halofanfiction

[halofanfiction]

Halo Fan Fiction:

Halo: The Prowler Affair

Chapter 1: The Affair

UNSC HIGHCOM Facility Bravo-6, Earth Orbit – March 2535

The stealth prowler Silent Kite drifted in high anchor over Earth, its matte-black hull blending into the void. Officially, it didn’t exist—a black-budget ONI asset, invisible to fleet logs. Unofficially, it had become Admiral Daniel Harper’s private getaway.

Inside the cramped officer’s quarters, Harper straightened his uniform, the dim emergency lighting catching the silver in his close-cropped hair. Across from him, Lieutenant Maya Foss adjusted her collar, her dark eyes flicking to the security panel by the door.

"You sure the logs are scrubbed?" she asked.

Harper flashed the easy grin that had charmed the Inner Colonies. "Relax. I’ve got a flag officer’s override. ONI doesn’t track their own ghosts."

A lie.

Three Days Later – ONI Section Zero Secure Facility, Mars

Captain Elias Lockett scrolled through the damning footage—Harper and Foss aboard Silent Kite, timestamped across six unauthorized sorties. The audio was crystal:

"They’ll court-martial us both if this gets out," Foss murmured.

"Only if we’re caught," Harper replied, fingers tracing her wrist.

Lockett smirked. Got you.

He forwarded the files to three addresses: Fleet Admiral Hood, UEG Oversight Chairwoman Durand, and—most crucially—NetNews 26.

Breaking: UNSC Admiral’s Prowler Affair Rocks HIGHCOM

The headline exploded across the feeds within hours. The vid clips looped on every screen: Harper and Foss in the prowler’s galley, Harper keying classified clearance codes, Foss laughing as the Admiral poured stolen Scotch into UNSC-issue coffee mugs.

The scandal had everything:

Misuse of Assets (a stealth prowler for trysts)

Security Violations (flag officer overriding ONI protocols)

The Human Angle (Foss, 25 to Harper’s 52, her service record now reduced to a footnote)

Fleet Admiral Hood’s Private Log – Encrypted

"Harper’s screwed. Durand’s already screaming for a Fleet Review Board. But here’s the problem—we’re at war. And Harper’s the only admiral who’s beaten the Covenant in a stand-up fight."

A pause. Then, grudging:

"Get me the casualty projections for Lambda Serpentis. If we’re going to hang him, we’d better win the damn war first."

Meanwhile – HIGHCOM Holding Cell

Foss sat rigid under the interrogation lights. The ONI spook across the table slid a datapad forward.

"Sign this affidavit denying coercion, and you’ll keep your rank. Refuse…" The spook shrugged. "Well. The Innies are always recruiting."

Outside, Harper’s voice boomed through the halls, berating some poor lieutenant: "I don’t care if the Oversight Committee wants my underwear inventory—we have a Covenant fleet bearing down on Lambda Serpentis!"

The spook didn’t blink. "Tick-tock, Lieutenant."

Foss reached for the stylus.

Chapter 2: Fleet Review Tribunal

UNSC HIGHCOMMAND, Sydney – Secure Chamber Alpha

The Fleet Review Board chamber was cold and formal, the atmosphere taut with unspoken judgment.

Admiral Daniel Harper stood at attention before the raised semicircle of officers, their faces lit by the cold glow of holodisplays. Fleet Admiral Terrence Hood presided, his expression unreadable. To his left sat UEG Oversight Chairwoman Elise Durand, her fingers steepled like a predator considering when to strike. To his right, ONI Section Zero’s representative—Captain Elias Lockett—leaned back, a data pad resting in his lap like a loaded weapon.

"Admiral Harper," Hood began, his voice graveled with fatigue, "you are charged with conduct unbecoming an officer, misuse of UNSC assets, and breach of operational security. How do you plead?"

Harper didn’t hesitate. "Operationally justified, sir."

A murmur rippled through the chamber. Durand’s lips thinned.

"Justified?" she repeated. "You used a stealth prowler—a classified ONI asset—for personal liaisons. That’s not justification. That’s a court-martial offense."

Harper’s gaze didn’t waver. "With respect, Madam Chairwoman, Silent Kite was undergoing routine systems checks during those sorties. My presence was logged as part of operational oversight."

