ALWAYS OPEN [IC] Halo - Empty Throne: The Human Outer Colonies

[Apothecary Bruce]

As Fieldings was dragged away, he thought it best to pump the brute guarding him for information. He looked up at the beast, "So, what're a bunch of Spartan Hunters doing out here on Levosia? This place isn't exactly important." Before he could get a reply, Fieldings was thrown to the floor by the impact of Adamantine Shield's main gun. Far from something he could capitalise on, as the brute with him got to its feet faster than he could. He wouldn't be resisting for now. The brutes were set on taking him alive, and there was no chance at escape.

The high-ranking Brute smiled at Fieldings, but it was not a cruel one. "I have once been captured as well, and I remember the pain that a lack of information brought. I shall spare you some mercy in this regard," he said. "The Banished want full control of this galaxy. We wish to spread our ideals and morality across all stars, granting our own meritocratic freedom to all under our banner...and Levosia, is one of the most populous worlds remaining to your kind, in your outer colonies. It was closest to our territory as well, a great foothold into yours. Its importance was deemed very vital. Your UNSC seems to agree," he said, before taking him into the hangar.

The entire ship was bloody, dented, ripped and torn. It seemed only him and fourteen other crewmen had survived, a tragically paltry sum. More gently than expected, the jiralhanae warden pushed Fieldings aboard the Banished Phantom, already waiting and loaded. "I hope you take these ounces of kindness and savor them, human. I do not believe you would survive the trials of the Banished, and unless you chose our path, the prisons will give you no more. First, you will receive the honor of meeting with War Chief Horcius."

"Damn it all to hell! Helm, belay that interdiction. Bring us back to the formation and prepare for a fight. Comms, get me a connection with that Covenant ship. They've sat on their hands for too long, We need to kill those reinforcements before they can spool their Slipspace Drives again." November jabbed a finger into his console, keying the command line once again, "Pale, Tower, Palenium, prepare for engagement. Four hostile Karves, 2 Ceudars, likely a Drekhar amidst them as well. I'm getting ahold of the Elites as well. Hopefully they'll take the brunt of the engagement."

With the clear capture of Fieldings, and November's quick reactions to the chaos around them, the other commanders fell in line without argument. Acknowledgements came from all three vessels, and even Shining Armor gave a quick affirmative ping, as indisposed as it was. Speaking of, November eyed the vessel on his command plot with deep concern. His sensors were still largely overloaded, but he'd seen a Shiva sailing unopposed to New Kherson. Shining Armor seemed to be moving in that direction at top speed, but he couldn't tell if it would or would not make the intercept in time.

"Worry not, humans - we shall bear this fight," the shipmaster of the Galactic Sojourner hailed back, "All available vessels of the Purposeful Way, to me."

The ex-Covenant fleet sped on to engage the Banished fleet, yet before that, another force arrived on another, close-by jump-point. A much larger force.

The entirety of the Purposeful Way arrived, ship by ship. A Ruma-pattern light carrier, two blockade runners, four line cruisers, over a dozen smaller escort ships. Then, UNSC slipspace ruptures, revealing an entire carrier task force, led by both a Valiant-class superheavy command cruiser and an Athens-class light carrier. "Consider this our application to the NAI," one of their captains jested over FLEETCOM, as a dozen MACs of various shapes and sizes turned a Karve into scrap.

Then, the Covenant vessels entered range. Plasma lances glittered out, heralding a flurry of cannon fire and Seraph bombing runs. The fleet's four other Ceudar-pattern corvettes and the Ruma-pattern carrier rocketed towards the planet as well, prepared to unleash their infantry and vehicles.

Finally, the flagship of the Purposeful Way arrived, and its majesty, even tarnished by time, was blinding. Over thirty kilometers of sheer nanolaminate mass, the Bane of Apostates was in of itself a clear declaration of support until the end, making Levosia the chief target of its crusade.
"A Drekar has slipped our grasp, Commander November," the same shipmaster reported. "Dastardly impressive vehicles. Nevertheless, the hulk of one of your light destroyers does naught but float here, if you wish to retrieve it for repairs."

The coalition force at Cassanova will attempt to reorganize as Bantas and other transports move the Solano garrison, and 50,000 of the Immortals deployed in the Solano mountains, to the battle at Cassanova. The Elite Legion of the Purposeful Way will also deploy to the battlefield, using CT's prior suggested drop method.

Nearly two hundred thousand new troops and their vehicle complements arrive to reinforce the defense against the Praetorian's ambush, quickly turning the tides. Attempting to retreat the long way around, running to the sides of the city walls to be let up onto the battlements themselves, Praetorian Carcharodon and his remaining forces find themselves confronted by another variable of the NAI's, foolishly thought containable...

Throughout the city, Covenant drop-pods and gunships soared down from Purposeful Way craft, carrying nearly ten thousand troops to gather a foothold, protecting the Bronze Bulwark. With that as reassurance, the crashed frigate's Ramparts opened fire, shooting down Banished Banshees by the dozen. Pulse lasers and bombardment cannons burned the city walls of defenders, and finally, plasma beams battered at the theater shield, readying for a final assault.

---

Veronica Ogburn held the detonator to the C7 that Connolly's mercenaries had placed all around a shipping crate of plasma coils, which the four Spartan-IIs had been kind enough to push into position. Wild, the difference between them and us, she'd have just about no choice but to think after witnessing the massive display of strength.

The UNSC super soldiers held their position - the marksmen, Bas, Connolly, and Veronica herself up in their separate sniper's perches. The rifle squad, Armando, James, Cal, the five merc snipers crouched low, three mercs with battle rifles and the five ORIONs using spartan rifles held their aim at the door, standing center and ready to fire. The heavy weapon squads, four Pilum rocketeers and eight grenade launcher infantry, ready to blast away at the second wave once the C7 and plasma got the first. Hidden behind a car was both Elara and Olly, ready to get in close if any broke through the line.

Then, the doors burst open, revealing a horde of Grunt Ultras, Skirmishers, and two Brute heavy gunners, holding aloft their scrap cannons. The humans didn't bother shooting, knowing their bullets were meant for the Banished behind these ones. That, and the crate of plasma and explosives in the way.

Veronica clicked the detonator's button, and the bridge exploded.

The first wave of Banished infantry were dead on the spot, what remained of them flung across the walls. Those on the battlements were too pre-occupied with other matters to really intervene, that, and something invisible seemed to be killing those that showed much interest. The gate separating this bridge section from the last still held, and through its openings more weapons fired, from plasma rifles to more scrap cannons. The sniper team took the heads off those who thought cover was their friend, while the bulky shielded Brutes who tried to rush in and fire off their fuel rod guns and ravagers were gunned down by precision salvo fire from the spartan rifle-wielding Orions.

The mercs, careful to conserve their ammo, switched their rifles to single fire to finish off the Grunts stripped of their shields by the Commando rifleers. The Pilums fired, blowing apart their heaviest soldiery while the grenade launchers kept their sangheili from swarming ahead. That was, until a plasma caster cluster bolt struck next to the grenade launcher squad, who tried their best to dive away, but still were annihilating in the resulting series of blasts.
"Focus fire on that crossbow gun!" Veronica called out to her squad, acting the spotter. Another salvo of spartan rifle fire tore the Elite with the caster apart. A volley of charged ravager bolts were loosed at the rifle squad, and they fell back, their accuracy faltering as the ground burned and smoldered before them. Two sangheili blademasters took their chances, rushing out, only to be met with Elara and her shotgun. The first, not seeing the blow coming fell backwards, shields, armor and hide all penetrated at once - yet the latter was unphased, slicing her weapon in half.

That was when Olly jumped forward with his combat knives, slicing broadly across the sangheili's chest to disorientate his enemy. Before he could thrust his other knife into the bottom of the sangheili's neck, there was a flash of light - and suddenly, Olly couldn't feel his hands anymore.

The sangheili kicked the suddenly disabled super soldier on their back, laughing in terrible mockery as it did so, before a plasma blade emerged from its chest, ceasing the laughter. Elara pulled the sword from the back of the blademaster, triumphant and sneaky, before a beam rifle clipped her shoulder, causing her to crouch, before a concussion bolt threw her forward, slamming atop Olly with all her weight, causing him to be unable to breathe.
Before Armando could move the unconscious C-II off of the wounded Olly, James merely ran over and kicked her off, firing his rifle one-handed as he handed Olly to the mercs without heavy weapons.

Baz finished reloading his sniper rifle, his shields still yet to recharge after a sniper exchange, as he heard the distinct warble of a Banshee fighter come closer and closer. He swung the rifle around, remembering his training in war games, and fired his weapon four times, the armor piercing rounds killing the pilot and breaking off an anti-gravity projector. The plane tumbled from the sky and detonated against the inner city wall, and as Baz turned his attention back to the battle, a split-second horror flashed across his scope.

A radioactive blamite round blasted apart the scope device, no doubt launched from some exotic blend of carbine and needle rifle, and struck his visor, held in place by the super-durable 'glass' material. Baz reached up to pull the round out before it could fire, but two more rounds struck him, one in the chest armor, and another in the stomach, delaying his reaction enough to allow the first crystal to violently burst. After that, he tried blinking - and found his left eye to be the only one that worked.

He quickly tossed aside the other needles, letting his fellow snipers cover him, and to let his automatic biofoam injectors heal up his lower bodily injuries, but there was nothing for the blistering pain in his face. He couldn't remove his helmet, that was stupid, but the pain was enough to blind him regardless of injury.
The hand of a sangheili was placed against his shoulder, and Baz turned, M6D in hand, and pointed it at a sangheili. She laughed. "Careful, Spartan. You've done enough, allow us to help now."

The Banished's defense turrets turned on their own warriors, thundering out plasma behind the snipers, and Baz found an entire force of the Purposeful Way, infiltrators and assassins all. They unleashed covering fire for their own blademasters, who rushed in and murdered what remained of their enemies.
Perhaps, if they had time to consider it, their egos might be wounded - but it was a mighty force, a hard fight, and all of them were lucky to be alive regardless.

