the remains, he walked on, seeking more 'specimens.'

6
"Josh, I've found something."

At the familiar sound of a UNSC vehicle's engine, Joshua looked up from the wreckage he had been searching. Dyne steered around a pile of wreckage in an M274 Mongoose ATV.

"This thing doesn't have any guns on it, obviously," Dyne said. "But it beats walking."

Although Joshua was vaguely annoyed by how quickly the other Spartan had become so chummy with him, he was glad that his teammate had found them transportation so quickly. After hours on foot, they had made it out of the tropical terrain and found a massive junkyard. It all looked UNSC-made, so they had spent the last ten minutes searching for usable equipment, preferably vehicles.

"Keep it somewhere we can find it again," he said. "We'll see if we can find more equipment."

Dyne looked over his shoulder at the canyons not so far off. "I don't like hanging around here, but if you say so." He shut off the Mongoose's engines and stepped off.

A Flood combat form leaped over a nearby pile of wreckage and knocked him to the ground.

Joshua didn't even blink. He snapped up his battle rifle and fired four bursts at the foe. The first three rounds reached their mark, taking down part of the parasite's shields, but it quickly leaped away, and the rest of the bullets barely missed his teammate.

Dyne was back on his feet. The combat form had taken his rifle, but he still had two M7 submachine guns, and was firing rapidly, chipping away at the enemy's shields where they hit. The Flood form dodged behind another pile of wreckage.

"Sangheili combat form," Joshua said, keeping his weapon ready. "Looks like it was very recently infected."

"This sucks," Dyne replied, closing in alongside him. "The last thing we need in this place is Flood."

"Focus, Spartan," Joshua said sternly. "There could be more of them around."

Both Spartans stiffened at the sound of a plasma grenade's whine. Before either of them could move, there was a blue explosion behind the wreckage, sending twisted pieces of metal flying in all directions. Joshua was knocked back by what looked like half a Pelican's wing; he regained his balance and moved into cover, his shields completely drained.

Dyne was engaging the Flood-Sangheili, who held a plasma repeater in one hand and its stolen battle rifle in the other. Bullets and plasma bolts flew between the two of them, and energy shields flared as they dashed around the junkyard.

Despite his instincts screaming at him to help his teammate, something made him pause. There was something not quite right about this combat form. Its movements weren't as agile or reckless as most of its kind, but they were a little too precise. It fought almost exactly like a Sangheili.

Then it hit him. ''The host was still alive when it was infected. And it still has control over its body.'' Their opponent had a superhuman strength, but also a methodical, working mind. That made it much more dangerous.

Joshua deployed his camouflage cloak and covered himself completely with it. ''Don't get yourself killed now, Dyne. I have a plan.''

Jemsal 'Emvadson ignored the bullets that penetrated his reanimated body and continued advancing. The Spartan had managed to take down his shields, but he felt no pain at the wounds, only a curious, dull sensation that meant nothing to him.

Somewhere in the back of his infected mind, he knew this was different from his previous encounter with the other Spartan. There was none of the reason that he had in the sword duel; now he sought only to kill. He knew vaguely that he had become something animal, horrifying, but the thought was drowned out by the fact that the infection form in his chest cavity had taken away his pain, kept him alive, and given him a newfound strength.

The Spartan ran out of ammo for both its weapons, and in that moment, a guiding force caused Jemsal to leap forward at it, lashing out at his adversary. The human was once again knocked down. The Flood-Sangheili jerked as tentacles sprouted out of his forearms, and he prepared to stab them into the Spartan's chest, and tear it apart from the inside.

Jemsal felt something penetrate his back, right between between his shoulders. He gave a scream that sounded nothing like himself, not of pain, but a sudden terror that stemmed from the infection form and entered his mind. He felt an armoured hand close and withdraw rapidly, tearing something out of his body. He turned around to see the other Spartan pulling a cloak of invisibility off itself. It held the throbbing infection form in its hand.

"No!" he roared, although it came out as something between a shriek and a hiss. He could feel his strength slowly ebbing away, and lunged at the Spartan.

The human squeezed hard, crushing the deflated infection form in its powerful grip. Its other hand came up, and it was holding a short metal knife.

Jemsal felt the cold blade stab hard into his brain, and knew that he would not be able to escape death a second time. He fell to the ground, twitching feebly. His last sane thought was that he wished he didn't have to die as such a monster.

Joshua pulled his combat knife out of the Flood-Sangheili's forehead. He wiped Flood mucus off his other hand before helping his teammate to his feet.

"That camouflage cloak sure comes in handy," Dyne said, retrieving his battle rifle where the combat form had dropped it a few feet away. "Thanks."

Joshua nodded. "Start up the Mongoose. I'll destroy the body." As the other Spartan sprinted for the ATV, he turned the Flood-Sangheili onto its back. He primed a frag grenade and stuck it into the hole he had made between its shoulder blades and quickly moved a short distance away.

The grenade made a muffled boom and instantly blew the corpse apart. He turned away as bits of Flood flesh showered him.

Dyne pulled up next to him in the Mongoose. "Hop on. Where to?"

Joshua climbed onto the back. The small vehicle's seats sank slightly under the weight of two armoured Spartans, but it held. "Get us across the canyons. And watch out for Flood."

They were just short of the junkyard's edge when Dyne spoke again. "Since you changed your mind about looking for more equipment, I'm guessing you're looking for something now."

"Firstly, I'd rather not be here if there's Flood in the area."

"You and me both, Josh."

"And like I said, that Sangheili was very recently infected. That means someone killed it. Someone close by. Whether they were friendly or hostile, we're going after it."

Dyne made one last turn and they cleared the junkyard. "Sounds good to me," he said, pointing the Mongoose at the canyons and slamming his foot down on the pedal.

1
Kathrin Grunwald ran across the slippery rocks, careful not to fall into the rapid currents whipping by next to her. She was approaching a small waterfall, which didn't look too friendly right now, but she knew it was the most ideal place to be at the moment.

