About This Site
Daily Musings
News
News Archive
Site Resources
Concept Art
Halo Bulletins
Interviews
Movies
Music
Miscellaneous
Mailbag
HBO PAL
Game Fun
The Halo Story
Tips and Tricks
Fan Creations
Wallpaper
Misc. Art
Fan Fiction
Comics
Logos
Banners
Press Coverage
Halo Reviews
Halo 2 Previews
Press Scans
Community
HBO Forum

Clan HBO Forum
ARG Forum
Links
Admin
Submissions
Uploads
Contact

Chapter 1 – Quarantine Zone

Ma'rark clutched his Carbine Rifle tightly; he lined the rifle's reticule on his HUD over the abominations chest, squeezed the trigger and fired one shot. A green plasma bolt soared and burnt its way right through the abominations heart.
It stood still on the spot for a few seconds, then fell.
'Very good Ma'rark, conserve your plasma! ' Shouted a nearby Sangheili.
Ma'rark turned to face his fellow Elite and nodded in appreciation.
Ma'rark, one of the most highly skilled Elites in the fleet, was born into the line of fire. For as long as he could remember, he had served the Covenant with loyalty and compassion. He had never failed a mission given to him by his superiors or the Prophets, and he never planned to.
He had been taken from his family and home at a young age, recruited to fight against the Human race and eliminate them with extraordinary ease.
He's training had been hard and brutal, every failure punished severely and every achievement had been rewarded with an even harder task.
He had fought and won countless battles against the Humans, both in space and on land, every victory granting him more and more respect from the Prophets themselves.
He donned his jet black armour with utmost dignity.