Purposeful Way Supporting Group

Tese 'Taralumai: Illegally cybernetically augmented short Elite Scion, dancer's build, still light-hearted in the face of everything that's happened to her, strong warrior
- Syga 'Trantakai: Short and dour Elite, product of eugenics melding between the 'Sumai and Trantakai bloodlines, now incredible assassin, Infiltration Harness, Energy Garrote, Energy Daggers, twin Energy Swords, head of Fleet Security
- Yehono Rodna: Slugman, lieutenant of Syga, wears funny hat

Syga 'Trantakai: Infiltration Harness, Cloaking Device, Energy Garrote, Energy Daggers, Twin Energy Swords, Carbine
Tese 'Taralumai: Cloaking Device, Energy Sword, Twin Plasma Rifles
Yehono Rodna: Cloaking Device, Beam Rifle, M6C/SOCOM, Energy Sword, funny hat
Ex-Zealot: Cloaking Device, Energy Sword, Point Defense Gauntlet, Plasma Rifle
Skirmisher Commando: Cloaking Device, Needle Rifle, M6C/SOCOM
Spec Ops Elite: Cloaking Device, Energy Sword, Dual Needlers
Spec Ops Elite: Cloaking Device, Energy Sword, Plasma Rifle, Pulse Carbine
Spec Ops Elite: Cloaking Device, Energy Sword, Plasma Repeater, Plasma Rifle
Spec Ops Elite: Cloaking Device, Energy Sword, Carbine, Plasma Rifle
Spec Ops Elite: Cloaking Device, Energy Sword, Storm Rifle, Plasma Pistol
Human PMC: Human Combat Harness, Cloaking Device, Stalker Rifle, M6C/SOCOM
Human PMC: Human Combat Harness, Cloaking Device, Storm Rifle, M6C/SOCOM
Human PMC: Human Combat Harness, Cloaking Device, Carbine, M6C/SOCOM

Human Combat Harness: mixture of ODST/SPI and Spec Ops Elite aesthetics

While administering medical aid to their wounded, the mercenaries and Connolly secured the perimeter. The Spec Ops troop had eliminated the local wall section garrison, and in all the chaos, the NAI had deployed heavy amounts of Archer missiles and Rampart fire only two miles away, leaving the Banished offensive and defensive measures in complete disarray. Deciding they still could do some good, the remaining super soldiers and their allies new and old prepared to set off, loading Olly, one of the other ORIONs who had taken a plasma bolt to the right side of their torso, and the Pilum-wielding mercs onto the Spec Ops' Phantom, along with their ammo-exhausted weaponry, the spartan rifles and Echidna Hydra. Before departing, the Pilum rocket launchers were offered to the surviving soldiers.

Salvage

272 Plasma Pistols
110 Disruptors
108 Needlers
92 Brute Plasma Rifles
32 Storm Rifles
31 Skewers
28 SAS-10 Defender Magnums
22 Stalker Rifles
20 Energy Swords
12 Plasma Turrets
10 Fuel Rod Guns
8 Scrap Cannons
7 Ravagers
5 Shock Rifles
6 Maestro Battle Rifles w/EVO Sights
3 Lances of Suban (Needle Corvette)
2 Bandit DMRs, Skirmisher-Modified
1 Plasma Caster
1 Beam Rifle
1 MA5K Carbine, Skirmisher-Modified

In the end though, the entire Champions force was dead, hundreds of the Banished's best troops wiped out. None of their super soldiers were fully lost. It was a good enough victory, all told.

The trek was relatively easy, running through the smoldering ruins of the city's entrance/exit zone. Tens of thousands of troops were now dead here, along with the carcasses of several ruined vehicles. The party could see in the distance the ginormous armies of the Purposeful Way bashing against the Praetorian's forces, slowly coming to outnumber him, pushing the ambush forces back even, towards the super soldier group.

They wouldn't be able to stand against his remaining army, depleted as it was. But they might be able to kill Carcharodon, and take a leader of the Banished off the board. Considering how many scattered armies there were left on Levosia, cutting off any head of command would be a wise thing to do...

---

Carcharodon's war party was doing its best to retreat, but it seemed he was the only one who wanted to. The rest of his army wanted to stay and fight, trying to defy the odds, even as enemies dropped in by the hundreds all around them. From his mobile command skiff, he tried ordering around his remaining warriors, yet with a stray Scorpion shell, his vehicle sputtered and died. The Praetorian bashed open his own dead craft, roaring in anger. Around him, he summoned his honor guard, chieftains with no responsibility over troops. "Aid me! This campaign is lost, transmit a request for extraction to the war chief!" he demanded.

"At once, praetorian," one of them said, pointing towards a Grunt, who activated his radio tool.

It was this sad display that the Spartans, ORIONs, sangheili and support troops found him in...

 

[Bael]

Bas-0782 staggered to his feet, the pain in his face searing as his visor remained cracked, but his instincts kicked in. Despite the damage, he quickly made his way over to the rest of his team and the new arrivals, including the surviving ORIONs and mercenaries—who were still fighting and regrouping after the chaos of the battle. His left eye was useless, but the pain wouldn't stop him.
He knelt down by Elara-0922, who was still unconscious after the blow from the concussion bolt. He gently shook her shoulder, trying to rouse her.
"Elara, wake up," Bas said quietly, his voice strained but commanding. It didn't take long for her to stir, her eyes fluttering open as she looked up at him in concern.
"Bas..." she said, her voice weak at first, then noticing his state. "What happened to your face?"
"I'm fine," Bas replied, his voice steady despite the pain. "I've been through worse. Focus on staying in the fight. We have more to do."
Elara looked at him, her eyes filled with worry, but she didn't press further. Instead, she nodded, silently acknowledging his words.
Bas then grabbed a Needler off a dead Banished soldier, the jagged, crystalline spikes still intact. His fingers, still slightly numb from the blast, gripped the weapon tightly. He knew the needler would be useful for softening up any enemies before closing in.
He looked back at the rest of the team, his voice steady despite the blinding pain in his face. "We're not done yet. Carcharodon's not getting away."
James-1132, his grip firm on the massive Gravity Hammer, scanned the battlefield for any targets. Seeing a Banished soldier trying to retreat, he grinned. "Time to put this thing to good use."
With a mighty swing, he brought the hammer down on the Banished soldier, who barely had time to react. The force of the blow sent the soldier flying, his body crumpling in mid-air before smashing into the nearby wall with a sickening thud. The shockwave from the impact rippled across the ground, sending other nearby enemies scrambling for cover.
"That's what I call a home run," James chuckled, wiping the sweat from his brow, eager for the next swing.
Armando-0542's focus didn't waver. "Let's make sure we don't get reckless. We have a job to finish."
With that, Bael Team, now fully prepared, stood together, ready to move on Carcharodon and his retreating forces. Their bond was unshaken, and despite the pain and the odds, they would face the Praetorian with everything they had left.

Bas-0782 staggered to his feet, the pain in his face searing as his visor remained cracked, but his instincts kicked in. Despite the damage, he quickly made his way over to the rest of his team and the new arrivals, including the surviving ORIONs and mercenaries—who were still fighting and regrouping after the chaos of the battle. His left eye was useless, but the pain wouldn't stop him.
He knelt down by Elara-0922, who was still unconscious after the blow from the concussion bolt. He gently shook her shoulder, trying to rouse her.
"Elara, wake up," Bas said quietly, his voice strained but commanding. It didn't take long for her to stir, her eyes fluttering open as she looked up at him in concern.
"Bas..." she said, her voice weak at first, then noticing his state. "What happened to your face?"
"I'm fine," Bas replied, his voice steady despite the pain. "I've been through worse. Focus on staying in the fight. We have more to do."
Elara looked at him, her eyes filled with worry, but she didn't press further. Instead, she nodded, silently acknowledging his words.
Bas then grabbed a Needler off a dead Banished soldier, the jagged, crystalline spikes still intact. His fingers, still slightly numb from the blast, gripped the weapon tightly. He knew the needler would be useful for softening up any enemies before closing in.
He looked back at the rest of the team, his voice steady despite the blinding pain in his face. "We're not done yet. Carcharodon's not getting away."
James-1132, his grip firm on the massive Gravity Hammer, scanned the battlefield for any targets. Seeing a Banished soldier trying to retreat, he grinned. "Time to put this thing to good use."
With a mighty swing, he brought the hammer down on the Banished soldier, who barely had time to react. The force of the blow sent the soldier flying, his body crumpling in mid-air before smashing into the nearby wall with a sickening thud. The shockwave from the impact rippled across the ground, sending other nearby enemies scrambling for cover.
"That's what I call a home run," James chuckled, wiping the sweat from his brow, eager for the next swing.
Armando-0542's focus didn't waver. "Let's make sure we don't get reckless. We have a job to finish."
With that, Bael Team, now fully prepared, stood together, ready to move on Carcharodon and his remaining forces. Their bond was unshaken, and despite the pain and the odds, they would face the Praetorian with everything they had left.

 

[rissa]

"Package for Rodger." Collins replied, accidentally in tune with the jiralhanae rockers. Like their counterparts back on Concord, they were tall, dark, and intimidating; perfect for their roles. "Special place for special business," Collins said wryly, a stale attempt at small talk.

Like Rodger's boys on Concord, these thugs seemed pretty amicable. Both smiled at Collins' comment, and one of them spoke. "Not many places like Venezia. Don't think any of us were disappointed when the Created swung by and kept us stuck here." He looked to his partner, and gave him a nod. The man returned the gesture and checked a door to one of the private rooms. Only God knew what happened in those, but it seemed Roger's crew had rented out one.

"Clear," he told the first goon, and opened the door. They gestured Collins and Song inside.

In the room was a human, a tanned man with somewhat wild hair and a beard, equipped with a mishmash of all sorts of scavenged military gear. A Maestro battle rifle sat on his lap. He sat in a chair next to a bed, and on the bed was a briefcase. Through a window of beads, emerged a thin, copper brown woman in a tight ruby dress which Collins was stunned to see - it wasn't often people found the time to look good in the rough-and-tumble outer colonies.
"You must be Rodger's couriers," she asked sharply. "You lot certainly took your time. I don't like being stuck in a place like this long. But, this business was too good to pass up, I'm afraid. Do you know what kind of heat you'll be taking on, couriers, when you grab this package?"

"The Banished are looking for this shit," the mercenary said, clutching the battle rifle tightly with his right hand and pointing to the briefcase with his left. "And we don't get paid until Rodger gets it. You aren't very impressive, maintenance man," he said, glancing over Collins' modified uniform as if to prove his point, before looking to Song. "And a kid? Really? Can we even trust you with this job?"
"Trust might not be a luxury we can afford," the woman remarked. "Any questions, boys?"

Collins and Song both spoke at the same time—

"Can we even trust you?"

"Apologies for the wait, ma'am,"

There was an awkward lull as Collins glanced down, forcing himself not to smile. He didn't understand why the kid and Mina always took insults so personally, even insults tangentially connected to them. Or ones that were true. They weren't impressive, at least, not wholly, not at first glance, and what a saving grace that had been the past few years. Staying hidden, doing the odd job here and there... revealing themselves when they chose to. He was impressively unimpressive, always had been... and that was okay.

There was a kind of freedom in that mediocracy impressive people couldn't dream of. He eyed the sleek black briefcase before leaning over to snatch it up. It was heavy, maybe too heavy to preform their little sleight of hand trick, but he'd leave that for Song to decide.

"Only one question," Collins said after a moment, "Is it tracible? Just wanna know what I'm gettin' my crew into once we leave the PLZ."

 

[Moonlight501]

Operation: RIGHT HOOK
Log: Operation Status Update
Report Submitted By: Governor Frontings
Priority: Urgent
///
Levosia discovered to house human population of over 6 million. Planetary liberation commenced.