Five minutes ago, it had suddenly began raining. No, not raining. It was a massive downpour. Her boots were soaked, and it was only thanks to her M19 Tactical Precipitation Deflection Device that she wasn't drenched. Still, the sooner she got out of this storm the better.

Grunwald knew her predicament, for she had been one of the individuals in that black room where the teenagers had told them they had to kill each other for sport. She wondered if one of them was playing a cruel joke with her. I don't think anyone else was armed with only an umbrella and a combat knife.

She was next to the waterfall now, and whatever parts of her were still dry was sprayed by mist emanating from the contents of the swollen river not far above pouring down. Its tremendous roar was enough to drown out even the heavy rainfall. But she had found what she was hoping to see; a small cave off to the side that led behind the waterfall.

Relieved to be out of the rain and any potential enemies lurking outside, Grunwald walked deeper into the cave, the sound of the waterfall fading away. She had no idea how long she was going to stay in here, but she decided that finding and killing the others was out of the question. She slumped down against the cave wall, wondering what she was going to do now. ''I'm a Navy officer, dammit. I command ships and outthink the enemy. I can't do that alone with no resources.''

Grunwald jumped when a flashlight suddenly turned on to her left. She reached for the knife at her side but stopped when she saw a Spartan pointing a magnum at her. She stared the supersoldier down. Was this Spartan going to disregard their UNSC ties and kill her to survive? If it did, she would stand no chance.

But the Spartan lowered its gun. "Are you alright, ma'am?" The voice was female.

Grunwald relaxed, taking her hand off her blade. "Yeah. I was just getting out of the rain."

"It's not safe for you to be here alone, ma'am. I'll protect you. I'm SPARTAN-G094. Amy."

"Kathrin Grunwald. Nice to meet you." She paused. "You know that we're supposed to kill each other, right?"

"I figured that out after another Spartan opened fire on me," Amy said. "But I have no reason to abandon protocol. And even if I did, I would never harm someone from the UNSC."

"Glad to hear it. Mind passing me your sidearm, Spartan? All I have is a knife and this umbrella."

The Spartan handed her the M6C, then took her sniper rifle off her back. "So what's the plan, ma'am?"

Grunwald noted how Amy still obeyed the chain of command, even though they were trapped in a game of survival. "Once the rain settles, we'll make our way to the top of the waterfall. If we can rally more allies, we might find a way off this planet." Maybe then, things will make sense.

2
"I think we've lost him," said Robson.

"I haven't even seen this guy yet," said Bryce.

"Well, stay alert. He's a tough son of a bitch."

They moved through the forest silently, both with weapons up and fully ready.

About twenty minutes later, Bryce lowered his weapon. "We've combed the forest three times now. This Sangheili is either following us or hiding somewhere."

Robson was just thinking how odd it was for a Spartan to express open impatience when he heard a rumbling. ODST and Spartan turned in unison in time to see the twin fuel rods streaking towards them. They leaped to either side as the green blasts incinerated the trees behind them, but before they knew what was happening a dozen Grunts had burst out of the underbrush, plasma weapons blazing.

Robson took down the nearest with a burst from his rifle. A stream of fire from Bryce killed three more, but there were already six more Grunts to replace them.

Pressing himself flat to the ground, Robson fired again and again. He was relying on all his training and combat experience not to panic and lose focus, but it was like trying to hold a shattered vase together. No matter where he looked, more Covenant troops were streaming towards them. A plasma grenade tumbled into the grass next to him; only a quick roll saved him from being blown apart, and even then the blast lifted him up and hurled him against a nearby tree.

His rifle was no longer in his hands. This is it, he realized, reaching for his sidearm. Bryce was off to the side, backed up against a tree and crushing the nearest Grunt's skull with his rifle butt. At least the Spartan would go down swinging.

Just as a Jackal aimed a needler in Robson's direction, its head jerked and spasmed. The Grunts around it were suddenly collapsing amidst a hail of battle rifle shots soaring in from their flank.

A grenade tumbled through the air and landed in the midst of the confused Covenant. Robson instinctively covered his helmeted face as the blast shredded the alien ranks and sent the survivors scurrying and screeching for cover.

Robson staggered to his feet and plugged off a trio of shots at the fleeing Covenant. The craven aliens didn't get far; the battle rifle bursts didn't let up and Bryce had used the reprieve to reload his own rifle and join in the mopping up. Just as quickly as it had begun, the shooting stopped and the forest slipped back into eerie silence once again.

"Damn," Robson muttered, shaken by yet another close brush with death. "How'd we walk into that one?"

"Hell if I know," Bryce replied. "But at least something good came out of it."

Robson followed the Spartan's eyeless gaze to see another armored Spartan approaching over the dead bodies, battle rifle slung over their shoulder.

"Thanks for the save," Robson said, speaking for both of them. "We owe you one."

"Nice to see something familiar," Bryce added. "I've had enough aliens for one day."

"Felix-116," the new Spartan said by means of introduction. "You're the first friendlies I've run into all day."

"Well, I'd hate to ruin a trend," Bryce noted. "If you don't mind, we're sticking with you."

"Be my guest," Felix replied, tapping a new clip into his battle rifle.

3
Matt-075's shotgun clicked empty, and there were still hordes of enemies closing in on them. He had kept count of his shots and knew he was out of shells, and quickly discarded the weapon. Without missing a beat, he grabbed his grenade launcher off his back and fired into the masses of hostiles.

The explosions threw snow around, caused a few screams, and sprayed the icy ground with crimson. It did little to halt the advance of the pirates and mercenaries that continued to rush them mindlessly.

A few feet away, Evie was hardly faring better. Her machine gun's devastating fire was tearing holes in the enemy lines, but they were hardly discouraged from advancing. "They sure are nice," he called to her. She didn't respond, but merely shot a few more of the rogue humans and regrouped with him.