Now it seemed, was different.
Halo, its majesty was beyond imagination. To view its beauty was a great honour, one he was not sure if even he was allowed.
This new enemy… they had consumed whole battalions; they had taken the greater part of the library.
They were the flood.
Ma'rark and his team had been stationed in the Quarantine Zone to make sure that no parasite managed to break free to the rest of the Ring.
A good half of his squad had been consumed by the parasite already and rumour had it that hundreds of troops had failed in securing the Sacred Icon.
'Holy Flare!' one of the lower grunts shouted as he lobbed a plasma grenade over Ma'rark, sticking a Combat Form on the shoulder. The resulting blast sending pieces of the abomination spiralling in different directions, littering the battle ground in its charred limbs.
A dark tunnel before them issued out a constant stream of Combat and Carrier Forms out to meet the never ending hail of plasma from Ma'rark and his warriors, though now; they were dangerously low on ammunition.
Ma'rark stood at the forefront of his squad, firing with his Carbine rifle at the Flood, to his left stood his greatest friend Ziralhende, to his right stood one of his most courageous and savage fighters Pra'rafamee. Covering their backs were some of the most highly trained Sangheili and Unggoy warriors known to the Prophet of Regret's fleet.
Swarms of Flood were now pouring out of the tunnel, forcing the squad to fall back to a defensive position, and also to lose their terrain advantage.
The cry of the Flood filled the night; it was even heard over the shouts of the Covenant and the gun fire from the plasma rifles.
The Flood had managed to push the squad now at least 20 feet from their original position, any more and they would be cornered against the canyon wall.
'Hold them!!!' Ma'rark shouted over the immense noise of the battle, 'Do not give into fear! Fight!'
With these words, it seemed that his warrior's morale had been boosted and they fought with renewed vigour. Ma'rark unsheathed his majestic blade and lunged at the nearest Flood Combat Form, slicing it into small pieces. He roared his battle cry and dived, sword first, into the swarm of Flood.
Ziralhende and Pra'rafamee followed suit, taking out their energy swords and striking down the Flood where they stood.
Ziralhende had to squint to make out Ma'rark's body amidst the powder and failing limbs of Combat forms. It was a sight to behold, Ma'rark in full fledged battle.
His lean body tore through the gaps in the Floods lines, ripping through their weak bodies with ease. His blade glowed beautifully, easily seen by the Covenant soldiers through the fog which the Flood had brought.
After tearing through countless bodies, Ma'rark leapt into the air and landed atop a pile of Flood Combat Forms he had killed. He grabbed his two Plasma Rifles from his back and rained hell on the remaining Flood, leaving nothing but steaming corpses behind.
Ma'rark surveyed what was left of the parasite.
There was no threat left; the worst of the Flood was over, at least in this Zone. Battles raging over the mountains could still be heard, this fight was no where near finished.
Ziralhende snorted in disgust at the horrific state of the Flood bodies. 'Ugly, aren't they?' Ziralhende let out in a humorous tone.
Pra'rafamee dug his sword deep into the chest of a fallen Human Flood form, 'Vile creatures.' He turned to face Ma'rark who still stood upon the pile of fallen Flood. 'Ma'rark, we should move out, finish the rest of them.'
Ma'rark looked at the sky, lost in thought.
'Ma'rark?' Ziralhende asked.
'We have our orders, we are not to move position until command sees fit.' Ma'rark said out loud for the whole group to hear.
With that he jumped from the pile and began back to their crashed Phantom, to scavenge for more ammunition for his Carbine Rifle.
'What of the Arbiter?' one of the Grunts asked as Ma'rark walked by.
'He is a full fledged warrior, capable of many daring tasks,' Ma'rark muttered, 'he is far greater upon the field of combat then any of you who stand here.'
Ziralhende caught up to Ma'rark as he made his way up to the burning wreckage of their Phantom.
Their original mission was to aid the Arbiter in extracting the Sacred Icon, but owing that they had been ambushed by an army of Sentinels and Sentinel Majors, their Phantom had crash landed and their new mission was to secure the perimeter of the Quarantine Zone, of which of course, they had completed.
'You haven't spoken much since the incident, is everything ok?' Ziralhende asked in a somewhat curious voice.
'I am fine. Do not be concerned about me, I am able as I ever have be', apart from being able, it was a lie. He had never felt so worse since he had been forced to leave his family to join the army. 'I have never felt more alive then on the field of battle.'
'Good, we wouldn't like to see our Captain lose his head amidst the battle against the Flood.' Ziralhende had bought the lie. 'But if there is anything you would like to talk about you know – '
But suddenly Ziralhende had been cut off by the sound of nearby Flood cries.
Ma'rark readied his Carbine Rifle, he refused to let any of his warriors fall victim to the Flood.
'Pra'rafamee, call for reinforcements!' Ma'rark yelled to the great warrior.
He turned to face the oncoming horde and opened the comm. Channel in his helmet and roared, 'Warriors, prepare for battle!'
Battle cries rose up from his troops and echoed through the canyon, but were soon drowned out by more Flood cries.
Suddenly thousands of Flood Infection forms began to make their way into the canyon through the tunnel and over the mountains.
Ma'rark knew that they would surely die if they stood their ground for this battle. He once again opened his comm. Channel and roared, 'EXTRACTION, NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!'
He turned to his squad, they were outnumbered 1000 to 1.
'Give them the wrath of the Covenant!!!'