Arcadian Naval Detachment reports loss of Halberds Double Tap and Twin Engine. Detachment reports loss of Zanar-pattern Retribution of Uratom. Detachment reports loss of Charons Bronze Bulwark, Ablative Armor. Charon Shining Armor suffered critical damage. Detachment reports loss of Chokat-pattern Legitimate Salvage.

Arcadian Naval Detachment reports capture of 4 Karves, planned for recommission. Detachment reports capture of Covenant fuel carrier, designation Honeypot. Deuterium supply secured.

Levosia retains status as independent colony, with stated willingness to engage in trade and cooperative efforts with aspects of UEG, through the New Arcadia Initiative.

Rear Admiral Fieldings has been reported as MIA, presumed captured. Attempts to prevent capture by now Rear Admiral November failed. Spartan-II C-II "Bael Team" arrived via Condor. Deployed to Operation: RIGHT HOOK. UNSC Fortitude's Mile, presumed lost during the Insurrection, appeared via Slipspace. Vessel is currently undergoing refit. Compliment of 8 ORION soldiers have been deployed to Operation: RIGHT HOOK.

Contact established with Covenant Remnant Group designation, "The Purposeful Way." Remnant group is friendly to UNSC forces. With aid from PW assets, Banished Dreadnought, and a yet-undetermined number of escorts, have been destroyed. Several Banished warships have retreated, suffering serious damage. Banished forces potentially aware of New Arcadia Initative. Banished casualties believed to be greater than 700,000. Potentially 1,000,000. NAI casualties estimated at 500. Levosian Casualties estimated 50,000. PW casualties estimated 10,000.

UNSC detachment traveling with the Purposeful Way has chosen to join the New Arcadia Initiative. This detachment includes Valiant Hardball, Athens Last One Out, Halberds Two Step and Double Down, and other yet unidentified vessels. Detachment also includes estimated 80,000 civilians.

Operation: RIGHT HOOK deemed successful. Awaiting delivery of requested resources.

Building a better future, together. The New Arcadia Initiative.

//

 

[Apothecary Bruce]

Operation: RIGHT HOOK
Log: Operation Status Update
Report Submitted By: Governor Frontings
Priority: Urgent
///
Levosia discovered to house human population of over 6 million. Planetary liberation commenced.

Arcadian Naval Detachment reports loss of Halberds Double Tap and Twin Engine. Detachment reports loss of Zanar-pattern Retribution of Uratom. Detachment reports loss of Charons Bronze Bulwark, Ablative Armor. Charon Shining Armor suffered critical damage. Detachment reports loss of Chokat-pattern Legitimate Salvage.

Arcadian Naval Detachment reports capture of 4 Karves, planned for recommission. Detachment reports capture of Covenant fuel carrier, designation Honeypot. Deuterium supply secured.

Levosia retains status as independent colony, with stated willingness to engage in trade and cooperative efforts with aspects of UEG, through the New Arcadia Initiative.

Rear Admiral Fieldings has been reported as MIA, presumed captured. Attempts to prevent capture by now Rear Admiral November failed. Spartan-II C-II "Bael Team" arrived via Condor. Deployed to Operation: RIGHT HOOK. UNSC Fortitude's Mile, presumed lost during the Insurrection, appeared via Slipspace. Vessel is currently undergoing refit. Compliment of 8 ORION soldiers have been deployed to Operation: RIGHT HOOK.

Contact established with Covenant Remnant Group designation, "The Purposeful Way." Remnant group is friendly to UNSC forces. With aid from PW assets, Banished Dreadnought, and a yet-undetermined number of escorts, have been destroyed. Several Banished warships have retreated, suffering serious damage. Banished forces potentially aware of New Arcadia Initative. Banished casualties believed to be greater than 700,000. Potentially 1,000,000. NAI casualties estimated at 500. Levosian Casualties estimated 50,000. PW casualties estimated 10,000.

UNSC detachment traveling with the Purposeful Way has chosen to join the New Arcadia Initiative. This detachment includes Valiant Hardball, Athens Last One Out, Halberds Two Step and Double Down, and other yet unidentified vessels. Detachment also includes estimated 80,000 civilians.

Operation: RIGHT HOOK deemed successful. Awaiting delivery of requested resources.

Building a better future, together. The New Arcadia Initiative.

//

//RE: Operation: RIGHT HOOK
FROM: FLEET.ADM JOSEPH HARPER 07959-90021-JH
TO: GOV.FRONTINGS / ARCADIA.GOV.SLIPCOMM

Well, that's quite an incredible story. You're in luck, too - in the nearly two weeks since I discussed the terms of this mission and the rewards to be sent to Arcadia, we managed to liberate another three colonies, two from the Created and one from the Banished. One of them has the production of agricultural tools and equipment as a primary aspect of their economy, commissioned by the Created. Since they won't be using them, I've taken the liberty of shipping the excess product to Arcadia. It should be enough greenhouses, seeds, grain and livestock to get that colony self-sufficient in the next few months. Since I get the feeling you can't really wait for harvest season, I've also included ten million MREs fresh off the presses. It was an expense I had to take out of my own bank account, but what good is money if it isn't spent well I suppose.

The fleet escorting these supplies will be staying at Arcadia, meant to supplement your remaining flotilla and help recoup from your losses, though I'm glad to hear more of our brothers in arms have returned to the fold. Additionally, I'll be tailing along with my own handful of ships, to check this colony out for myself. I knew Levosia's population was high for the region, but I didn't know how much. I'd love to shake the hands of those I'll be dealing with, though I've got a good feeling about this working out. The rest of the emergency government council is ready to accept anything short of vassalization if it means all the parts and fuel we need to really retake the Sol system, and then the rest of our space.

The UNSC thanks you for your service and performance on our behalf. Harper, out.

// MESSAGE ENDS.

 

[Apothecary Bruce]

As the Langport thundered through slipspace on its way to Harvest, the Spartans of recently formed Fireteam Phoenix gathered with the rest of their super soldier kind in Hell's Waiting Room - the ship's drop pod bay. Typically reserved for the use of Orbital Shock Drop Troopers, the frigate found itself without any ODSTs and plenty of Spartans, so the bay had been given to them. The Spartans of Fireteam Lionsguard preferred it here, always ready for a quick deployment.

It was a peculiar sight. Outside those first years of training, and perhaps onboard the UNSC Infinity, there was rarely ever a gathering of over thirty Spartans in one spot, let alone over fifty. Once, there had been over a thousand Spartans total, and with all the losses they'd endured to Cortana, and likely to the Banished, it was incredible how many were aboard just one vessel - an old and small warhorse like a Charon, too.

There was still a table reserved for them, as it happened. A few crewmates had brought them warmed MREs - highly nutritious and highly dense meatloaf, probably packaged before Admiral Cole died - but they didn't look too much like crew. In truth, they were a bunch of kids, with a few women in their mid to late thirties, and a single man amongst them, all of which were wearing casual UNSC gear, not dress or work uniforms. Civilian families, it became obvious. Drafted to military service. Whatever parent wasn't here, was probably down in the hangar, clipping their helmets on and checking their rifles.

Asher sat down, after watching the children leave cheerfully. A few of the other Spartans played a little with them, others didn't particularly care or left it at 'thank you.' "It's a shame we don't have the capacity to produce new Spartans onboard, plenty of reinforcement opportunities on this ship," he muttered, removing his helmet to start eating his 'meal.'

@Noble Scion
@Bael
@Doctor Jax

 

[Bael]

As the Langport thundered through slipspace on its way to Harvest, the Spartans of recently formed Fireteam Phoenix gathered with the rest of their super soldier kind in Hell's Waiting Room - the ship's drop pod bay. Typically reserved for the use of Orbital Shock Drop Troopers, the frigate found itself without any ODSTs and plenty of Spartans, so the bay had been given to them. The Spartans of Fireteam Lionsguard preferred it here, always ready for a quick deployment.

It was a peculiar sight. Outside those first years of training, and perhaps onboard the UNSC Infinity, there was rarely ever a gathering of over thirty Spartans in one spot, let alone over fifty. Once, there had been over a thousand Spartans total, and with all the losses they'd endured to Cortana, and likely to the Banished, it was incredible how many were aboard just one vessel - an old and small warhorse like a Charon, too.

There was still a table reserved for them, as it happened. A few crewmates had brought them warmed MREs - highly nutritious and highly dense meatloaf, probably packaged before Admiral Cole died - but they didn't look too much like crew. In truth, they were a bunch of kids, with a few women in their mid to late thirties, and a single man amongst them, all of which were wearing casual UNSC gear, not dress or work uniforms. Civilian families, it became obvious. Drafted to military service. Whatever parent wasn't here, was probably down in the hangar, clipping their helmets on and checking their rifles.

Asher sat down, after watching the children leave cheerfully. A few of the other Spartans played a little with them, others didn't particularly care or left it at 'thank you.' "It's a shame we don't have the capacity to produce new Spartans onboard, plenty of reinforcement opportunities on this ship," he muttered, removing his helmet to start eating his 'meal.'

Dorian remained standing for a moment, watching the kids play, their laughter and energy feeling out of place in the cold, metallic drop bay. It was strange—seeing life go on like that, even in a place meant for war. His fingers tapped lightly against the hilt of J.D.'s knife as he observed them, his expression unreadable behind his visor.
At Asher's comment, Dorian finally sat down, setting his helmet beside him with a dull clunk. He glanced at the MRE in front of him before scoffing lightly. "Reinforcement opportunities?" His voice was even, but there was a faint edge to it. "You mean turning more kids into weapons?"
He shook his head, finally picking at the dense meatloaf. "We had our shot at surviving the war. Doesn't mean they should have to." He gestured vaguely toward the playing children. "They've already been drafted into this life, one way or another. The difference is, they still have a chance to be something else—if we do our jobs right."

 

[Noble Scion]

It was a peculiar sight. Outside those first years of training, and perhaps onboard the UNSC Infinity, there was rarely ever a gathering of over thirty Spartans in one spot, let alone over fifty. Once, there had been over a thousand Spartans total, and with all the losses they'd endured to Cortana, and likely to the Banished, it was incredible how many were aboard just one vessel - an old and small warhorse like a Charon, too.

There was still a table reserved for them, as it happened. A few crewmates had brought them warmed MREs - highly nutritious and highly dense meatloaf, probably packaged before Admiral Cole died - but they didn't look too much like crew. In truth, they were a bunch of kids, with a few women in their mid to late thirties, and a single man amongst them, all of which were wearing casual UNSC gear, not dress or work uniforms. Civilian families, it became obvious. Drafted to military service. Whatever parent wasn't here, was probably down in the hangar, clipping their helmets on and checking their rifles.