Lockett scoffed. "Funny. Because our logs show the prowler’s transponder was disabled during your… oversight." He tapped his pad. A hologram flickered to life—security footage of Harper and Foss in the prowler’s galley, her laughing as he poured drinks. The timestamp glowed accusingly: 2535.03.14 – 22:47. Covenant-alert status: Alpha.

Durand’s nostrils flared. "You were off-duty during a Tier-1 threat advisory."

Harper’s gritted his teeth. "I was on-call. And if we’re auditing timekeeping, I’d remind the board that Captain Lockett’s own duty logs from Sigma Octanus show—"

"Enough." Hood’s voice cut through like a blade. "This isn’t a debate over who skipped watch. The question is whether you compromised security."

A beat. Then Harper exhaled. "No more than any flag officer who’s ever bent the regs to win a war."

Outside the Chamber – Observation Gallery

Lieutenant Maya Foss sat rigid between two ONI security officers, her dress blues immaculate, her face a mask. The gallery was packed—junior officers, press pool reps, a handful of political aides. All here for the spectacle.

A reporter leaned toward her. "Lieutenant, do you feel Admiral Harper exploited his authority?"

Foss kept her eyes forward. "No comment."

One of the ONI men squeezed her shoulder—too hard.

Back Inside – Lockett’s Move

Lockett stood, pacing like a prosecutor. "Let’s talk about exploitation." He pulled up a new file—Foss’s service record. "Lieutenant Foss was promoted twice in the past eighteen months. Both times, Admiral Harper signed off." He paused. "Both times, over more qualified candidates."

Harper’s fists clenched. "Her work on the Jericho comms overhaul earned those promotions."

"Really?" Lockett swiped the display. "Because her supervisor’s evaluations describe her as ‘competent but unexceptional’—until your personal annotations upgraded her to ‘combat-essential’." He tilted his head. "Tell me, Admiral. What exactly made her essential?"

The chamber went dead silent.

Hood’s Decision

Hood rubbed his temples. "We’re adjourning for deliberation. Admiral Harper—you’re confined to quarters pending—"

An alert blared. A junior officer burst in. "Sirs! Covenant forces have massed at Lambda Serpentis. Fleetcom’s reporting capital ship signatures."

Harper didn’t smile. But his shoulders relaxed, just slightly.

Durand’s eyes narrowed. "How convenient."

Hood ignored her. "Admiral Harper, you’ll retain operational command pro tempore. Dismissed."

As Harper turned to leave, Lockett blocked his path. "This isn’t over."

Harper leaned in, voice low. "No, Captain. It’s just beginning."

Chapter 3: Operation IRON HAMMER

UNSC Everest – CIC – 18 Hours After Tribunal Adjournment

Admiral Harper studied the tactical display, the blue holographic arcs of Lambda Serpentis casting sharp shadows across his face. The Covenant depot floated in high orbit over the system’s third planet—a refueling station, swollen with antimatter reserves and plasma artillery. A legitimate target. A necessary strike.

And, if he was honest, one hell of a distraction.

"Status?" he barked.

"Task Force Raven in position," his flag captain reported. "Prowler Midnight confirms minimal garrison. They haven’t detected us yet."

Harper allowed himself a fraction of a smile. "Then let’s not keep them waiting."

Lambda Serpentis III – Refugee Settlement Hope’s Edge

The depot wasn’t supposed to be here.

That was the first thing the civilian contractors had muttered when the Covenant retrofitted the old UNSC drydock. The second thing they whispered was "Why are they letting us stay?"

Now, crouched in the maintenance tunnels beneath the station’s superstructure, Engineer Rivera watched through a cracked viewport as the stars rippled.

Then the first MAC round hit.

UNSC Everest – CIC

"Direct hit!"

The depot’s shields flared and died in a single catastrophic burst. Harper didn’t cheer. He watched the secondary explosions crawl across the station’s spine—antimatter containment failing, plasma silos cooking off in chain-reaction detonations.

"Casualty estimates?"

His intelligence officer hesitated. "Station crew: eight hundred Covenant, minimum. But—"

"But?"

"There’s a civilian presence, sir. Contractors. Human."

Harper’s stomach turned to stone. "How many?"

"Unknown. ONI’s last report listed the depot as uninhabited."

A lie. A calculated one.

Hope’s Edge – 90 Seconds After Impact

Rivera didn’t hear the second MAC volley. The world was fire and screaming metal. He stumbled through the collapsing tunnels, hauling a wounded coworker, when the gravity failed.