"Think we should make a run for it?" he asked. She grunted a negative.

One of the mercenaries got a little too close. Matt took one hand off his launcher to grab his pistol and fired a single shot into the hostile's face. "Look, there's no point trying to get through all of them," he insisted. "They're clearly those ambient things. We're just wasting ammo here. And our shields are not going to hold for long." He fired his last grenade and threw the launcher. It hit a pirate hard in the face, dropping the enemy on the spot.

Holding his M6C in one hand, he shot at the nearest enemies, his prosthetic fingers fumbling for the incendiary grenades on his waist. He activated one and threw it at a group of mercenaries who were pouring down a continuous stream of gunfire on them. The explosive lit all three humans on fire, and they rolled on the ground screaming. The fire didn't last long, and was quickly extinguished in the snow.

He was reloading his sidearm when Evie was suddenly at his side. "You're right," she said. "Let's move. We can outrun them on the open ice."

The two Spartans quickly shot down a half dozen mercenaries that were obstructing their way. Matt tossed another incendiary, and she added a couple of frags to the fray to slow their enemies down. They dashed across the ice field with good speed while the few hostiles behind them were trying to keep up, some of them falling over on the slippery ground.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

"Let's just lose these guys and then decide." She pointed at a distant ridge. "We'll head over there, and if they're still on us, we'll pick some of them off and keep going."

"These guys are pretty persistent. They'll probably be after us as long as they know where we are."

She took her M8 SMG off her side and held it out to him. "Take this then. You look like you're running low on ammo."

Matt was reaching for the gun when a sniper round entered the back of his head. His still recharging shields instantly flickered out, and a hole ruptured in his helmet. Blood sprayed from the fatal wound and the Spartan collapsed instantly.

Evie didn't even have time to think; she kept running, now dashing across the ice and randomly changing directions. She was aware that there were still hostiles on her, and knew that she wouldn't be able to last long unless she changed her course of escape.

A second sniper round hit her on the leg, but her shields were fully recharged already. Besides, her armour held better than her companion's had. ''Poor bastard. There's nothing I can do for him.'' More of the deadly bullets were flying around her, some ricocheting off the ice and others penetrating. One of the rounds zipped past her face and flew so deep into the ground that water sprayed from the hole.

Wait a minute...this ground isn't solid ice. Thinking furiously, Evie placed her machine gun on her back and pulled out three frag grenades. She briefly calculated the distance she could cover to the number of seconds it took for them to detonate.

A sniper bullet hit her in the back, reducing her shields to a third. She staggered but stayed on her feet and breaking her concentration for a split second. Screw it. She pulled the pins on each grenade within half a second of each other, slowed down her pace, and threw them ten feet away, careful to keep their trajectories close together.

The grenades landed barely a centimetre away from each other and exploded in quick succession a moment before Evie was within their blast radius. She ignored the shards of ice that pelted her and dashed through the cloud of smoke. She noted with relief that she had blown a medium-sized hole in the ice and without hesitation, jumped into the cold, black water.

4
Autel 'Vadam used the rest of his Type-51 carbine's magazine to take out the last mercenary sniper. He reloaded his weapon and turned his attention to the rest of the enemies on the ice shelf.

They were relatively easy to pick off, being very poorly armoured against plasma-based weapons. His weapon's deadly rounds easily eliminated them one after the other. Although each shot left a green trail in the air, the ambient humans seemed to be momentarily distracted from trying to find the Spartans. He managed to kill a score of them before they began to notice and turned their attention to trying to find him.

Despite the tense situation, the Sangheili warrior allowed himself an ironic smile. His white armour, along with his own pale skin, proved to be a very useful camouflage in this snowy terrain. There were little more than fifteen of the humans left, and when his carbine finally ran out of ammunition, he switched over to his plasma rifle, which also proved to be very effective.

With only four mercenaries still alive, they finally spotted him and opened fire. But they made the mistake of closing in rather than take cover. Small calibre bullets deflected off his shields, and he retaliated by shooting each of them in the face, killing each mercenary with great precision.

A stillness fell over the area, silent save for the sound of Autel's plasma rifle cooling down. He walked away from the bodies, following the trail of the blood-stained ground towards the open ice.

A pity the Spartans hadn't held their ground, he thought. Had they waited a little longer, they would have won the battle. He supposed there was no way for them to know how many enemies they were facing. He had heard the commotion and come to see, and got a brief glimpse of two Spartans running for the ice shelf. Seconds later, there was the sound of sniper fire. Perhaps they were still alive.

As the Sangheili reached the open terrain, he knew immediately that this was not so. The Spartans' footsteps led to a distinctive grey armoured form, lying crumpled in the snow not far away. A small group of pirates were gathered around a hole in the ice not far from the corpse.

Autel fought the instinct to confront them. ''I am guessing the other one has gone down the hole. Whether he escaped or is dead, I can do nothing for him. And as much as I am unaccustomed to the thought, I must put my own survival first. I have only my blade, a few grenades, and a single gun with a limited battery. There is no room for retribution now.'' He carefully edged away from the ice shelf before the humans spotted him, heading in the other direction.

5
Battle rifle clenched in one hand, a grenade held lightly in the other, Maynard-X112 sidled carefully along the mountain path. His visored gaze was fixed on the small cave entrance just a few yards away, the entrance he had seen his Sangheili quarry disappear through less than an hour before.

He had been tracking this dark-armored warrior ever since he had spotted him leaving the site where two humans--one ODST and one Spartan--had been left in bleeding pieces. Moving from a distance, Maynard had trailed after their killer. He was determined to avenge their deaths; he could not let their killer run free even when he himself could have been doing the same thing.

But Maynard wouldn't kill for the entertainment of some omniscient dictators. No, he had a reason for this hunt, a reason to kill his target.