Short red hair with a littany of old burn and slash scars centred on the left side of her face, crowned by the white medical eye-patch covering her left eye. Ellie would sit with the rest of fireteam Phoenix with her helmet between her legs, ambiently watching the makeshift staff doing their work with fondness in her remaining green eye as she'd track the small interactions between spartan and civillian.

For someone like her, and many others she suspected, that had undergone the spartan program since a young age, this would be the closest thing to family someone like her would ever get, watching the little things from afar. It hurt to thing that they were getting thrown into this battle too.

"I wonder if I'll ever see the end of this war. Maybe I'm just getting old. Thanks, love." Elizabeth would hum mostly to herself before a plate would slide in front of her, a friendly smile lighting up her face as she'd shake off the thoughts.

Asher sat down, after watching the children leave cheerfully. A few of the other Spartans played a little with them, others didn't particularly care or left it at 'thank you.' "It's a shame we don't have the capacity to produce new Spartans onboard, plenty of reinforcement opportunities on this ship," he muttered, removing his helmet to start eating his 'meal.'

Hearing his musing, Ellie couldn't help but let out a small giggle.

"Hmm? So women are just 'reinforcement opportunities' to you now, young man? Do I count~?" Ellie would tease him, leaning forward as she'd rest her head on her propped up fist with a flirty grin, watching him take a bite, before letting out another laugh, wondering if he'd manage to swallow that chunk of MRE.

Dorian remained standing for a moment, watching the kids play, their laughter and energy feeling out of place in the cold, metallic drop bay. It was strange—seeing life go on like that, even in a place meant for war. His fingers tapped lightly against the hilt of J.D.'s knife as he observed them, his expression unreadable behind his visor.
At Asher's comment, Dorian finally sat down, setting his helmet beside him with a dull clunk. He glanced at the MRE in front of him before scoffing lightly. "Reinforcement opportunities?" His voice was even, but there was a faint edge to it. "You mean turning more kids into weapons?"
He shook his head, finally picking at the dense meatloaf. "We had our shot at surviving the war. Doesn't mean they should have to." He gestured vaguely toward the playing children. "They've already been drafted into this life, one way or another. The difference is, they still have a chance to be something else—if we do our jobs right."

The mood would seem to sour a little as Dorian would seem to take Asher's words a different way, jumping into scolding his fellow spartan, Elizabeth straightening herself up with a sigh.

"He didn't mean it like that, and we're currently on our way to do our best at protecting them, no need to pick a fight since there will be more than enough of that where we're going." She'd hum diffusingly, reaching over and giving Dorian a gentle pat on the shoulder before taking her seat again, distracting herself by cutting into her own un-touched food and taking a bite.

 

[Apothecary Bruce]

Hearing his musing, Ellie couldn't help but let out a small giggle.

"Hmm? So women are just 'reinforcement opportunities' to you now, young man? Do I count~?" Ellie would tease him, leaning forward as she'd rest her head on her propped up fist with a flirty grin, watching him take a bite, before letting out another laugh, wondering if he'd manage to swallow that chunk of MRE.

Dorian remained standing for a moment, watching the kids play, their laughter and energy feeling out of place in the cold, metallic drop bay. It was strange—seeing life go on like that, even in a place meant for war. His fingers tapped lightly against the hilt of J.D.'s knife as he observed them, his expression unreadable behind his visor.
At Asher's comment, Dorian finally sat down, setting his helmet beside him with a dull clunk. He glanced at the MRE in front of him before scoffing lightly. "Reinforcement opportunities?" His voice was even, but there was a faint edge to it. "You mean turning more kids into weapons?"
He shook his head, finally picking at the dense meatloaf. "We had our shot at surviving the war. Doesn't mean they should have to." He gestured vaguely toward the playing children. "They've already been drafted into this life, one way or another. The difference is, they still have a chance to be something else—if we do our jobs right."

The mood would seem to sour a little as Dorian would seem to take Asher's words a different way, jumping into scolding his fellow spartan, Elizabeth straightening herself up with a sigh.

"He didn't mean it like that, and we're currently on our way to do our best at protecting them, no need to pick a fight since there will be more than enough of that where we're going." She'd hum diffusingly, reaching over and giving Dorian a gentle pat on the shoulder before taking her seat again, distracting herself by cutting into her own un-touched food and taking a bite.

The notably sheltered fifteen-year old boy Spartan blushed so hard it almost looked painted on him. "I, err, didn't mean the women... I know our lives were tough, but I can't help but feel that they'd be best off being like us. What better defense is being able to defend yourself? Even a Grunt is a monster compared to even a fully grown human. I don't know. This whole damn situation..." he said, trailing off as he ate a piece of meatloaf. "I'm scared there's not really going to be a super humane way to survive the yearly apocalypses, and I don't know what that's going to do to us."

He paused a moment. "Well, uhh, anyone want to swap histories or something? We've got eight or so hours before we're fighting and bleeding together."

 

[Bael]

The mood would seem to sour a little as Dorian would seem to take Asher's words a different way, jumping into scolding his fellow spartan, Elizabeth straightening herself up with a sigh.

"He didn't mean it like that, and we're currently on our way to do our best at protecting them, no need to pick a fight since there will be more than enough of that where we're going." She'd hum diffusingly, reaching over and giving Dorian a gentle pat on the shoulder before taking her seat again, distracting herself by cutting into her own un-touched food and taking a bite.

Dorian exhaled slowly, letting the tension in his shoulders ease—just a little. Elizabeth's words were calm, measured, and she wasn't wrong. He hadn't meant to start a fight, but after everything—after his last mission, after years of seeing good people die—his patience for optimism had worn thin.
He gave a small nod, more acknowledgment than agreement, before picking up his own MRE and taking another bite. The taste was bland, dense, but it gave him something to focus on. "Yeah," he muttered finally. "Guess there will."
He didn't apologize—wasn't sure he needed to—but he didn't push the topic further. Instead, he kept eating in silence, eyes glancing occasionally toward the playing kids. He wasn't the type to believe in happy endings, but Elizabeth was right about one thing. Their job wasn't to dwell on what could happen. It was to make sure those kids didn't end up like them.

The notably sheltered fifteen-year old boy Spartan blushed so hard it almost looked painted on him. "I, err, didn't mean the women... I know our lives were tough, but I can't help but feel that they'd be best off being like us. What better defense is being able to defend yourself? Even a Grunt is a monster compared to even a fully grown human. I don't know. This whole damn situation..." he said, trailing off as he ate a piece of meatloaf. "I'm scared there's not really going to be a super humane way to survive the yearly apocalypses, and I don't know what that's going to do to us."

He paused a moment. "Well, uhh, anyone want to swap histories or something? We've got eight or so hours before we're fighting and bleeding together."

Dorian glanced at the kid—because that's what he was, no matter how much armor he wore or how many fights he'd seen. The red creeping up his face made it obvious just how young he still was.
For a moment, Dorian just chewed his food, thinking. He wasn't great at these kinds of conversations—never had been. He wasn't the guy who gave comforting words or silver linings. And he sure as hell wasn't about to start talking about his past like it was some campfire story.
Still, the kid was trying, and even if Dorian didn't believe in hope the way others did, he wasn't about to shoot it down completely.
He set his fork down, leaning back slightly. "There's always gonna be another fight," he said, voice level. "Always gonna be another enemy knocking at the door. The difference between us and them is we don't break. That's all we've got. We hold the line so the people behind us don't have to." He shrugged. We do it because no one else can."
At the offer to trade histories, Dorian let out a dry chuckle—not mocking, just tired. "Doubt anyone wants to hear mine," he muttered, fingers unconsciously brushing against J.D.'s knife at his side. "But I'll listen."

 

[Noble Scion]

The notably sheltered fifteen-year old boy Spartan blushed so hard it almost looked painted on him. "I, err, didn't mean the women... I know our lives were tough, but I can't help but feel that they'd be best off being like us. What better defense is being able to defend yourself? Even a Grunt is a monster compared to even a fully grown human. I don't know. This whole damn situation..." he said, trailing off as he ate a piece of meatloaf. "I'm scared there's not really going to be a super humane way to survive the yearly apocalypses, and I don't know what that's going to do to us."

Dorian exhaled slowly, letting the tension in his shoulders ease—just a little. Elizabeth's words were calm, measured, and she wasn't wrong. He hadn't meant to start a fight, but after everything—after his last mission, after years of seeing good people die—his patience for optimism had worn thin.
He gave a small nod, more acknowledgment than agreement, before picking up his own MRE and taking another bite. The taste was bland, dense, but it gave him something to focus on. "Yeah," he muttered finally. "Guess there will."
He didn't apologize—wasn't sure he needed to—but he didn't push the topic further. Instead, he kept eating in silence, eyes glancing occasionally toward the playing kids. He wasn't the type to believe in happy endings, but Elizabeth was right about one thing. Their job wasn't to dwell on what could happen. It was to make sure those kids didn't end up like them.

Asher's reaction to her teasing was precious and Ellie savored it, letting a bright laugh spill out from her lips at his blushing face, slowly fading until only a content smile would remain, before he'd reason would make her let out a soft, knowing sigh.

"They're tougher than you give them credit, and while your heart's in the right place... I wouldn't wish this fate on anyone. We're fighting to give them a normal life, not a spartan one, but of course, that's not my call, and the higher ups will always want more manpower." Ellie would answer, serious for the moment with a melancholic tone in her voice as she'd give a sympathetic look to them both, particularly Dorian as he'd seem to understand her words.

He paused a moment. "Well, uhh, anyone want to swap histories or something? We've got eight or so hours before we're fighting and bleeding together."

Dorian glanced at the kid—because that's what he was, no matter how much armor he wore or how many fights he'd seen. The red creeping up his face made it obvious just how young he still was.
For a moment, Dorian just chewed his food, thinking. He wasn't great at these kinds of conversations—never had been. He wasn't the guy who gave comforting words or silver linings. And he sure as hell wasn't about to start talking about his past like it was some campfire story.
Still, the kid was trying, and even if Dorian didn't believe in hope the way others did, he wasn't about to shoot it down completely.
He set his fork down, leaning back slightly. "There's always gonna be another fight," he said, voice level. "Always gonna be another enemy knocking at the door. The difference between us and them is we don't break. That's all we've got. We hold the line so the people behind us don't have to." He shrugged. We do it because no one else can."
At the offer to trade histories, Dorian let out a dry chuckle—not mocking, just tired. "Doubt anyone wants to hear mine," he muttered, fingers unconsciously brushing against J.D.'s knife at his side. "But I'll listen."

Brightening up once more, she'd hum back thoughtfully at his suggestion and dorian's doubt, though her eye would betray her revived light-hearted mood, wincing slightly at the prospect. She was one to avoid her history if she could help it, but it was better to try and bond while they could, and she didn't want to shut the young soldier down while he was still open to talking.