Chapter 2 – The Party Poopers

James jabbed his last clip of ammo into his Standard Issue Battle Rifle. With a satisfying click he switched the guns safety to OFF and shouldered it.
He wasn't particularly pleased with his rifle; back at Alpha Base he hadn't the time to modify it to meet his rather "picky" needs.
The Pelican's engines groaned and strained to stay alive as another plasma bolt seared across what was left of their armour plating.
'We're coming in hot!' Rankins announced. Without warning, the temperature inside the Pelican began to rise to unbearable heat.
'Grab on to something! This might be a little "nasty".' James considered Rankins' use of the term "nasty", she only used it when things did get a little, well, "nasty", then the Pelican shuddered and he moved to grab onto the railing above his head.
'This might get interesting…' the marine in the pod next to James' pod muttered.
James didn't want to risk giving the "ha ha" signal, he was having enough trouble keeping up right.
'Damn Covenant… Hold tight… Coming over target area now…'
Finally James could get his feet back on good ol' fashioned dirt. Sitting in a small defenseless pod or even on a spaceship up in space made him feel a little… vulnerable.
On the ground, he felt free as anything and could give the Covie bastards a piece of his mind.
Suddenly, James felt the Pelican lurch as another plasma shot hit true.
'Damn… they hit something special! Losing altitude!'
James opened the comm. Channel to his team. 'Hang on!'
Short bursts of static erupted in his helmets headset as his team gave him the acknowledge.
'Only got on shot at this… hang on… damn-'
Only static was heard from Rankins' end.
Above James somewhere, metal creaked and his pod freefell into the land below.
'Yoo hoo!'
Sweat trickled down James face, this was what he loved, this was why he was a Helljumper. The pod began to boil. James panted as he felt himself melting.
Suddenly his pod lurched and he felt a massive force pull him upwards as his pod released the parachute.
James checked his vitals on the screen before him, his heart missed a beat every here and there, he was good, a little fault every here and there, he was no Spartan. He was an ODST. Damn pride of the navy. Hell yeah!
With a tremendous thump, the pod hit the dirt, James pulled himself back together, lifted his leg and kicked the pods hatch open.
He raised his rifle and skimmed over the area around him, tracing for hostiles.
Nothing.
James stole a second to take in the view around him. It was a snowy plane, freezing conditions. Miles ahead of him sat an enormous super structure. Its fluorescent light glowed brilliantly through the dark of the night. James held out his hand palm up, and watched as a snow flake drifted onto his palm and melted into nothing.
Both projectile and plasma fire rang through the night.
Most likely the Flood were spreading and the Covie cunts were trying their piss poor hardest to and contain the freaks.
This universe was all fucked up.
James led a secret branch of the UNSC ODST forces, they were hand picked from the best of the best of the Helljumpers, they were HOSTILE.
James had no clue what it stood for, but hell, was it a great name or what?!
A green plasma bolt screamed past James head and sprang the ODST back into action. He spun around and strafed quickly to the left, set his Rifle over the gas sucker and let the bullets do the talking.
The Grunt dropped to the ground, choking on his own blood and holding his throat where the trio of bullets had cut through him.
James held his crouched stance, Grunts never worked alone, the cowardly midgets…
Two Grunts poked their heads and plasma pistols out from the cover of a nearby boulder and opened up on James, with their poor accuracy, James fired a short burst of fire from his Rifle and smirked as the Grunts' ugly faces were torn from their short, squat necks.
6 ODST's clambered down from their elevated position in a nearby rocky hill.
'Ah,' one of the laughed, 'There's the rest of their party!'
James felt a grin spread on his face, he also noticed that the ODST had light blue blood smeared across his left boot. His men were sadistic pricks, and he was damn proud to have them as his team.
'Where's the rest of the team?' James asked the nearest Helljumper.
The Helljumper pointed his thumb over his shoulder, towards a distant canyon, 'Getting a weak signal over those hills.
'And Rankins?'
The ODST which had scrounged the fallen Grunts' weapons keyed over the comm. 'She crash landed close to that structure out there.'
James turned to face the super structure. There was something about it, something about it that was wrong… very wrong…
What the hell was he thinking? ODSTs don't think! They shoot first, think later.
'This is what's happening. Simpson, your our rear guard, Tera, Scott, your leading the way. Lander, your in the centre of the pack with your jackhammers.'
The Helljumper, Lander nodded in agreement to this plan. He was fond of things that went boom.
'Pez, you'll watch our 3, and I'll watch our 9.'
The Helljumpers shot into their positions, they loved their jobs and they couldn't wait to start saving the human race.
'Keep an eye peeled, freak or split lip, don't hesitate on that trigger.'
Pez opened the comm. 'Never do sir.'
'Hoo ha marine, hoo ha.'