Then the air failed.

The last thing he saw before the void took him was the Covenant cruiser above the depot—its hull cracking open like an egg, spilling blue-white fire.

UNSC Everest – Post-Strike Debrief

The holotank displayed the aftermath: the depot in ruins, two Covenant cruisers gutted, and—

"—civilian casualties confirmed at one hundred forty-seven," the intel officer finished quietly.

Harper stared at the number. One hundred forty-seven. Not a rounding error. Not collateral damage. A massacre.

Captain Lockett’s voice cut through the silence. "A successful operation, by all accounts." He stood in the CIC doorway, ONI black ops armor gleaming. "The Oversight Committee will be pleased."

Harper turned slowly. "Get out of my CIC."

Lockett smirked. "Of course, Admiral. After all—" He tapped the casualty report. "Someone has to brief the press."

NetNews 26 Headline – 1 Hour Later

"HARPER’S REVENGE: STRIKE KILLS HUMAN HOSTAGES"

The footage looped endlessly: charred bodies in zero-G, a child’s oxygen mask floating amid the wreckage. And over it all, the damning subtitle:

"Sources confirm Admiral ordered attack despite intel on civilians."

Harper’s Private Log – Encrypted

"They set me up. ONI knew. They damn well knew. And now I’ve got dead civilians on my hands and a tribunal that’ll hang me with them."

A pause. Then, softer:

"But we hurt them. We hurt the Covenant bad. And if that’s the last thing I do—maybe it’s worth it."

Chapter 4: The Eridanus Atrocity

Eridanus Secundus – Insurrectionist Stronghold

The executions began at dawn.

Earth-loyalists—civil administrators, retired UNSC personnel, even schoolteachers—were dragged into the town square by masked insurgents. Their crimes were read aloud: Collaboration with Earth's tyranny. Betrayal of the Eridanus Freehold. Then the gunshots. One by one.

From orbit, the UNSC Pioneer watched.

UNSC Everest – CIC

Admiral Harper stared at the live feed, his reflection ghosted over the bloodshed below. The images were crisp, high-resolution—ONI surveillance drones, positioned perfectly to capture every detail.

"Orders, sir?" his flag captain asked.

Harper's lips thinned. "Destroy the insurgent positions."

A pause. "Sir, the settlement is densely populated. Collateral estimates—"

"Are irrelevant," Harper cut in. "They're slaughtering civilians. We stop it. Now."

The captain hesitated, then nodded. "Preparing MAC strike package."

Eridanus Secundus – 30 Minutes Later

The first railgun round hit the insurgent command center like the fist of God. The second shattered the armory. The third, fourth, fifth—they came in a storm, precise, surgical, devastating.

But war is never clean.

A power station—misidentified as a weapons cache—exploded, sending a firestorm through the residential blocks. A school—near a suspected insurgent rally point—took a near-miss, its walls collapsing under the shockwave.

The cameras kept rolling.

ONI Section Zero – Mars Facility

Captain Elias Lockett watched the bombardment with a predator's patience. The live feed was perfect. Too perfect.

"Enhance sector seven," he ordered.

The technician zoomed. There—a flicker of distortion in the corner of the frame. A telltale sign of digital alteration.

Lockett smiled. "Tag it for the press release."

NetNews 26 Breaking Report

"HARPER'S FURY: UNSC ORBITAL STRIKE KILLS DOZENS OF CHILDREN"

The footage was damning. The timestamps showed the school's collapse before the insurgents had even begun their executions. The headline wrote itself:

*"Sources confirm Admiral Harper ordered strike *before* hostage crisis began."*

Fleet Admiral Hood's Private Log

"This is a setup. Harper's reckless, but he's not stupid. ONI's playing games with the feeds. But proving it…"

A sigh.

"…might cost us the war."

Harper's Quarters – Everest

The admiral stared at the news reports, his hands shaking—not with guilt, but rage.

"They edited the footage," he muttered. "They fucking edited it."

Across the room, Lieutenant Foss—fresh from ONI's "custody"—said nothing. She just pressed a data chip into his palm and walked out.