"You don't need to tell us if you don't want to." Elizabeth would hum, unsure of how to go about it herself as her mind would jump to all the things she would rather not talk about it, quietly taking a deep breath. It had been years and she still didn't think she was ready to talk about it fully, and it was hard to think of the positive things that she did on duty without reminding herself of what happened to her squad and all the ways she could've prevented it.

"... Why don't you go first since it was your idea. I'll go next, then we'll see if we can't worm a story out of that helmet of yours." She'd chuckle, pointing to Dorian, herself, then Asher respectively, folding her arms and leaning back as she'd get comfortable.

 

[Apothecary Bruce]

Dorian glanced at the kid—because that's what he was, no matter how much armor he wore or how many fights he'd seen. The red creeping up his face made it obvious just how young he still was.
For a moment, Dorian just chewed his food, thinking. He wasn't great at these kinds of conversations—never had been. He wasn't the guy who gave comforting words or silver linings. And he sure as hell wasn't about to start talking about his past like it was some campfire story.
Still, the kid was trying, and even if Dorian didn't believe in hope the way others did, he wasn't about to shoot it down completely.
He set his fork down, leaning back slightly. "There's always gonna be another fight," he said, voice level. "Always gonna be another enemy knocking at the door. The difference between us and them is we don't break. That's all we've got. We hold the line so the people behind us don't have to." He shrugged. We do it because no one else can."
At the offer to trade histories, Dorian let out a dry chuckle—not mocking, just tired. "Doubt anyone wants to hear mine," he muttered, fingers unconsciously brushing against J.D.'s knife at his side. "But I'll listen."

Brightening up once more, she'd hum back thoughtfully at his suggestion and dorian's doubt, though her eye would betray her revived light-hearted mood, wincing slightly at the prospect. She was one to avoid her history if she could help it, but it was better to try and bond while they could, and she didn't want to shut the young soldier down while he was still open to talking.

"You don't need to tell us if you don't want to." Elizabeth would hum, unsure of how to go about it herself as her mind would jump to all the things she would rather not talk about it, quietly taking a deep breath. It had been years and she still didn't think she was ready to talk about it fully, and it was hard to think of the positive things that she did on duty without reminding herself of what happened to her squad and all the ways she could've prevented it.

"... Why don't you go first since it was your idea. I'll go next, then we'll see if we can't worm a story out of that helmet of yours." She'd chuckle, pointing to Dorian, herself, then Asher respectively, folding her arms and leaning back as she'd get comfortable.

Asher took in the words of his elders, apparently quite interested in what they had to say. He looked as if he wanted to reply to Dorian's comment, but it seemed the kid understood that the topic wasn't really something to argue over.

"Sure, I can go first. I was born on Concord in 2538, my parents were pretty distant. Eventually they abandoned me so they could move to Reach, because they thought Concord was next on the Covenant's chopping block. I want to laugh at the irony, but...anyhow, ONI picked me up from the orphanage, took me to some black site with the rest of my people. Spartan-II, second class. Spent the rest of my short life training to be the very best. Turns out we were being made alongside the UNSC Infinity, supposed to fill the role of ODSTs, be the swinging sword of a humanity on the run," Asher explained, all with a heavy tone. "That didn't come to pass. We were put on ice, ONI's ace in the hole. Except we all got to wake up screaming and fighting against a bunch of Created armigers. Half of us escaped, the rest were kidnapped by whatever jackass AI organized that little surprise. We stole one of their ships, took it on over to Nysa. I was one of the few they selected to go out and find other elements of the UNSC, try to rally a unified defense, and get hands-on experience fighting our new enemies, so I can properly help the Class-IIs, Delta Company and the new S-IVs."

Asher pulled out a pair of Spartan dog-tags, but they didn't have his name on them. Amelia-0612. "We were made to be humanity's last line of defense. Still are. So that's my story, and my reason."

@Noble Scion
@Bael
@Doctor Jax

 

[Doctor Jax]

CarcharaDone With This Shit


Collab between @Moonlight501 @Doctor Jax @Bael @Apothecary Bruce @CT2222 @rissa

"Good effect on target, Spearshaker," Connolly, already near the back of the formation with his focus on ranged combat, signaled for his remaining squad to halt with a raised fist. Breaking to the left and right, they split to take cover around the lip of two craters.

The Snipers he had left sighted in on the honor guard, while his demo team prepared to fire on the center, at Carcharadon's feat. Connolly himself took aim at the Brute's kneecaps.

"Connolly to Spartan Team, in position. Ready on your order."

The battlefield was a mess. Covered in sand and broken machine parts, Carcharodon corralled what forces remained to him. This shall be why we lose, he mused, gazing upon his now disorganized and unresponsive flock, charging into suicidal battle with an enemy that far outstripped them and only grew in strength.

Even now, their fleet - no longer just the human escort flotilla, but proper Covenant battleships - battered upon War Chief Grachkor's energy shielding. The Richards human was no longer sending communiques either. His trap for the Spartans and their ilk must've failed.

He roared in frustration, as his defensive guard mustered around him. Six Brutes in golden armor, four wielding gravity hammers and two wielding plasma turrets, stood around him at the corners, while three Jackal snipers took up position on the sand hills around their position.

The Grunt looked up at him, jiggling his comm-tool. "Uhh, boss? The squeak transmitter isn't transmittin'!"

"What?"

"I'm just hearing silence! War Chief ain't saying anything!"

Carcharodon slammed his fist atop the radio Grunt, killing him instantly, before the praetorian stomped on his corpse repeatedly.

With Carcharadon's security force assembling, Connolly's sniper team switched targets. Their new targets were the trio of jackals that had moved into view. Stripping the Banished leader of his ranged fire support would give the Spartans the freedom of movement they'd need to bring down the heavy targets.

And bring down the heavy targets, the Orions certainly wanted to do. After a quick and dirty run-down from their new, alien allies on how these fantastical futuristic weapons worked, a plan quickly formed among the Orions.

Those turrets had to go first.

Veronica served to spot, spite supercharged in her veins as she picked out their leader — but that wasn't who she was after, right now. Her scope swung to the ugly jackasses on the turrets, instead.

"Mark!" she yelled, and two of her Orion fellows pointed brand new (to them) Skewers at either. They'd been told these would punch through shields readily. She certainly hoped so.

Another Orion charged up the plasma caster, to fire immediately after the Skewers and to detonate in the middle of his honor guard.

"FIRE!"

Bas-0782, having heard Connolly's call, took a moment to steady himself, even with the searing pain from his damaged visor. He signaled to his team, his voice gruff but clear despite the situation. "Let's finish this. Keep the pressure on and make sure they don't regroup."

Elara-0922, Twin M7S Suppressed SMGs ready at her sides, immediately moved to a crouch, preparing to close the distance as soon as the Skewers and plasma caster did their work. "We'll move in as soon as those turrets are down," she said, her focus unyielding.

James-1132, still grinning from his earlier fight, hefted his Gravity Hammer, ready to charge. "If those turrets go down, I'm more than happy to go in swinging. Let's see what this thing can really do."

Armando-0542 kept a watchful eye on the battlefield, ensuring the team's movements were calculated. "Once they've made their move, we hit them hard. Precision, not recklessness."

With a quiet nod from Bas, the team waited for the first wave of fire to go off, knowing the battle was about to escalate. Their weapons were ready, and their focus was sharper than ever.

As Veronica made the call to fire, Connolly's team brought down their targets. Three jackals dropped as the coordinated fire of two shock rifles, an SRS, and a beam rifle collided with their heads. In sync with the Orion's own plasma caster, Connolly's demo team fired into the enemy formation. Firing last, Connolly targeted the knee joints of Carcharadon's armor, putting a quartet of blamite shards into each of them.

Carcharodon's private force evaporated. His Jackal snipers, lost to the enemy's own marksmen. His honor guard, speared first by looted Skewer rifles, then a cluster bolt from a plasma caster struck between them all. Carcharodon leapt back far quicker than his bulky heavy weapon defenders, and their power armor took the brunt of the blast.

Yet still dutiful through the pain, they moved to cover their leader, taking needles to the knees and inner arms, the blades not penetrating both armor and hide fully. "Kill them all!" he roared, pulling out his own sidearm, some sort of custom, long barreled Mangler, and fired it directly at his enemies. The praetorian's eyes were sharp - an ambusher recognizing an ambush when he saw one.

The spike sailed as if it were fired from an SRS-99 itself, blasting through one of Connolly's remaining mercenaries. As the ORION Pilum squad fired at the Brutes, they saw them all ditch their heavy guns and charge at terrifying, superhuman speeds at their location, shedding burnt and useless warplate as they picked up speed. The missiles struck the sand behind them, erupting into a glorious plume.

That was when Connolly's sensor uplink detected something peculiar. A flight of four Phantoms, coming from where the super soldier team had. They had an escort too, six Banshee flyers. Maybe Carcharodon isn't the biggest dick in Cassanova.

The Phantoms opened fire, blasting away at the Spartan team in particular, though one of the side Grunt gunners on the closest gunship made sure to blast away at the ORIONs, though he likely couldn't tell the difference anyway.

As the chaos of the battlefield continued to unfold, Bas-0782 immediately reacted, his voice cold and commanding. "Focus fire on the charging Brutes! Armando, take them down before they get any closer. James, clear out those Grunt gunners. We can't afford to be distracted."

Armando-0542 quickly moved into position, aiming the Spartan Rifle with precision at the incoming Brutes. "On it," he muttered as he steadied his shot. With calculated intent, he fired, aiming for the Brutes' weak points, hoping the powerful rounds would break through their remaining armor and kill them.

James-1132, hearing his orders, grinned as he wielded his VK78 Commando. "Time to make some noise," he muttered, scanning the skies for the Grunt gunners. Spotting one of them on the side of a Phantom, James squeezed off a burst of fire, aiming for the exposed Grunt as the gunship flew low.

The battle raged on as Bael Team focused on their targets, working in perfect coordination to clear the path before them.

"Spearshaker, confirm visual?" Connolly said, stress leaking into his voice as he dipped to the side and popped a string of smoke grenades on his chest. With fire coming his way, it was time to put the OptiLink system Adam had given him to work. As the phosphorous smoke burst into a thick fog around him, the previously dim red outlines of hostile contacts turned to a vibrant red.

Allies, too, became a vibrant green, "Visual confirmed, shell out." A green speck a kilometer away flickered yellow from muzzle flash, and the lead Phantom was struck directly in its anti grav systems by the Scorpion's shell. Connolly switched his focus, turning from the lead Brute on the ground to the gunners aboard the Phantoms. "Don't worry about those gunners, Spartans, we'll take care of them."

Without needing his command, four of the remaining merchant marines shifted their fire to the Phantoms as well. The cluster munition of a plasma caster sailed upward towards the rearmost Phantom, as a spray of fuel rods rushed to meet the second in line. The lead Phantom's gunners became the target of Connolly and his XO, the combination of needles and 14.5mm bullets cracking through the air. His last two marines focused on the Banshees. Shock rifles in hand, they paired up on the vehicles to disable them with the weapon's EMP effect. This battle wouldn't be won by them, but each marine knew the burden was on them to give the Spartans and Orions the opportunities they needed.