Rankins sat up, grabbed her sidearm and pulled it up and out of its holster.
She could taste her own blood in her mouth and felt a trickle of blood run down her face.
She stared in horror at what she saw before her, her Pelicans controls were offline!
Sparks shot out from the controls and many displays were cracked and reading errors.
'Oh hell.'
Rankins got up, lost her balance, leaned against the side of the cockpit and slouched down to the floor.
Her co-pilot, Ryan lay there, eyes staring blankly at the wall.
Rankins moved her hand over Ryan's face and closed her eyes. She grabbed Ryan's dogtag and yanked it free.
'Someone's gonna get hell for this, don't you worry.' That was the best eulogy she could think of during the current circumstances.
Rankins gathered her bearings and slowly walked out from the Pelican. Still feeling dazed, and feeling something bad, Rankins leaned against the outer hull of the Pelican.
She took a long and slow breath, held it for a second, then exhaled.
She moved to the nose of her bird, and felt devastated. Her entire nose was crumpled and crushed from the crash landing.
The Pelicans nose was covered in orange blood, saturated was more the word… Rankins smirked at her own brilliance; softening the landing by cushioning her bird on a pair of Hunters.
Where the hell was she? The sudden thought exploded into her mind. Where the hell was she?!
An enormous building, stretching a mile high and a mile long stood before her. Rusted bronze armour gleamed through the snow flakes which filled the air.
Only one word could describe what Rankins thought right now, probably the best word she could find.
'Whoa'
A sudden shrill cry emitted from the inside of the structure. The Flood.
Rankins jumped on top of her bird and grabbed her SMG. In her right, her Magnum was held tight, in her left, her SMG was raised, ready for the party.
"Hell", Rankins thought, "I'm no fighter, I belong in the sky"
Another shrill cry, then another, then another, then, guess what? Another!
'Shit' Rankins unwillingly took a couple steps back.
Suddenly, from out of nowhere, hundreds of them, then thousands, then hundreds of thousands, then more. Rankins wasn't any mathematician either.
Without hesitation, she fired. She gave them the hell she promised for Ryan.
They circled her, flanking her, the sonsovabitches.
They were all around her. Everywhere.
'Nasty'
A sudden pain stabbed at her in the back. "Damn" she thought "my damn 6!"
The pain increased and all Rankins had time for was to scream in pain.
Then silence.
Dead silence.