His fingers curled around the grenade. The cave entrance was close now, close enough for him to lob the grenade into. He wouldn't risk getting any closer. This Sangheili had already killed a Spartan and an ODST; Maynard was sure that a simple grenade would not be enough to finish him. But all the explosive needed to do was flush his quarry out onto the narrow mountain path, where Maynard's superior marksmanship would decide the battle.

Maynard braced his battle rifle against the mountainside, bracing himself as he pulled back his grenade arm. He steadied his breathing and thumbed the grenade's primer.

Before the grenade had even tumbled through the darkened opening, Maynard was already at the ready. Crouching low, he brought his rifle to bear and flicked off the safety.

He didn't have long to wait. A shimmer filled the air on the path before him a second before the grenade exploded. The entire side of the mountain rumbled in reply to the blast, throwing off Maynard's aim even as he identified the shimmer as a Sangheili shrouded by active camouflage.

The Sangheili moved fast, faster than Maynard had ever seen one of its kind move before. In the split second it took him to refocus his aim, the shimmer had already cleared half the gap between him. He fired two bursts into the center of mass, only to see the bullets impact on the mountainside behind the smoking cave entrance.

Maynard gritted his teeth. Was the warrior dodging his attacks?

Before he could fire again, the shimmer was on top of him. Unseen hands latched onto the rifle's scope. The Sangheili had refrained from drawing his sword to keep Maynard confused by the camouflage, but the Spartan knew the glowing blade would be brought into play in moments.

He twisted his head, barely dodging a blow aimed at his visor. His shields flared as the Sangheili flashed into view, and he twisted again to avoid a follow up slash from the attacking arm's now-active wrist gauntlet. Through it all, he kept his hands firmly on the rifle.

The Sangheili looked at him through narrowed eyes. Maynard glared back, only to find that his opponent's expression seemed remarkably calm. As if they weren't in a battle at all...

The reverie nearly cost Maynard his life. He wrenched himself away and leapt back just as a red-tinged energy sword flashed through the air he had just occupied. He brought the rifle back up and fired, only to watch in amazement as the Sangheili gracefully flattened himself against the mountain and kept coming, the rounds snapping millimeters past his head.

His rifle was nearly empty. Maynard backpedalled furiously, keenly aware that one misstep would send him plummeting towards the distant forest canopy below. In another moment, the Sangheili would be on top of him again.

Reaching down, Maynard primed two of his thermite grenades and slapped them against the mountainside. For good measure, he dropped a grenade down before his opponent as well. There was nowhere for the Sangheili to avoid the blast. Maynard moved away even further and got ready to finish off whatever was left.

But as the grenades detonated in a flash of fire and shrapnel, the Sangheili leapt forwards and off of the path. Seizing a jutting rock with his left hand, the Sangheili slashed at Maynard's legs with stunning agility as he dangled precariously over the mountainside. Maynard staggered back working his legs to furiously kick the warrior's handhold away.

If it hadn't been for Maynard's augmented eyesight, he would have missed what happened next all together. Releasing the tumbling rock, the warrior tossed his active sword into his left hand and caught hold of another ledge with his now free right hand. Maynard was stunned, but he still opened fire as the warrior scrambled to return to the path.

Without hesitating, the Sangheili angled his blade to deflect the last two bursts in Maynard's magazine. The Spartan dropped the empty weapon and drew his pistol but by then his foe was back on the path and darting towards him with a deadly slash.

The blade passed through the pistol's barrel as if it weren't there. Maynard gasped in pain as the useless pieces fell along with his right thumb and index finger.

Maynard lashed out and batted the next attack aside with his maimed hand. The warrior responded with a swift kick at his leg, knocking Maynard back against the cliff face.

Grabbing at the rocks with his bloody right hand, Maynard drew his combat knife. All the skills he had excelled at over all his years of training and combat flooded into him as he twisted and slashed, kicking and stabbing with enough ferocity to drive the Sangheili back a few paces.

They stood there, Spartan and Sangheili, the yellowed reptilian eyes meeting the implacable visor. Behind it, Maynard blinked hard to shut out the pain. With only his knife and one final grenade left, he was running out of options.

The Sangheili raised his sword, curving it up until it pointed at Maynard's neck. "I owe you some gratitude, Spartan," he said in a low, smooth voice. "Your attack seems to have finally woken me up."

Maynard's hand tightened against the rock face. "Don't patronize me," he growled back. "You've killed your last human."

If he didn't know any better, he'd have sworn the Sangheili looked amused. The energy sword was poised less than a meter from his face.

"A worthy goal," the Sangheili acknowledged with a tilt of his head. "Unfortunately for you, this is the end."

There was something quivering against Maynard's right hand, something besides the pain and blood. His hand--no, it was the cliff. The cliff itself was trembling, and now there was a dull pounding coming from above.

Maynard quickly put two and two together. His grenade blasts must have set off some sort of avalanche!

He allowed himself a small, painful smile. "Yes," he said to the Sangheili. "Yes it is."

The Sangheili's eyes flicked up: he knew what was happening as well. The yellow pupils widened by a fraction and in that instant Maynard lunged forwards, knocking them both off the ledge just as a cascade of enormous boulders pounded down around them.

Maynard didn't know how long they fell. He was aware of his armor's alarms blazing desperately as he was buffeted on all sides. He felt the knife torn from his hands, saw a flash as the dark-armored warrior slashed an incoming rock in two. Then his body struck a slope and he was rolling and tumbling, end over end in an endless slide.

There was a brain-shattering crunch as he struck something hard and rough, breaking his fall and leaving him prone on a bed of shattered boulders.

He had broken some ribs. He knew that much because it hurt to breath. Coughing and wincing in pain, he realized that he could sit upright. His armor had protected him from even greater harm, though his shields were down and didn't look like they'd be coming back up any time soon. His knife lay a few feet away.

Maynard looked over and saw the Sangheili also rising from the rubble. They had tumbled with the avalanche down onto a much wider ledge. And Maynard saw with a jolt that the Sangheili's energy blade had fallen not far from its master's hand.