Like a set of ghosts, Syga's team had spread out across the battlefield, picking their targets. They had been about to concentrate fire upon Carcharodon before the damnable Banished had begun strafing their demon allies. Were it up to him, Syga would have held the course… but his orders were clear. Preserving the Spartans was a higher priority. A quick staccato set of clicks over the comm channel relayed his orders to his team, and they reacted fast, all lining up angles on a Phantom gunner. He settled his own Carbine crosshairs directly on top of one of the Grunt's heads, and smirked. Even at this distance, the hypersonic round needed little correction for lead and fall off. With a final click, he let slip his dogs of war.

The first indication of their presence to the enemy was a beam of light that sliced through the air. That was followed by four shards of crystalline matter, three radioactive and one of arcane blamite, flying up towards the enemy, and a bolt of powerful superheated plasma. Gouts of more plasma erupted, fast and furious, pounding into the Banshees as they escorted their charges. One of the Way's operators, however, held his fire, waiting until just the perfect moment to overcharge and fire his plasma pistol to catch a Banshee off-guard.

Enid cursed, throwing herself out of the way. She wasn't sure, with that backwards glance before her lunge, whether it was 'phantom' fire or plasma canons — and she rightfully didn't care. There was a wave of heat at her heels, but she hadn't been hit and somehow, neither had Lupe's experimental shield popped. That made her a smidge more confident. The Orion soldier heaved the ravager into her hands, trying to remember what Connolly's merc had explained. All she remembered in that moment was a clipped, gruff voice mumbling about a three-round burst and it needing to charge. Guess I can deal with that.

Enid pulled the trigger and lobbed a fireball at Carcharodon's feet. The reddish-pink flames lit the night around him and she smiled, teeth barred inside her helmet. She pulled the trigger two more times — hoping someone took the shot while the area surrounding him burned. After venting it, (and thanking she had armor, otherwise her hands would be as useless as Olly's) she held the trigger down, watching the beast of weapon tremble.

Huh, this must be what that merc meant.

Then she let go, charged shot aimed at Carcharodon and his merry men.

Meanwhile, the other ORIONs were doing their best to regroup, the strafing catching them off guard. One Orion, Dakota, had had just enough warning to avoid a shot directly to the back of his head — but did get winged in the shoulder, even as they tried to find sufficient cover.

Realizing they had vehicles bearing down on them — strange vehicles as they were — the realization that they would need to re-prioritize was swift.

With Syga's troops taking out those on the Banshees, and Connolly's men managing the Phantoms, Dakota and Vaea shifted the Pilums to a Banshee each to whittle them down.

Veronica watched as Carcharodon's men abandoned their weapons to instead advance, like a bayoneting charge, and she muttered under her breath, "Go ahead, make my day." She picked up one of the Skewers from her compatriots to aim and fire at the nearest Brute, their plasma caster charging to hit Carcharodon as soon as Enid's own blast had cleared.

The Banshees exploded, and the first Phantom gunship dropped to the ground, aflame but not destroyed. Yet the other three loomed, taking the lesser hits with stride, and from them dropped a dozen Brutes and two dozen Grunts near Carcharodon in support, armed with very basic weaponry. A peculiar choice, to attack a platoon of super soldiers and their support.

Then, someone emerged from the middle Phantom, the trio of gunships keeping the ORIONs too pinned with artillery to reload and fire their missile launchers. The figure leapt out, boosted forward with thruster packs, and tackled James to the ground, skidding along the floor.

The creature - no, a Spartan - jumped off the large C-II and drew the gravity hammer from his back. As James too recovered and prepared to attack with his own hammer, the back-blade of the traitor's weapon slashed upwards, breaking his shield and leaving a scrape in his armor's plate.

Before the Banished super soldier could press the attack, James managed to push forward, catching his enemy's next blow with his hammer's hilt. Then, the traitor kicked at James, causing him to crumple somewhat, and he yanked and tossed away James' gravity hammer, falling down the hill.

Then, as the traitor slammed the end of his hammer against James' chest, Carcharodon picked up the now discarded heavy weapon and leapt into the air, bringing down the weapon in the center of their formation, tossing the C-IIs a dozen meters away through the air.

His bodyguards did not reach such heights, however, having been felled by the Spartans, Enid's well-placed ravager blasts, and Syga's silent blades.

The Brute praetorian looked up with a mad gleam in his eye and a wide grin on his face, staring directly at Enid. "You!" he growled, before charging forward again. There was enough distance to do something - it just had to be done quick.

The Phantoms retreated back, before engaging with the meddlesome Scorpion tank Spearshaker.

No no no no no no no! Connolly surged forward as his smoke cover began to dissipate. The Orions had veterancy, and the C-IIs had capability, but he was confident neither was enough to handle a Banished Spartan. Beside him, his merchant marines rise as well. Shock rifles fired til dry, plasma caster emptied, and fuel rod drained; all into the freshly dropped fodder. Then they drew their secondary weapons. Disruptors and Needlers, they charged towards the enemy with suicidal commitment. They may be mercenaries, but no human worth the title would abide a Spartan being killed by a Banished traitor.

As they flung themselves into the reach of a crazed super soldier, firing all the way, Connolly's XO calmly lined up his shot with the remaining round in his SRS. Connolly himself moved to the battle against Carcharadon. Against the iron muscle of a Brute, Orions didn't stand a chance in cqc. He fire the Lance of Suban until it was empty, aiming for the hulking gorilla's chest. Blinding the ape would have been preferable, but he couldn't guarantee the shot. He'd settle for a supercombine.

Enid had missed this feeling.

If she had a moment to spare she'd worry their forty-year jaunt in slipspace loosened a few screws... but maybe that itch had always been there.

It was a shame, really, that her face was hidden - Carcharodon's mad gleam was repaid in kind as he charged. She shot two more globs of plasma his way, watching as he took a few crystalline rounds to the chest without his momentum halting. In an effort to give those behind her a chance to regroup and refocus, Enid charged as well.

She kept her finger on the trigger, feeling it tremble as it charged, likely for the last time. Enid let go just before she launched herself in the air, ravager blade seeking blood. She'd plunge it up through the roof of his mouth, if the blast managed to knock free the front piece of his bone-and-plate helm, otherwise she'd aim for his throat.

In the distance, now fighting an entirely separate battle, the trio of Phantoms descended upon Spearshaker. Plasma boiled the tank's armor away as the dropships circled high above like vultures. The tank began moving at speed in an effort to escape the fusillade. That was until it began sliding down a hill. As quick as the turret was able, the main gun turned with the boost in elevation and once again fired on the Phantoms. The shell landed directly on the lead craft's nose. The Phantom was undeterred, despite the now exposed cockpit, and it swooped in low over the reloading Scorpion. Plasma detonated on the turret, melting the barrel at its base and consequently disabling the main gun.

The blow would not go unpunished, however, as a Goblin lept from the base of the hill and collided with the dropship's nose. Heavy needles punched through what protection remained, and a rippling supercombine carried through the hull. A squeal of glee sounded through the radio as the grunt jockey reveled in his victory. Continuing on, the Goblin leapt to the second Phantom. Undamaged to this point, It had little difficulty shaking the mech off. Still, a number of needles were punched directly into its portside antigrav unit.

As the second to last Phantom limped away, a trio of Gauss Hogs crested the hill and fired on the final dropship. Heavy slugs punctured the hull, and one knocked off the nose gun. Attempting to follow its fellow in retreat, the craft wouldn't make it a hundred meters before the Goblin brought it low with a final burst of needles.

Bas-0782, his M6D Magnum gripped firmly in his hand despite the pain in his left eye, moved to take position. His mind was laser-focused on the banished spartan. Bas' sniper training kicked in, aiming for the weak points in the Spartan's armor, knowing the only way to stop him was through precision shots.

"Cover me," Bas said to Armando and Elara, his voice unwavering despite his injuries. "If we can't stop him from swinging that hammer, this fight will end badly."

Armando-0542, now armed with his MA37, took up a flanking position, ensuring he had a clear line of fire to assist Bas. He fired controlled bursts at the traitor Spartan, aiming to create openings in his armor and keep him distracted. "Got your back," Armando said, his focus sharp.

Elara-0922, her Energy Sword now ignited, sprinted toward the Banished Spartan with determination in her eyes. Her movements were fluid, ready to close the distance and strike before the Spartan could land another blow. "I'll keep him occupied," she said as she moved swiftly toward the traitor, hoping to catch him off guard.

Bas-0782 took a deep breath and adjusted his grip on his Magnum, steadying himself as he lined up the shot. He fired, targeting the joint in the Spartan's shoulder, hoping to disable his weapon arm. The shot rang out with precision, a calculated strike aimed at bringing the traitor to his knees.

As Elara reached the Banished Spartan, she moved in with incredible speed, using the cover fire from Bas and Armando to her advantage. She ducked low to avoid any swing from the gravity hammer and tried thrusting the energy sword in the side of the traitor.

 

[Doctor Jax]

CarcharaDone With This Shit (Continued)


Collab between @Moonlight501 @Doctor Jax @Bael @Apothecary Bruce @CT2222 @rissa
Syga slotted his carbine onto his back and clacked his teeth. A Janissary, eh? The Way had encountered some, in their travels and battles. Less disciplined than the standard Demons, but more bold, more ferocious. This would be a true fight. He grabbed the twin hilts of his energy swords from his waist and ignited them, their twin lavender blades humming as he lowered himself into a ready stance. He burst forward, moving at incredibly speed, powerful legs propelling him gracefully across the battlefield. He lept from side to side with a dancer's grace, his active camouflage flickering off and on again. Spartans and their ilk had already developed the skillsets needed to see a cloaked Elite, once they knew to look. Thus, post-Covenant special forces had adopted a new method to help close the distance once battle had commenced. The flickering threw off the aim better than staying simply cloaked did, with the human eye finding it harder to properly identify the target's size, speed and distance.

As Syga drew up to the Janissary's left, he stamped his feet, arresting his momentum. He swept his right blade low in a beautiful stroke, aiming to cut into his knee and cripple the armored leg. His left blade he held ready in a guard, to defend or exploit. He clacked his teeth again. This would, perhaps, be fun.

-

As the merchant marines charged and fired at the Janissary, two shapes flowed into their formation with practiced ease, joining their charge. One wore Zealot armor and and carried a towering shield of energy, while the other was clad in black Spec Ops harness with a pulse carbine latched to his back. Both carried the signature glowing blue blades of plasma of the Sangheili, ignited and flaring in their hands. They roared, and pushed ahead to the front, ready to strike soon. Several radioactive shards of crystal slapped into the Janissary as well, as another Elite knelt to their left and fired, careful to avoid hitting any of their allies. Next to him, the Slugman Yehono Rodna lined up his beam rifle, preparing for a killshot when he had an opportunity.