Chapter 3 – The Counter Strike

Ma'rark roared in agony as he felt the sting of projectile fire tear through what was left of his shields and his black stained green armour, shredding right through the flesh of his side.
Ma'rark dropped his knees, light headed and dizzy from a whole days worth of fighting. The sharp sting of an Infection Form latching itself on his arm brought him back to what was required of him, to be a great warrior. To live up to the standards laid down by his forefathers.
Ma'rark tore the Flood form from his arm and threw it into a charging Combat Form, exploding on impact, sending the Combat form back to the abyss from where it came.
With tremendous strength, Ma'rark pulled him self to his feet, grabbed a Plasma Grenade from one of his fallen comrades and activated it.
He all the strength he could muster, he lobbed it over the heads of battling Sangheili and Flood and stuck a Carrier Form in the center of a formation. The resulting blast sending limbs and rotten guts littering the once white and clean snow covered canyon.
Ma'rark held his side with his ravaged left arm and with his right, held his left arm.
He could feel his blood treacle down his face and the agonizing pain from the bullet holes in his side.
There was no time to rest, the Flood kept their advance strong. Never ending, never resting, and never stopping.
He watched in dismay as the frontline of Grunts, Jackals and Minor Sangheili fell to the brute strength of the abominations.
'Unggoy! Ready positions!' Ma'rark roared over his shoulder.
Far behind him, 300 Grunts lined the hill top.
300 Unggoy, 300 Fuel Rod Cannons.
'Frontline, down! Unggoy, Fire!'
Instantly, the surviving warriors at the bottom of the hill ducked to avoid collision with the oncoming bombardment.
300 sizzling green lights screamed down the hill and burned their way through 600 of the Flood forms below.
As soon as the plasma had passed their positions, the warriors picked themselves up and began their struggle with the Flood once again.
Ma'rark clutched the wound to his side tighter. They would not be able to hold off the Flood for much longer, not at this rate.
The Arbiter had left to retrieve the Sacred Icon many units ago, how many, Ma'rark was not sure of.
3 Flood Combat forms broke free from the combat down below and charged with amazing speed to Ma'rark.
Ma'rark watched the Flood as they advanced on him. He slowly, and almost lazily, unsheathed his sword; bright white flames erupted all along its glowing body.
The Flood were 10 meters away
9
8
7
They screamed in anger and agony at Ma'rark.
6
5
4
3
The closest one raised it broken arm, ready to strike down the lone Sangheili.
2
It lunged forward, its comrades following in suite.
1
Ma'rark lunged forward at the speed of sound, all pain and agony forgotten.
With precise and fluent swipes with his blade, he carved a hole right through the form.
He leaped 10 feet into the air, landing behind the following two abominations, and with one, powerful slash, cut the living corpses in half.
Ma'rark looked back down the hill; the entire front line had been consumed by the parasite. The bodies of his fallen comrades, mutilated and absorbed by the Flood.
Ma'rark turned away, many good soldiers had been lost, too many. Many Sangheili who would not see their families ever again.
Ma'rark couldn't bring himself to send the second line in. They had lost thousands already trying to contain that which they accidentally let out.
'Unggoy! Volley!'
Instantly, another 300 burning plasma bolts screamed past him, burning through hundreds of Flood forms down below.
It wasn't enough.
The Flood regrouped and continued their charge up the hill side.
This wasn't right. They never regrouped. Never.
They fought tirelessly and fearlessly down to the loss of their last limbs, what they were doing now was un-heard of.
Something was controlling them.
'Volley!'
Yet again, for the third time, 300 green plasma bolts screamed past Ma'rark, missing him by inches.
They burnt right through the army down below, melting hundreds down to the ground.
'Ma'rark, pull your forces back. My Wraiths will handle the Parasite. We shall speak more at Camp.'
'Understood'
'My Phantoms are inbound on your position to pick you up.'
'Yes, sir.'
Yatama, the Sangheili in charge of the Containment, was known not only for his ruthlessness in the heat of battle, but by his cool mind and tactics which could turn the tide in favour of a handful of good warriors against thousands of enemy soldiers.
But why did Yatama wish for his presence?
Could it have something to do with the new tactics which the Flood used?
Whatever it is was, it would have to wait until he could extract his men.
'Volley!'
Another 300 plasma bolts screamed past Ma'rark.
Ma'rark turned and ran back towards the lines of Unggoy and Sangheili. Their covering fire keeping the abominations from reaching his heels.
Suddenly, 10 Phantoms soared over the hill, raining hell on the Flood with all their turrets. Burning all Flood to a crisp.
7 Wraiths deployed from 7 of the Phantoms and the other 3 deployed 50 Sangheili equipped with two plasma rifles, 4 Plasma grenades each and Energy Swords.
Hopefully they would be able to hold off the Flood long enough for his return.
Ma'rark jumped up and latched himself to the nearest Phantom and pulled himself in.
Dark purple light met his eyes as the darkness of the Phantom took him over.
The inside of the drop ship was empty save for a few cases of plasma grenades and plasma rifle racks.
Ma'rark sat down. He was exhausted, mentally and physically. He clutched onto his ravaged arm tightly trying to ease the bleeding. He was tired. A whole days intense fighting non-stop was too much.
He pulled his Plasma Rifle from his belt and checked its plasma storage. Ma'rark sighed, it was completely depleted. He tossed it away into a corner, let his head droop to his side, and drifted to sleep.

Yatama stood over the holo panel, red and blue holographic triangles moved across the panel, the red triangular units greatly out numbered blue ones.
A grim expression swept over his face. If it worked like it should, they would surely have a victory, with the loss of many great warriors.
Was it worth it? Could he bring himself to do it?
Ziralhende walked into the hut, a bloody towel wrapped across his large chest under his left arm and above his right shoulder.
Yatama also noticed that the great warrior limped in his stride.
The parasite had taken its toll on his warriors.
It had to be worth it, for the greater good.
'You wanted to see me, commander?'
Yatama turned, as if he had just noticed the warrior's presence.
'Yes, uh please take a seat.' He motioned towards a stool in the corner. 'We will be starting shortly.'
And with that he turned back towards the holo panel, surveying the vicious battle.
His Wraiths were holding back the storm… just.