Their gazes met for the last time, and they knew for certain that this truly was the end. Without another moment of hesitation, both fighters lunged for their respective weapons.

Maynard felt his hands close on the knife, springing upwards for a strike at the alien's unshielded neck...

A flash of light filled his eyes, and the pain vanished forever.

6
The Spartan's head bounced across the avalanche rubble. The body was not far behind.

Shinsu 'Refum deactivated his blade and leaned back, panting. His shields flashed and rose again; aside from some bruises, he had been insanely lucky not to have been injured by the fall.

After another moment of recovery, it occurred to Shinsu that he had just killed his third opponent. This last one had been a taxing fight, but it couldn't be the peak of what he faced out here. He wondered how the other fighters were doing, and how many were left to oppose him.

The sound of feet crunching on the gravel left by the avalanche quickly snapped him back into the present. He turned in time to see a young Sangheili warrior standing a short distance away. And to his surprise he realized that he knew this one.

"Tuka," he said, slowly rising. "Brother."

Tuka 'Refum's eyes were wide as he surveyed the carnage before him. "Brother," he said softly. "I didn't think I would find you out here."

"But you did." Shinsu calmly strapped his energy sword's handle back onto his hip. "And here we are."

Tuka looked at the dead Spartan. "How many have you killed?" he asked.

"Three," Shinsu told him. "And as for you?"

"None. I won't kill for others' amusement."

Shinsu clicked his mandibles. "I wouldn't expect you to. But would you kill to survive? To triumph?"

Tuka shook his head. "Not like this, brother."

"Then I have nothing more to say to you." Shinsu waved him away. "Now stand aside. Don't make me kill you as well."

Tuka's sword burst to life in his hands. "I cannot. It is my duty to stop you here brother, even if I couldn't stop you before."

Shinsu sighed. His body still ached from the fall, and even all that had happened he didn't want to kill his younger brother. It ran counter to everything he had fought for before this.

But this is a different time and a different place. Hesitation here would mean his own death in an instant.

His hand drifted down to his own blade. "If that is what you want, then come!" he barked, a rare surge of anger coursing through his veins. Anger at Tuka, anger at himself, anger at this twisted world...

Tuka charged. His blade howled through the air, but Shinsu simply twisted away. A flurry of blows cut the air around him to ribbons in a blinding pattern, but Shinsu's eyes caught each slash and he slipped through the entire barrage without catching so much as a glancing blow to his shields. Then, an opening flickered in Tuka's pattern and Shinsu struck. Tuka just barely dodged, the prongs of Shinsu's own blade passing his head close enough to tear down his shields.

With a surprised cry, Tuka leapt back and brought his blade into a defensive stance. Shinsu lowered his blade and appraised his younger brother coolly.

"Good enough, I suppose," he said. He had already cut himself off from all emotion. This duel would end only one way, and that was in his brother's death. He had already resigned himself to this fact. "For an amateur."

"Don't mock me!" Tuka struck out in anger, and it was over. Shinsu sidestepped the hasty blow and slashed his sword across his brother's chest. Tuka collapsed in a shower of purple blood, coughing as his lungs slowed and began to fail.

"In other circumstances, I would have let you live," Shinsu said, staring down at his gurgling brother. "But there can be only one victor in this battle."

Beneath him, Tuka was already dead.

Shinsu looked down at the corpse for some time until he realized he was an easy target for any sniper who might see him. Bending down, he peeled Tuka's blade out from his stiff fingers and clipped it to his hip along with his own sword. Then he folded his brother's arms over his bloody chest and turned away.

"Farewell, Tuka."

1
"Hang in there, Spartan."

Brandon gritted his teeth in frustration as he stared down at the twitching form lying on the floor before him. Bailey had tried to stay on his feet, but the bleeding just got worse, and was now struggling to stay awake. The Marine half-dragged him back into the tavern, the only structure still alive after the fight they had barely survived.

Looking away from the supersoldier, who was lying in a small pool of his own blood, he glared at one of the nearby Sangheili in frustration. They had no medical supplies here, not so much as a dirty rag that might possibly save his companion's life. The ambient aliens had watched them momentarily when they first entered, but now returned to their leisurely tasks without showing the slightest bit of concern for the two humans. Even the bartender set himself to sitting back in a corner and pouring himself drinks.

Bailey's MJOLNIR suit lay under a nearby table. Brandon had carefully removed the armour from the near-unconscious Spartan, and resorted to stemming the wound with his own shirt. It wouldn't buy them much time. He's going to bleed out, dammit.

He looked through the tavern's doors to the wrecked houses outside. Was there something, anything among the ruins that could help them? ''I don't have time to rummage through it all. What am I supposed to do?''

Something caught his eye. Two distant black specks were dropping through the sky towards the outskirts of the village. It wasn't that far.

Brandon grabbed his rifle and stood up. He had no idea what those things were, but he wasn't about to stay here watching Bailey bleed to death. He hoped that whatever it was, it would be of help to them.

"Hang in there, Spartan," he said again before running out of the tavern.

Janson looked around at the buildings left and right of the street he was walking down with Quinn and Simon. They had arrived in some sort of nineteenth-century village, looking almost identical to ancient human habitats save for the Sangheili that occupied it. Most of the aliens paid the trio no attention, and the few that did simply glanced at them before walking by without comment.

"What do you think?" he asked.

"I've been to better hangouts," said Quinn. "I've seen places like this before, in old twentieth-century western films."

Simon was staring at the Sangheili that were walking around. "It's weird how they're ignoring us. Last time I was here..."

"You were here before?" Janson asked sharply.

The Spartan gave a start. He tensed slightly, as if afraid he had said too much. "Not here, exactly. But this place does look familiar..."

"Can you think of anywhere we can get medical supplies?"