As this happened, their human squad members and a burly Elite with a Plasma Repeater fired freely into the remaining Brutes and Grunts, reaping a heavy cost and helping to keep them off their allies.

-

As Enid lept for Carcharodon's throat, Tese 'Taralumai appeared, sprinting towards the massive Brute. She slide smoothly, her cybernetic arm scraping against the ground as she extended it to control her force. She slid behind the towering Brute, lashing out at his muscular leg and aiming for the inside of his knee with her energy sword. Needle rounds and globs of plasma flashed by Connolly as a Skirmisher and an Elite began to fire, and an Elite with energy sword ignited ran by his left shoulder, ready to join Enid in attacking Carcharodon from the front.

-

Pawap's Goblin turned away from the gunship as it plummeted towards the ground. He was confident the thing was dead, and anyways, the human refugees who took the bunking across the hall from his barracks said that cool guys didn't look at explosions. His sensors registered the concussive wave of the impact against the back of his walker, but it barely even rocked the sturdy beast he piloted. He turned and waved cheerily at the wheeled human vehicles who had helped him take out the gunship. What were those things called again? He thought the humans in the barracks had called them "Wort-Pogs"… He didn't know why their name included an Elite word, but their timing was great! His mech would have been a strange sight to them, the typical purple of the Nanolaminate painted orange and blue in quartered fashion. On the right side, below the cockpit, a monstrous insectoid creature's face was painted, in some sort of a snarl; a "Tick", it was called. It was his unit's symbol, and he liked it well enough. He thought it served as a fearsome warbeast.

Pawap turned, and looked in the direction the gunships had come from. He frowned, and zoomed in his view of a hilltop nearby. He saw a big, black-clad figure with Banished-looking symbols, plus some Brutes, fighting against a bunch of Humans and Elites! He let out a little gasp, and then punched a button on his Goblin. His comms squawked, and then a voice squeaked through. "Pawap, this is Tikit! This better be good, I'm in the middle of splattering some berserkers!"

"I think it'll be worth it, Tikit! I see an enemy demon, fighting our friendly demons!"

Tikit was quiet for a second. "You sure."

"One hundred percent, sir!"

Tikit was quiet for another second, then responded. "Alright, just gotta shake the last of these berserker bits off my leg, then we'll grab everyone and come to you."

Pawap laughed, giddy and full of joy. "Yes sir!" He cut the comm, and turned back towards the Wort-Pogs. He waved at them again, and pointed them towards the battle zone, then standard stomping along at high speed as he moved towards the battle. Maybe they could come and help, too!

As the merchant marines stormed forth, trying to unload their small arms - the Spartans quickly following suit, turning their heavy and special weapons against him, as did the swordmaster Syga 'Trantakai - the traitor Spartan threw down two things, a human deployable shield and a spike grenade.

The grenade fell between the mercenaries, who quickly dove for whatever cover they could. The shield raised between himself and the Spartans, eating assault rifle and magnum gunfire - the equipment something they were only vaguely familiar with, not acting or appearing the same as the bubble shield or Covenant deployable cover they were familiar with - and as both Elara and Syga got in close, unfazed by the speed-reactant shield, the traitor used his armor's thruster jet pack to launch himself backwards. Gaining a few feet of room, he stopped himself on a dime before cracking the earth with his gravity hammer, unleashing a powerful shockwave at the both of them, meant to fling them backwards.

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

Carcharodon blitzed forward, taking five shards of blamite to his chest - with the rest missing or being unable to safely fired due to Enid charging in the way. The praetorian ducked, feeling his armor sizzle beneath the heat of the charged Ravager blast, before seeing that his human target had enough crazed intensity to unleash a counter charge with a Ravager. How honest and un-human-like, he thought to himself, mad grin growing larger as he swung his hammer.

It was not meant to splatter the ORION soldier, but instead destroy her depleted weapon, the gravity weapon doing so, as well as threatening to break every bone in both her arms, but her energy shield module saved her the worst of it, instead leaving an uncomfortable tingle of high directed stress from her fingers to her elbows.

The praetorian grabbed her by the throat and extended her out, threatening to crush her MELANO neck-padding and the windpipe underneath. "You had heart, little demon. Die in the visage of your champion," he said, before he noted the sangheili, Tese 'Taralumai, far too late. He managed to move out of the way of getting his knee slashed off, but their supporting Skirmisher landed enough needle shards to cause a violent supercombine.

The praetorian fell backwards, struggling to breathe, writhing in the sand, as Enid was launched, little blamite micro-crystals embedded in her armor, but nothing penetrating the plating or visor. Tese had the crippled jiralhanae commander's head at bladepoint.

However, the mass of basic Banished infantry seemed to ignore the wounded commander, and streamed to support the retreating traitorous Spartan, the larger Brutes charging ahead to provide cover for their supporting two dozen Grunts. Regardless, sixteen plasma pistols, two needlers and six disruptor pistols was withering firepower, forcing the Way's human PMCs and the Elite to fall back, lest they face Brutes armed with Manglers and Maestro battle rifles in addition.

Bas-0782, seeing the opening, immediately focused his attention on the traitor Spartan. He fired his M6D Magnum again, aiming for the Spartan's helmet, hoping to exploit the brief moment when the Spartan was recovering from using his thruster pack.

Armando-0542, from his vantage point, saw the threat and quickly moved to a better position to provide support. "Elara, get clear!" he shouted, opening fire with his MA37, targeting the Spartan's legs in an attempt to limit his mobility and slow down his retreat.

Elara-0922, realizing the shockwave was about to hit, tried to roll with the impact. She ducked low, using her Energy Sword as leverage to stay grounded as much as possible.

As Carcharadon fell, Connolly moved his focus to the Banished covering their Spartan. Bad enough ONI controls most Spartans, I'm not abiding a Banished one. He popped a single remaining smoke grenade, tossing it into the midst of his remaining marines. The quartet of troops used the opportunity to retreat from the fight, while Connolly's XO swung around the side of the smoke to line up a shot on the retreating Spartan. Connolly himself focused on gunning down the Banished reinforcements. OptiLink functioning faithfully; he had clear vision of the bastards and a fresh magazine.

-+-+-

"Spearshaker to Innie-Actual. My gun's out of action, Phantoms are down. You've got friendly reinforcements en route, Hogs first, Goblins in back. Better secure that kill fast, Hills is itching for it."

It became clear that the battlefield was shifting, Carcharadon no longer the prime target as Enid and their alien ally were primed for a capture. No, the bigger problem now was clearly the Banished rushing the merchant marines who had just lost their tank and with reinforcements en route.

Dakota gestured for the team to change positions, moving behind the line of advancing Banished forces. Swapping to their Pilums, they aimed their last shots for the bulk of the Grunts following their Brute leaders, if at least to slow them down.

Veronica, meanwhile, charged the plasma caster further behind them, to take aim from a higher vantage point at the Spartan IV — and an unfriendly one by the looks of it. She'd have to be precise— she didn't want to hit anyone from Bael team.

Enid rolled over and up onto her knees, coughing all the while, willing the blackness in her peripherals away. They did so begrudgingly and only after she settled her breathing. Her heartbeat still thundered between her ears but at least her armor had held true - her neck wasn't broke and neither were her wrists.

Fuck. I've got to get stronger.

She stole a glance back at Carcharadon and the two blinking hinge-heads that helped take him down. Enid nodded in their direction as she stood, doubtful they were paying attention, but entrusting his demise to them nonetheless. She grabbed the stalker rifle still strapped to her back and followed Veronica's cue, aiming for the defected Spartan now turning heel.

What a coward.

Syga leapt over the roiling wave of gravitic force, tucking his limbs in as he spun to minimize his profile. He landed with an almost contemptuous grace and propelled himself forward, his momentum carrying him into a lunging set of steps. His energy blades flashed as he attacked with unmatched ferocity and speed, cut and thrust lancing out towards the demon with insane speed. He almost danced as he fought, so fast and perfect was his footwork.

As he struck, two of his men circled, prowling and looking for an opening. One holstered his carbine and drew a shimmering blue blade, while the other hefted his point defense shield, a fury burning in his eyes.

-

One of the Way's Sangheili operatives sprinted over to the prone body of the disabled Spartan, pulse carbine shouldered. He knelt by him, rapping one hand on the suit's exterior. "Demon? Do you live?" He kept a watchful eye out for enemies, sending streaks of plasma bolts at any who tried to move towards his charge.

-

Yehono turned his attention from the Traitor Spartan. The boss had that in hand. Making a little click and whistle over the comms, he turned, lining up his beam rifle on a Brute skull. Two quick particle beams, loosed so fast might have seemed like one to some observers, entered the Brute's skull right underneath his eye and boiled the ape's brains. Yehono moved to reposition, cloak flickering, and several other Way operatives opened fire. The burly repeater Elite and the three human operatives opened fire once again, plasma bolts singing out, and the distinctive whine of supersonic needles rang out from the position of the Skirmisher.

-

Tese 'Taralumai kept her blade hovering over the massive Brute's skull, bringing one of her cybernetic legs up to plant her foot on his throat. An Elite with a storm rifle moved up, muzzle pointed at Carcharodon's skull, covering him. "Disarm him." She ordered, and another Elite moved up. He stamped harshly on the Brute's arm until he released his gravity hammer, then picked it up and threw it to the side. Tese looked down, no warmth or pity in her eyes. "You'll be coming with us."

As Connolly tried shooting him with his needler carbine, the Spartan quick-drew his Mangler and fired, the superheated spike slamming into his chestplate, driving past the SPI armor plate, sinking into his chest like a spear of magma.

Having avoided any needler spikes in return, the traitorous warrior swung around to spot a high explosive cluster grenade land directly at his feet. The Spartan leapt backwards, before getting struck in the side by a high-powered bolt of red plasma, tossing him to his side.

Attempting to recover, an M6D round disorientated him long enough for Syga 'Trantakai to leap through the air, slashing against his shield and armor. The Spartans roared in anger, shoving his Mangler's fangs into the blademaster's stomach before shoving him away, and bashing his gravity hammer's bayonet against Syga's stomach again, making a bad wound terrible.

Then, the next Elite charged in, slicing off his hammer hand and forearm. The demon screamed as he used his thruster pack to fall backwards, gaining ground - before a gauss round clipped his helmet and visor, tearing it and his skin clean off.

As the wounded and dying Spartan stumbled about in a stupor, swinging his Mangler harmlessly at the shield-bearing Elite - before the bumper of a Warthog slammed into him, crumpling the front of the vehicle inwards, and the Spartan little more than disorientated meat in a jagged crimson can.

The Banished troops, slaughtered by heavy weapons fire. The praetorian, captured by the faithful warriors of the Purposeful Way. The demon, dead at the hands of celebrating marines.