Ma'rark awoke with the soft, gentle touch down of the Phantom.
Images of his dream, his nightmare kept flashing before his eyes.
The "incident" still affected him. This wasn't how a Sangheili should take the losses of battle, it shouldn't be affecting him at all.
The pilots stepped out from the controls room, and escorted Ma'rark off the ship.
'You shall have to have that wound treated Ma'rark', one of the pilots murmured.
'It can wait', Ma'rark responded, 'There are more pressing matters at hand here.'
The Sangheili bowed respectfully, turned, and headed in the direction of their huts.
Ma'rark, still clutching tightly his wound tightly, limped towards the command hut.
It was a cold and silent here, opposed to the fires raging to the east. The battle against the Flood was a battle hard fought.
Ma'rark gently walked into the hut, he nodded to Ziralhende, thankful he was alive, bowed his head and sat on one knee, in respect to Yatama.
'Commander, you wished for my presence?'
Yatama responded but did not tear his gaze away from the holo panel sitting before him. 'Yes, please take a seat.'
'Thank you, but I will stand.'
'Of course, you never were much of a sitter.'
Mar'rark chuckled, he and his extremely old friend's relationship had always been strong.
But there was something that he was needed for, something dangerous, that had to be why he would withdraw his most experienced warrior from the heat of battle.
'Were the reinforcements I sent you efficient for the Containment?' Yatama asked.
'Yes, they were most appreciated, thank you.' Ma'rark replied, trying to keep himself from collapsing from his tiredness.
'Do you know I summoned you here Ma'rark?' Yatama's voice faded back to its usual stiffness.
'No sir.'
Yatama still stared at the holo panel, his refusal to make eye contact was chilling him to the bone.
'The Flood have made it past the front line.'
Ma'rark couldn't believe it, 700 soldiers had fallen to the Flood so quickly?! Wait, if this was true, why were the Wraiths still battling the Flood? And they were winning.
'But Yatama, the Wraiths are still there', he motioned towards the panel, 'how have the Flood made it past the line if the Wraiths are still there?'
Yatama looked up from the panel, finally.
'Take a look'
Ma'rark nodded, bowed his head down and looked at the icons on the holo panels.
He gazed intently. No. This couldn't be.
He looked back at Yatama and found that he was staring intently into his eyes.
Ziralhende stoop up, a worried look spread on his face. 'What is it?'
Ma'rark didn't see how it was possible, how could they come up with it, they didn't think.
'How?'
Yatama nodded, he was also tired.
'I… don't know. It seems that their actions on this Holy Ring are far different to those on the first Ring. It seems something is controlling them.'
Ma'rark sighed, he couldn't believe it.
'What is it?'
Yatama withdrew from the panel and looked into Ziralhende's eyes.
'The Flood have stumbled across a tunnel system far under the surface of the Holy Ring. They are spreading right underneath us.'
'How?'
'I… don't know!' Yatama spun back to the panel and slammed his fist against it.
A sudden silence filled the hut. It lasted for an eternity.
Yatama had called for them. He knew that they would able to pull of any insane stunt Yatama asked them to do.
Ma'rark sighed, looked up from the panel and at Yatama, and finally spoke up.
'What do you ask of us?'




Chapter 4 – Gate Crashers

Muzza slammed his last clip of Shredder Rounds into his Battle Rifle, smashed the safety off and opened up into the nearest Elite. The Split Lip was taken down as the armour piercing bullets tore through his shields, leaving him exposed and ripping his chest to oblivion.
A sudden blue white explosion at Muzza's feet sent him spiraling into the air, and with an agonizing crash, he landed amidst a trio of Grunts.
The Grunts shrieked in terror as they were crushed by Muzza. Muzza noted that they made quite comfy pillows. Sweet.
"More Split Lips!!!"
Muzza sighed, "Ah hell, now the fun begins!"
3 Ghosts, tore through the battlefield at intense speed, one of their stabilizing wings clipping Muzza's left leg.
He dropped to his knees, in absolute agony, he clutched his belt and grabbed a sticky he had pried from the hands of a dead Elite.
The Ghost slowed, turned 180 degrees and sped back towards Muzza.
"Oh come on you good thing," Muzza muttered.
In one swift movement, Muzza activated the Sticky, chucked it at the oncoming purple piece of junk and dodged out of the way. An explosion three seconds later and a following cry of pain told Muzza the plasma grenade had hit home.