Simon hesitated. "I know one place, if this really is where I think we are. We're in the outskirts, so it shouldn't be far."

"Then take point. I'll help Quinn, you cover us."

"I'm fine," Quinn began.

"Stow it." The ODST had insisted on walking unassisted once they reached the village, but now he was starting to lag behind again. Janson put one arm over his shoulder and they followed Simon, who was leading them onto an adjacent street, weapon not quite pointed at the ground. Simon was still looking around as they headed down the street.

It didn't take long for them to reach a cul-de-sac of sorts. They stood in front a building that was short but looked rather sturdy. Its front door was open.

"Yes, this is definitely it," Simon said, sounding astounded.

"Definitely what, Spartan?" Janson asked.

"The Visag Keep. It looks empty, but...wait here, I'll go and look for supplies."

He didn't argue; he didn't really feel like going from room to room hefting Quinn, who was hardly a lightweight. He propped the Helljumper against the wall next to the main door as Simon ran into the keep, and sat down next to him to regain his breath.

"Hey, Lieutenant," Quinn said after a minute of silence.

"Yes?"

"Do you feel like there's something off about that Spartan?"

Janson was taken aback. Maybe field servicemen were more perceptive than he first would have thought. "Yes, actually. But right now we need him."

"He sure is taking his time. What if he's laying some sort of trap?"

The officer thought about this for a moment. Would Simon do that?

"Look at it this way. There's only two of us, we're sitting right in the open, and I've been pretty shot up. He says he's been here before. Who knows what kind of friends he has. If he lays an ambush, we won't stand a chance."

"He's still a Spartan," said Janson firmly. "Some of them might be odd, but there's no way they'd turn on other members of the UNSC."

Quinn pointed to the sky. "Then what do you suppose those are?"

He looked up and saw two jet-black pods flying down towards them. Their trajectories weren't aimed straight at them, but it would come very close.

"I think they're supply capsules," he said.

"They look more like missiles to me."

Janson found himself agreeing with him. The pods' top end were flared with what could only be rocket propellers. They could be simply keeping the pods from falling end-for-end through the sky. But he couldn't spot any aircraft that could have dropped the pods, so they could very well be missiles.

"They're aimed too close to the entrance," he said, although his voice rang with apprehension. "If the Spartan fired them at us, they would destroy the keep as well."

"Well, let's get inside just in case." Quinn slowly got to his feet, wincing at the movement. Janson helped him, and they started for the keep's entrance.

There were two simultaneous, muffled cracks behind them. The two humans turned around and were astonished to see the two pods dug into the stone ground behind them, without so much as a wisp of smoke from either of them. A second later, both capsules ejected their hatches, also simultaneously.

"Well that was fast." Janson carefully laid Quinn down again before walking over to the pods. He reached into the first one and took out its contents.

"What is it?" the ODST asked.

Janson examined the objects. "Signal flares. Could come in handy. There's also a note, addressed to you."

"Really? What's it say?"

"Distract, attract, or last-resort way to burn something. Be inventive."

"Well isn't that great. Exactly what I need in my condition."

The officer was reaching into the second pod. "I think you'll like this one better. It was sent to me, but I don't really think it matters." He briefly read the note. "Keep your ass alive. Watch your back."

"Charming," said Simon's voice.

Janson looked up to see the Spartan stepping out of the keep. "No luck?"

"Nothing. The entire place is empty. It's weird..."

"No time to ponder now. Help me with Quinn." He opened the health pack and started selecting medical supplies as Simon helped the ODST remove his armour.

"So I'm guessing you didn't send us these supplies."

"Nope. I heard the noise and decided to see what was going on. Whoever sent these to you, they must like you very much." Simon paused, then added as an afterthought. "I could use some...assets, myself."

They had just finished patching up Quinn when Janson heard footsteps behind them. He turned around to see another Marine running towards them. He stopped just short of where the pods had landed, and his eyes moved from them to the three humans huddled next to the keep's entrance.

He looked down to the open health pack laying by Simon's feet. "You have medical supplies," he said at last. "Bring them and come with me, quick. I'm with a Spartan and he's in critical condition."

Janson saw Simon hesitate, that same anxiety he had shown when they first encountered each other. He took note of it but decided there would be time to think on it later. Packing up the remaining supplies, he sealed the health pack shut and got to his feet. "Lead me to him, Marine."

2
The sun was coming up now over the horizon. Normally, the sunrise brought a sense of tranquility to Fira 'Demal's mind, but not today. In fact, he had been on edge ever since he found himself by the riverside where he now sat. He had spent the time exploring the nearby area and setting up a camouflaged shelter by a nook in the grassy plains where the river ran through.

His companion, Qur'a 'Morhek, appeared much more relaxed. "It is a new day," he said.

Fira snorted. "It certainly does not feel like it. We are still in the same predicament, it just happens to be daytime now instead of night."

'Morhek gave a slight smile. "Aren't you an optimist, friend."

"I was in my younger days. My mind is rarely at ease now when our enemies are close."

He certainly was a strange one, Fira thought. He had found the other Sangheili meditating by the riverside when he was walking the plains. It was as if 'Morhek had never known violence in his life before. Yet he could tell by his silver armour that he was an Ultra and was likely a formidable warrior.

Fira was cautious about making contact with another being at all; he had a few unpleasant encounters with some less-than-friendly humans, and ended up retreating more than he did kill the lot of them. It didn't take too long for him to figure out that he was in a world where survival meant everything. And although he had managed to stay alive very well yesterday, he was very much relieved to be in the company of a fellow Sangheili warrior.

'Morhek didn't reply, so Fira asked, "Do you think we should head out of the plains?"

"I see no reason to."

"We could be tracking our enemies. Find them before they find us."

"What difference is there between the two? Both will result in a fight. And we could be just as easily taken by surprise searching as we will be waiting here."

Fira thought about this for a moment. The older Sangheili did have a point. "But we have no purpose to just wait here," he insisted. "We could look for ways to escape, leave the pointless bloodshed behind."