The end of the Levosian campaign was inevitable now, especially as Way vessels shattered the theater shields defending War Chief Grachkor's base of operations, deploying drop pods all the while.

Within a few minutes more, reports of Grachkor's death streamed out, and masses of surrendering or fleeing Banished troops in addition. The war for Levosia was now over.

James-1132, still battered and bruised, let out a strained but humorous laugh. "I'm still alive, but I can't get up on my own. Might need a little help here," he said, his voice thick with exhaustion but tinged with his usual humor.

Connolly lay on his back in the dirt, staring up at the warships floating above. All that fighting and running, avoiding every shot, eliminating every target, just to take a cheapshot right at the end. With an armored hand, he grabbed the end of the spike and ripped it back out, flinging the magnesium shard to the side. Were it not for the horse-tranq levels of painkiller his SPI armor was pumping into him, he'd probably be in agony.

His XO's HUD marker approached, and the man appeared above him, "I know you ain't dead boss. Sound off."

"Why are Covenant weapons so ridiculous?" he replied, struggling to take the situation seriously. The absolute lack of feeling in his fingers made his head feel muddy.

"Because they don't understand the difference between a weapon of terror, and a weapon of war," Briar knelt beside the incapacitated insurrectionist. In his hand was a canister of biofoam, and Connolly could see the rest of his marines forming up around him.

"Is it that bad?" a small twinge of fear crept into his voice. The painkillers made it hard to stay awake, but he had just enough awareness to worry.

"Eh, not really. Worse was when that Elite socked you in the face back on Archer IV," his XO kept the nonchalant tone. It helped.

"Adam's gonna have to pay us so much bonus." Connolly managed to mutter, before the world properly faded to black.

--++--++--++--

Hills posed with a boot on the body of the dead Spartan, "Aye, told ya we'd get here in time! Just wait until we get some augments ourselves my boy, we're really gonna give these Banished pricks the what for then!"

Zackaria held up a camera to his commander, "Hell yeah, sir. They're gonna regret switching sides!"

Syga stood, ichor dripping from his sounds, looking at the dead demon. He claimed his jaws. An interesting fight, indeed. He only wished he could have had the kill himself. Ah, well. He deactivated his blades, and limped back towards his men. There would still be work to be done.

Behind him, a four-fingered hand picked up the bloody armored stump of the traitor's forearm, and attached it to his belt. Jat 'Vamanai let out a deep, rich chuckle, and deactivated his shield with a flick of his wrist. A good kill.

A black-painted Phantom flew in low, hovering over the site, and activating its gravity lift. A host of twenty black-armored Sangheili warriors tromped out, securing the LZ. Six of them joined with Tese and her two companions in cuffing the massive Carcharodon and dragging him into the gravity lift. They, alongside with the wounded and whoever among the humans might wish to go up on high to the Bane, would depart momentarily.

Behind the Warthogs, the loud tramping of a Goblin could be heard. The huge armored figure stomped into the area, turning to look around at the corpses of the Banished. "Aww, I was too late…" A pouty Grunt voice sounded from the machine's speakers.

 

[Doctor Jax]

During the entire time Dorian, Ellie, and Asher jabbed back and forth, in a small skirmish of ideologies and philosophies and history, Sam played solitaire. So far it was one of the winnable games -- sometimes he could tell he drew a hand that you just couldn't think your way out of, and you had to stop, sweep the board, start over. He had eaten something quickly before making his way to the pod, so he deigned not to remove his helmet.

In many ways, this helmet was more his face than his actual visage. If he could ever be frank with himself, taking it off felt like degloving his skull. Nearly painful to do, that some indelible part of himself had been removed.

Asher's story did make Sam's head slowly creak in his direction, doing some math. He was a child.

Wasn't Sam, at one point? He didn't know if he'd ever counted.

"I'm kinda like you."

He swept a whole row of cards up, set them aside. One row down, completed.

"Parents died on the farm in Noblesse. Little farming world. Buried 'em. Tried to pick off Covies, dropped a tractor engine on a Grunt. Got forced out. Picked up, trained at Currahee, put in Beta Company, kept in reserve. Fought stuff. Killed stuff. Fixed stuff. The end," Sam said succinctly.

He turned over a queen of hearts.

"Could be worse," Sam said, "after all -- you're still here. Which means they are too."

He gestured vaguely in the direction of Amelia's dog tags.

"So long as you are."

@Noble Scion @Apothecary Bruce @Bael

 

[Apothecary Bruce]

During the entire time Dorian, Ellie, and Asher jabbed back and forth, in a small skirmish of ideologies and philosophies and history, Sam played solitaire. So far it was one of the winnable games -- sometimes he could tell he drew a hand that you just couldn't think your way out of, and you had to stop, sweep the board, start over. He had eaten something quickly before making his way to the pod, so he deigned not to remove his helmet.

In many ways, this helmet was more his face than his actual visage. If he could ever be frank with himself, taking it off felt like degloving his skull. Nearly painful to do, that some indelible part of himself had been removed.

Asher's story did make Sam's head slowly creak in his direction, doing some math. He was a child.

Wasn't Sam, at one point? He didn't know if he'd ever counted.

"I'm kinda like you."

He swept a whole row of cards up, set them aside. One row down, completed.

"Parents died on the farm in Noblesse. Little farming world. Buried 'em. Tried to pick off Covies, dropped a tractor engine on a Grunt. Got forced out. Picked up, trained at Currahee, put in Beta Company, kept in reserve. Fought stuff. Killed stuff. Fixed stuff. The end," Sam said succinctly.

He turned over a queen of hearts.

"Could be worse," Sam said, "after all -- you're still here. Which means they are too."

He gestured vaguely in the direction of Amelia's dog tags.

"So long as you are."

Asher nodded, squeezing the tag necklace gently, before pocketing them again. He was about to speak again before alarms rang out across the ship.
"We've made better time than expected," the voice of WEYLAND echoed out across the impromptu mess hall. "All Spartans to pods. I repeat, all Spartans to pods. Prepare for a hot landing zone."

Asher snapped his helmet on, grabbed his rifle resting beside him, and slung it on his back. He looked to Ellie, for guidance - she was fireteam leader, after all.

@Noble Scion
@Bael
@Doctor Jax

 

[Bael]

Asher nodded, squeezing the tag necklace gently, before pocketing them again. He was about to speak again before alarms rang out across the ship.
"We've made better time than expected," the voice of WEYLAND echoed out across the impromptu mess hall. "All Spartans to pods. I repeat, all Spartans to pods. Prepare for a hot landing zone."

Dorian stood the moment the alarm blared, the calm in his movements belying the weight sinking in his chest. He grabbed his helmet and slid it on with practiced ease, the familiar hiss of the seals engaging grounding him—at least on the surface.

Inside, it was different. The old fear clawed its way back in, buried deep behind the visor. That he'd step onto the battlefield and come back alone again. That he'd watch another team fall apart, piece by piece. He clenched his fists for a second too long before forcing them to relax.

He said nothing. Just turned and headed towards the pods

@Apothecary Bruce
@Doctor Jax
@Noble Scion

 

[Apothecary Bruce]

January 29th, 2560

At the edge of the Arcadian system, a large UNSC fleet translated out of slipspace. At its head, the mighty Autumn-class heavy cruiser Edge of Summer, leading the pack towards the planet. There, a portion of the fleet broke off, remaining in orbit of the colony world. Notable among this flotilla, was an Orion-class assault carrier, the same kind Rear Admiral Fieldings had requested before the start of RIGHT HOOK.

"This is Fleet Admiral Joseph Harper, serving the United Nations Space Command. Hope Fieldings is satisfied with me holding my end and then some. Keep the change," he said, his boasts both parental and reassuring, like a verbal smile and nod, before his flag cruiser and its escort of two Stalwart-class frigates progressed to the next jump point, exiting back to slipspace and heading for Levosia.

---

And on January 30th, Joseph Harper did end up shaking the hands of Governors Elliot Kovalenko, Alonzo Garcia, and Martin Cattaneo of New Kherson, Fortín Solano, and Casanova. He even shook the hand of freshly made General Danlyo Andrich, uncomfortable as it was. The talks were both short and long, many demands and quick answers. An AI, loyal to the UNSC throughout even the Created Crisis, named Reinhart (dressed in ancient European battle-plate) advised Harper as they navigated history, border assurances, sovereignty, trade deals, overtures of friendship and promises of results. On the day of, Harper even gifted the Free Levosia Army an M808C Scorpion battle tank, already repainted the colors of the planetary flag - royal purple, deep blue and white.

In the end, both parties were happy. Levosia was truly, legally separate from the United Earth Government, and one of its major trade partners, meant to deliver deuterium to the UNSC at Tribute through protected and secret space-lanes.
Scattered Banished forces occasionally still harassed the free cities and their industrial zones, keeping the Free Levosia Army busy for an unknown time forward, but many tens of thousands remain unaccounted for. Evidence suggested they have snuck away, into the rock and sand of the largely desolate world, but as Levosia lacked an advanced satellite array, digging at this would be costly and near-impossible, especially for such a recovering nation.

The future looked promising for Arcadia and Levosia, though. A bond that would be strengthened over many months...

Harper's Rewards

UNSC Kingsly - Orion-class Assault Carrier
UNSC John Elway - Artemis-class Battlecruiser
UNSC Hoplite - Marathon-class Heavy Cruiser
UNSC Hear Me Roar - Mulsanne-class Light Frigate
UNSC Maxwell's Pride - Mulsanne-class Light Frigate
UNSC No Fooling Around - Strident-class Heavy Frigate
UNSC Von Miller - Halberd-class Destroyer
UNSC Ratcatcher - Gladius-class Corvette
UNSC Kneecapper - Lancer-class Fast-Attack Corvette
UNSC Hot Dog - Scholte-class Missile Corvette

Skeleton crews all; able to function but meant to be crewed by NAI people. Very little onboard, no vehicles or aerospace craft.
Most are unshielded, except the post-war craft.

SinoVet Heavy Machinery Mobile Dockyards, with the initial licenses for Mulsanne-class, Model 2558 Halberd-class and Poseidon-class ships. Room for three ships at a time, able to build up to nine hundred meters long.

(Mulsanne would take four months, Halberd would take three months, Poseidon would take four and a half months.)

UNSC 191st Marine Regiment
Led by: Colonel Elis Allard
3,300 Fighting Men, Oversized

213 M12 Warthogs w/M41 Vulcans and transport canopy kits depending.
39 M35 Cougars
28 M400 Kodiaks
12 M700 Vipers
9 M9 Wolverines

Equipped with Halo 3 marine kits.

1,000 units of BR75A2 battle rifles for field testing.

ODST 2nd Company, 8th Battalion, 3rd Regiment
Led by: Captain Jarvis Elsby
112 Fighting Men

Gamma Company Spartan, Harper was mustering one for NAI but even with the news Jun wanted to send one anyway. He'll come with a set of MIRAGE IIC (Moon's special armor).