Special Officer Catherine Domeska retreated back to the safety of a nearby boulder as a bright blue bolt of plasma screamed through the air right before her.
"I am not cut out for this…" she muttered to herself, "…should've just stayed in medical school…"
A nearby explosion and the sight of flying Elite parts brought the Special Officer back to the present, right now, she'd have to fight for her life, live, or die trying… if that made sense…
She cocked her Magnum and strafed to the left of the boulder, so only her shoulder and left arm would be in immediate exposure, she aimed for a pack of nearby Grunts and opened up on them.
The resulting recoil from the gun pushed her off her feet and onto a heap on the ground.
She picked herself back up and stole a look to see what had become of the Grunts, two of them sported entry wounds in their heads and one was doing a sort of dance, its arms were flailing madly in the air and it was doing something like the hokey pokey.
Wait… no… they don't know how to do that… do they?
Catherine looked closer at the Grunt, it was struggling to breathe and its throat was spraying bright blue blood, its methane tank had been ruptured. Woops, her bad.

Muzza smashed his Battle Rifle into the middle of an Elites back and smirked as he heard it crack and watched as the Elite fell lifeless to the blood strewn ground.
"There's too many!"
"Suppressive fire, suppressive fire!"
Muzza turned to see a pair of Hunters jump down from a canyon wall, land with an earsplitting crash.
Muzza tried to yell to his men to move, to get out of the way, but it was too late.
One poor soul was crushed under the force of one of the Hunters melee's and another two were burnt to a crisp as the Hunters opened up with their Fuel Rod Cannons.
"NOO!" Muzza dropped his empty Battle Rifle and grabbed his two SMG's from out of their holsters. He disengaged the Safeties and strafed to his right, trying to get behind the monstrous beasts.
The Hunters bent down low and covered themselves with their enormous shields; the hollow clinks of his bullets on their alloy filled the valley.
"I got these bastards…"
An ODST with a Rocket Launcher crouched down next to Muzza and aimed at the Giants.
"FIRE IN THE HOLE!"
Suddenly, Muzza went deaf as all the noise in the valley was drowned out by the explosion caused by the Jackhammer missile.
The Hunter jumped up and over the speeding projectile and charged at Muzza and the Rocket man.
Muzza turned to dodge the oncoming wall, but tripped over his own feet and fell flat on his face, smashing his head against a rock.

Catherine couldn't just sit here and watch as her escorts were being annihilated by the Hunters. But what could she do?
One of the Hunters jumped clean over Muzza's unconscious body and battered the hapless Jackhammer marine with its impregnable shield.
"No!" Cat cried, that was a horrible way to end a life.
One of the Hunters heard her cry and turned in her direction; it uttered a muffled sort of grunt and fired at the Special Officer's boulder.
Catherine hit the dirt just in time as the rock exploded under the pressure of the Hunter's fire and sent fragments of scorched rock in every direction.
Cat moved to get up but found that she couldn't move her right leg, she suddenly noticed a burning pain shooting through her body.
Her leg was caught underneath the remains of the boulder.
She looked up to see where the Hunter was and felt her heart miss a beat as the Hunter was slowly moving onto her position.
Not good.