"We could indeed," agreed 'Morhek. He didn't say anything more.

Fira sighed. "You don't believe there's a way off this planet, do you?"

'Morhek sat down and closed his eyes. "Fira, I have seen many strange things in my life, but nothing as surreal as this land we are stranded on. I know what you are thinking, this seems real enough. But there is too much happening that does not make sense. Yesterday I have observed many things about this land and its inhabitant, and I think I already know what is to become of us."

"So you are giving up?"

"That is one way to look at it. But I prefer to think of it as...making the best of what we have." 'Morhek stared into the depths of the crystal-clear water that gently flowed by them. "Sit down, friend. We can pass the time by exchanging stories. I am sure that someone like you has a lot to tell me about your life."

Normally, Fira would have insisted on moving, on doing anything. But something in his companion's words stirred a contentment in him that had nothing to do with resignation. Slowly, he sat in the grass next to 'Morhek. "We are given the same life, as long as we are Sangheili. We are not as...free as the humans."

"That is true, in a way. But as it is with our current fate, along with everyone here that shares the same fate, it is how you live with what you are given that is important. So tell me, how did you live your life?"

3
Something started beeping on one of the panels. Koel glanced at the screen affixed to his right and checked the readings. "Incoming aircraft detected. UNSC Albatross."

Coney adjusted the communications panels. "Could be your friend. Still, I think it's safer to wait until we're sure before—"

"Lieutenant Coney, this is Master Sergeant Morley. I've sighted the facility and I am on approach, do you copy?"

"Affirmative, Sergeant," Coney said. "We'll be outside as soon as you touch down. By the way, there's someone here who says he knows you."

Koel moved over to communications. "Hello, Sergeant. I didn't expect to find you in a place like this. It's Roy Koel, if you still remember me."

"Koel? It's been a while, I have to say. We have a bit of catching up to do."

"That we do. We'll talk later though, I'll meet you topside with the Lieutenant."

"Gotcha. I'm coming in for landing now."

When Coney terminated the connection, she said, "I guess we won't be coming back soon. Is there anything you want to bring with you?"

"Some food and supplies, maybe—"

"Don't worry about it, I've already packed up all that. We'll pick it up on our way out."

"Shouldn't we shut everything down?" he asked as they grabbed their weapons and started walking down the hall.

"I don't think I know how. Besides, if someone else comes along, they might need it."

They could hear the sound of the Albatross' engines as they exited through the side door. A female Marine was standing next to the open passenger bay, assault rifle in one hand.

Coney climbed into the cargo bay. "Thanks for the pick-up, Marine."

"My pleasure, ma'am." Jess stared at Koel as he entered the Albatross as well. "Must have been longer than I thought then, Roy."

"What can I say? War is long and hard. But you don't look that much older than when I last saw you, Jess."

"I guess I was one of the lucky ones then. Strap in, guys. There's a space station I spotted earlier, and that's exactly where we're going" The hatches closed, and Coney followed her into the cockpit. Koel buckled up in the nearest seat, staring after Jess.

It had been a long time since he saw her. She went MIA in 2496, a lifetime ago. That's probably why she hasn't aged that much.

Then another thought entered his mind. ''What kind of place is this, where the living and the dead exist in the same world? What happens when we die here?''

4
Sepia turned back to look down the valley side she was scaling with the two other Spartans. The scenery was beautiful, no doubt about that. From what little she had seen of the planet, it would have made a great colony had it been inhabited for that purpose. Instead, all it became was another war-zone, possibly degraded into a much less appealing place in the years to come.

"Anyone following us?" Andrew asked. She shook her head.

Riker lowered his sniper rifle. "No one up ahead either. It's most likely safe to get out of this valley now, but stay alert all the same."

The Spartans started straight up the steep slope without another word. Sepia continued to look behind them for signs of movement, glancing at the now-distant OUTPOST Base in case the Covenant were following. If the aliens had access to aircraft, then they would be in trouble.

"That doesn't look good," said Andrew. The others turned to see where he was looking, and saw two rows of Covenant drop pods bearing down on them. There were hundreds of them, and they were eerily aligned perfectly and each pod was exactly the same distance from each other.

"Now that's weird," said Sepia, instinctively reaching for her weapon.

"They're going to land on either side of the valley," said Riker. "We have to make a run for the top."

"We won't make it before they touch down," said Andrew. "Should we head to the bottom?"

"We'd be picked off in seconds. Our best bet is to break through their formation before the full force of their numbers come down on us. Run, now!"

There was no time for further discussion. The Spartans sprinted up the valley, ignoring the pods that were speeding down towards them.

They actually managed to get past the line of pods before they landed. Andrew reached the top first. "Not good. It's all open terrain. Even if we start running now, we'll get shot in the back."

Riker assessed the situation in less than a second. "Take positions as close to the pods as you can when they land. Use them as cover. Close quarters combat only. We'll be shielded from the enemies on the far side of the valley for the time being."

Sepia looked down at the Flamethrower in her hands and shrugged. Andrew tossed her his battle rifle. "I'll want it back when we're done."

The pods landed simultaneously, even with the other line of pods. The three Spartans braced themselves next to the hatches, weapons ready.

Then the pods burst open, unleashing masses of Covenant into the valley.

<font color=#AD4200>5
Aksel and Isaac drudged slowly through the mountains, working their way towards the peaks in hopes of gaining a better view of the area surrounding them, as well as to gain a high-ground advantage. It had been a long trek, but the two Spartans were well up to the task, and despite sounds of conflict in the distance, the duo had yet to encounter any foes. However, as they climbed over a large ridge and into a high plateau of sorts, the sound of explosions grew loud and near.

Proceeding to cover with caution, Aksel nodded to Isaac, who pulled out his SSR-99 and scanned the area ahead of them. "What do you see?" asked Aksel.