Chapter 5: The Mars Accords

Olympus Mons Summit – Mars – Secure Conference Dome

The air inside the pressurized dome tasted stale, recycled one too many times. Admiral Harper straightened his dress whites, the golden braids heavy on his shoulders. Across the negotiating table, Jansen Rhee, leader of the Martian Separatist Front, glared at him through the transparent polyglass divider—a necessary precaution against assassination attempts. Or so they'd been told.

"Let's be clear, Admiral," Rhee said, his voice filtered through the comm system. "We don't trust you. We don't trust Earth. But the Covenant changes things."

Harper nodded. "Then we agree on one thing."

The draft treaty glowed between them on the holodisplay:

Ceasefire – All hostilities between UNSC and Martian forces suspended.

Resource Sharing – Mars gains limited autonomy over local industries.

Mutual Defense – Combined forces against Covenant incursions.

It was fragile. It was imperfect.

It was the best chance they had.

Outside the Dome – ONI Surveillance Post

Captain Elias Lockett watched the negotiations through a sniper scope. Not that he needed one—the audio feed was crystal clear in his earpiece.

"Sir," his tech murmured, "the package is ready."

Lockett exhaled. "Do it."

Inside the Dome – 17:43 Local Time

Rhee was mid-sentence when the first bullet hit.

It punched through the polyglass with a muted crack, striking Rhee just below the collarbone. The second shot took his aide in the throat.

Chaos.

Harper lunged under the table as security teams swarmed. Through the screams, he caught a glimpse of Rhee choking on his own blood, his fingers clawing at the wound—

—and the holodisplay, still glowing with the unfinished treaty.

Breaking News Alert – MarsNet Broadcast

"UNSC BETRAYS PEACE TALKS – ADMIRAL HARPER'S SECURITY TEAM OPENS FIRE"

The footage was brutal. Grainy, from a hidden cam, but unmistakable: Martian delegates falling, UNSC Marines rushing forward—guns drawn.

No sniper. No external threat.

Just Harper's people, standing over the bodies.

Harper's Private Log – Encrypted

"It was ONI. It had to be. But Rhee's dead, and the Separatists are calling for my head. Hood's recalling me to Earth. 'For my own safety.'"

A bitter laugh.

"Funny. I don't feel safe at all."

Fleet Admiral Hood's Secure Channel – Priority Transmission

"Daniel, you need to step back. The Oversight Committee is voting tomorrow. They're going to suspend you."

Harper stared at Hood's hologram. "You know this is a setup."

"I know," Hood said quietly. "But knowing doesn't change what's on the feeds."

Chapter 6: Phantom Strike Backlash

Copernicus Base, Luna – 04:22 Hours

The explosion tore through the docking ring like a knife through flesh.

One moment, the night shift crew was cycling through routine maintenance checks. The next, the atmosphere containment fields failed, and the vacuum did the rest. Bodies tumbled into the black, frozen solid before they could scream.

The blast pattern was unmistakable: shaped charges, military-grade, placed by someone who knew the station’s weak points.

An inside job.

UNSC HIGH COMMAND – Emergency Session

Admiral Harper stared at the casualty report. 47 dead. 112 wounded. The security feeds showed the perpetrators—black-clad insurgents, their faces covered, but their forearms marked with the jagged sigil of the New Serpentis Front, the radical faction born from the ashes of Eridanus.

"Retaliation for the bombardment," Fleet Admiral Hood muttered.

Harper didn’t look up. "They hit a civilian station."

"Which makes this your call," Hood said. "But tread carefully, Daniel. The Oversight Committee is watching."

Harper’s fingers tightened around the datapad. "Find them. Burn them out."

ONI Section Zero – Black Site

Captain Elias Lockett studied the same footage, but his eyes lingered on a different detail—the insignia on one insurgent’s sleeve. A patch, hastily sewn on.

Fake.

"Are the assets in position?" he asked.

His operative nodded. "The hospital in Tycho Basin is prepped. False trails laid. They’ll take the bait."

Lockett allowed himself a smile. "Then let’s give the admiral enough rope to hang himself."

Tycho Basin Medical Outpost – Luna

The UNSC strike team hit fast and hard.

They breached the outer doors with shaped charges, swept the corridors with shotguns and flashbangs. The orders were clear: Find the insurgent cell. Leave no survivors.

But the rooms they cleared weren’t armories. They were recovery wards.

The patients weren’t militants. They were civilians—miners injured in a recent collapse, their limbs swathed in bandages, their eyes wide with terror.