Muzza groaned, his head felt as if it had been hit on something hard, maybe a rock…
He could really go for a coffee, and a pretzel, actually, make that two pretzels… mmm… pretzels…
A sudden scream brought him back to the battlefield and away from his hoped of a decent meal. He noticed he was lying down on the bloody ground, he got on all fours and made to jump up when something solid impacted on his back and sent him spiraling back to the ground.
He turned around quickly to see what had hit him and felt his heart miss a beat as one of the Hunters stood over him.
Not good.
A sudden crack filled the night and the Hunter became rigid. Orange blood sprayed Muzza from waist to toe and the Hunter slammed into the ground lifeless. Muzza sprang onto his feet and grabbed one of his SMG's and ran towards Domeska's position, he opened up on the Hunter standing over her and it turned and charged him.
In one sudden action, the Hunter raised its shield arm to bring it down on the ODST when a second crack erupted through the valley and the last Hunter fell to the ground, lifeless, pissing orange blood.
Muzza crouched down and helped the Special Officer get back on her feet.
A bright orange and blue ball of flame erupted in a corner of the valley as the Last of the Ghosts was blown into a million tiny pieces.
"What the hell was that?" Muzza murmured.
Domeska looked at the wreckage of the ravaged Ghost and the limp bodies of the fallen combatants. She merely shrugged.
A couple stones slide down the side of a nearby rocky hill, 7 Human figures ran down to flat ground, 1 with a Rocket Launcher and another reloading his Sniper Rifle.
Muzza smirked, "Nice to see you guys made it to the party."
One of the ODST's cocked his head in a laugh, "Nice to see we're welcome, for once…"
Muzza held out his hand, "Nice to see ya James."
James held out his and they shook, "It always is, isn't it?
"And who are you men?" Domeska asked.
James took off his Helmet and grinned, "We are your reinforcements."
"8 ODST's against an entire Covenant Armada?!" Domeska couldn't believe this, she thought Commander Keyes would provide greater support in bringing back a Flood Combat Form. But this?!
The ODST with the Sniper Rifle spoke up, "Ma'am, we are more than able, damn now, we're Helljumpers. Feet first into Hell? Maybe you've heard of us?"
Domeska frowned, these troopers were too cocky, "and who would you be then?"
"Pezza, Private First Class Ma'am."
Domeska sighed, she had hoped Keyes wouldn't have lent her Marines such as these ones.
James moved to place his helmet back on his head, "Well, if we're done with introdu- ''
"Sarge! Your Helmet!!!"
James looked up and threw his helmet up as far as it would go, half a second later, it exploded in a hail of bright blue fire.
"Argh!"

A shower of green bolts rained hell on the Marines as they were sent ducking and diving for cover.
James hit the dirt with a somewhat painful thud and called out to Lander, "HONOURS ALL YOURS MATE!"
A couple meters away behind a slightly larger boulder, Domeska cowered behind Lander who cowered behind the boulder.
Lander could feel the Rock heating up as the Grunts kept up a constant shower of plasma on them, he heard a distant cry from James, something about "Honour" and it being his, "ah hell" he muttered.
With amazing agility, he jumped out from behind the rock as his fellow Helljumpers gave him supporting fire, slammed the safety off his Rocket Launcher and fire into the centre of the Grunt pack.
With a satisfying explosion and an echoing scream, the Grunts were sent flying in all directions landing in all sorts of crazy positions.
James jumped out from his boulder and surveyed the Grunts. They were how he liked them best, dead.
Muzza limped out from his cover and stole a Plasma Rifle from one of the Grunts.
"Sweet."

"So, Sergeant, where are we going now?" Domeska asked James.
James turned to face the Officer, "Well, we're gonna capture a Flood, make our way over to our Pelican, find our Pilot and get the hell out of here. Easy enough?"
"Piece of cake"
James fed a fresh clip of shredder rounds into his Battle Rifle and called to the rest of the team.
"Right men, Gear up! We're going to hell and back!"
"Hoo H-"
"Wait a minute," Domeska interrupted, James sighed, man was she annoying! 'How are we getting there?"
James grinned, "Why, by the dark and dangerous cave of course!" He pointed his thumb over his shoulder at a soft mound of dirt.
"What?" Domeska clambered over a collection of rocks, stumbled over a slippery puddle of bright Sapphire colored blood and into a muddy ditch, she peered over half an Elites body and gasped.
There was a dark and dangerous cave!
James, Lander, Pezza and Muzza strode past her and into the cave, the darkness consumed them almost immediately.
"Men…" she muttered and ran in after them.
The Rest of the ODST's brought up the rear, time for the fun stuff!

We are NOT Bungie, Inc.! Bungie Inc. are bungie.net!
Halo © Bungie Inc., 1999-2012, Microsoft 2012-2024
Intellectual © halo.bungie.org, 1999-2024