"Nothing yet..." replied Isaac. "Sighted. A group of Jiralhanae hostiles engaging one target on the far end of the plateau. The Brutes are losing."

"What is their opponent? Human? Elite? Brute?"

"Unknown."

Aksel paused at this. This was a strange place, no doubt, but he had thought that at the least he would know what he was facing. It appeared he was sadly mistaken.

"Three hostiles remaining," stated Isaac, breaking Aksel's reverie.

"So quickly?"

Isaac nodded. "Two. Should we engage him? One target remaining."

Aksel weighed the options quickly. "No. We would be best to remain undetected at all costs."

Isaac watched through his scoped as the unknown hostile stabbed his blade through a Jiralhanae's chest and pinned it to the ground, then walked up to it, taunted it, and then ripped it's head from its' shoulders. "Zero targets remaining."

"Let's move"

At this moment, tragedy struck. With loud rumble, a pod thundered through the atmosphere like an SOIEV. The Spartans looked up at this incoming object, as did the nearby hostile, Vevictus Syrico. The pod hurtled downward, and the Spartans were quick to realize it was headed directly towards them. Diving out of the way, the pod landed with a dull thud, leaving the Spartans and Vevictus staring at it.

Vevictus, however, had caught sight of movement, and quickly began stalking directly towards them. Isaac noticed this, and waited a moment, hoping that Vevictus would change course, but when instead he increased speed, Isaac opened fire. Vevictus, however, was quick, and dove between the available tree cover, using the plant life and his enhanced speed to confound Isaac's ability to hit him.

"Aksel, see what was in that thing. Maybe there's something that will help us"

Aksel nodded, and dove to the pod. Grab at the blinking blue activation panel, the pod opened, revealing an extendable pole and a tightly folded flag within, the SPARTAN insignia emblazoned on it. "What the Hell?!" asked Aksel. Reaching for the only other item within the pod, a small piece of paper, he read what was written on it: "Climb high, and unite your people. Don't lose yourselves lads."

Before Aksel could think of what to make of any of this, Vevictus vaulted from his position and into the Spartans small group of boulders, stabbing at Isaac with his blade. Isaac dodged and pushed the blade back, while Aksel raised his Battle Rifle and opened fire on Vevictus, whose shields flared momentarily. Quickly, the Voren back-peddled, escaping Aksel's fire while simultaneously charging the Spartan; Aksel pulled out his tomahawk and threw it, the Voren barely dodging in his forward leap as the weapon whizzed directly past where his head was a split second before.

Reacting to this sudden failure, Aksel spun and reached for the flag pole as Isaac opened fire with his silenced SMGs: as bullets sprayed at Vevictus, Aksel spun in a swift, fluid movement, extending the pole as the flag unfolded in the rush of the air, and slammed the steel pole into the side of Vevictus' head. With a crack, the Voren flew sideways, where he skidded across the ground several feet before beginning to rise back to his feet: however, Aksel, pulling out his Grenade Launcher, fired its round and landed a direct hit.

As the smoke cleared, Aksel and Isaac both lowered their weapons as they viewed a small, charred crater, small pieces of armor scattered around it. Yet, this was their fatal mistake: from the side, Isaac was blind-sided as Vevictus slammed into him, his armor cracked and his body bloody, cybernetic wires flailing from his spasming right arm. With a feral snarl, Vevictus stabbed a piece of shrapnel through the Spartan's visor, dropping the body as blood spurted out of the large crack. Aksel roared his fury back and opened fire on the Voren, but Vevictus surprised him by throwing Aksel's own tomahawk back at him, pinning his hand to the pod. Stalking forward, Vevictus pulled out his two pistols and opened fire, empty both clips into Aksel's arms and legs until he had fully closed the distance.

Aksel hung there, pinned by one arm to the pod, his legs and arms rendered useless from a dozen bullet wounds each, his shields completely gone. On his HUD, every warning light MJOLNIR used was lit bright red, while crimson blood oozed across his vision from head wounds. His world was fading quickly, and all he could think about was how he had been careless enough to get himself and Isaac killed.

Vevictus chortled to himself as he reached down and pulled the Spartan's cracked visor up so that he was staring the Spartan in the eyes. Reaching down, Vevictus pulled the half broken flag pole off the ground, the flag hanging off it, partially ripped; eying the pole a moment, Vevictus raised it, and with all his strength he swiftly stabbed it into Aksel's chest plate. Lights flashed all across Aksel's sight, but though the dent was significant, but it did not break.

Again, Vevictus struck him, and again the plate held, but now Aksel's resolve began to grow. He would not go down as some sort of stuck pig...

Strike

Some sort of toy for this sadistic monster...

Strike

He was a Spartan...

Strike

And Spartans...

Strike

Never...

Strike

Die...

STRIKE

"Aaaaaaaaargghhhhh!!" Aksel roared as, in one motion, he pulled the tomahawk from his forearm and jammed it deep into Vevictus' stomach, spewing blood and machinery fluid. However, though he grunted momentarily in pain, Vevictus grabbed Aksel's head in his left hand. Holding tightly to his foe, Vevictus stabbed one last time, forcing the pole to break straight through the MJOLNIR and out the back of Aksel's chest, before ripping it back out the front. The entire world fading quickly into the black, Aksel's last feelings and sights were of Vevictus pulling him into the air.

The Voren growled. "None strike me," he snarled, and with a final force, he snapped Aksel's neck. Tossing the body to the side, Vevictus stalked off as he clutched his wound, feeling the Necros machinery slowly start the long process of healing his wounds. It would take time, and the Spartans had been no easy foes, but he would survive. He had to. He needed to.

In the small rocky enclave, the two Spartans bodies lay side by side, both crumpled and fallen. The wind started to pick up as storm clouds blew in, and as it blew, the flag detached from its pole nearby, and fluttering, landed atop the two Spartans' bodies as the first drops fell from the heavens.