And then the cameras caught it all.

NetNews 26 – Breaking Update

"HARPER’S REVENGE: UNSC DEATH SQUADS MASSACRE HOSPITAL PATIENTS"

The footage was damning. Marines dragging patients from beds. A doctor, shot point-blank when he tried to shield a child. The New Serpentis Front’s propaganda wing had even managed to splice in old clips of Harper’s voice:

"Burn them all."

Never mind that he’d never said it.

Harper’s Private Log – Encrypted

"They played me. ONI fed me bad intel. Lockett set the trap, and I walked right into it."

A pause. Then, quieter:

"But that’s not the worst part. The worst part is—I’d do it again. Because the Covenant are coming, and we’re too busy fighting each other to see it."

Chapter 7: The Tribunal's Verdict

UNSC HIGHCOMMAND – Secure Chamber Alpha

The air in the tribunal chamber was thick with the scent of coffee and sweat. Admiral Daniel Harper stood at rigid attention, his dress whites immaculate, his face a mask of stone. Across from him, the five-member Fleet Review Board—three admirals, two UEG oversight officials—studied the final report. The holoscreen behind them displayed his crimes in glowing detail:

Misuse of UNSC Assets (The Silent Kite affair)

Negligent Command Decisions (Lambda Serpentis civilian casualties)

Excessive Force (Eridanus orbital bombardment)

Gross Intelligence Failure (Tycho Basin hospital strike)

Fleet Admiral Hood, presiding, finally looked up. His face was unreadable.

"Admiral Harper," he began, voice graveled with exhaustion, "this board has reached its verdict."

Flashback – 48 Hours Earlier – Hood's Private Office

"You're being set up," Hood had said, pouring two glasses of whiskey.

Harper didn't touch his. "I know."

"They want your head. Durand's faction in the UEG wants a public execution. Lockett’s got ONI breathing down my neck."

"And you?" Harper asked.

Hood sighed. "I want to win this war."

Present – Tribunal Chamber

"The board finds you guilty of conduct unbecoming an officer and negligent command decisions," Hood announced. "However—" A pause. "—given your service record and the exigencies of wartime, we are not recommending discharge."

A murmur rippled through the observers.

"Effective immediately, you are relieved of fleet command. You will report to Logistics Command, Gamma Station, for reassignment."

A demotion. A slap on the wrist.

A death sentence for Harper’s career.

Outside the Chamber – Press Gauntlet

The reporters descended like vultures.

"Admiral! Do you feel this verdict is fair?"

"Will you appeal?"

"Does this mean the UNSC condones civilian casualties?"

Harper kept walking, eyes forward. Then, at the exit, he stopped. Turned.

"This war isn't over," he said, quiet but sharp. "And neither am I."

ONI Section Zero – Secure Facility

Captain Lockett watched the feed with a smirk.

"Logistics Command," he mused. "How… fitting."

His aide frowned. "Sir, he's still in the game."

Lockett tapped the screen, freezing on Harper’s defiant exit. "For now."

Harper's Quarters – Final Night Aboard Everest

The admiral packed his belongings—a few uniforms, a handful of data chips, a framed photo of his first command.

The door chimed.

Lieutenant Maya Foss stood there, shadows under her eyes. She said nothing, just pressed a data chip into his palm.

"Lockett’s playbook," she whispered. "Everything."

Then she was gone.

Chapter 8: Covenant Opportunity

Gamma Station – Logistics Command – Day 17 of Harper's Exile

The coffee in Harper's cup had gone cold three hours ago.

He sat hunched over his new desk—a cramped metal slab in a windowless office deep in Gamma Station's bowels—scanning supply manifests. Food rations. MAC gun parts. Replacement armor plating. The endless, grinding bureaucracy of war.

His replacement, Admiral Stephen Reeves, had already undone half his fleet deployments. Pulled back patrols. Consolidated forces.

Playing it safe.

Harper's fingers hovered over the secure comm panel. He had one advantage left: they hadn't revoked his flag-level access. Not yet.

He tapped in the override code.

UNSC Battle Network – Encrypted Channel

The holodisplay flickered to life, showing a tactical map of the Outer Colonies. And there, at the edge of Harvest's former buffer zone:

"Multiple Covenant signatures. Massing near Zeta Doradus."

Not raids. Not probes.

An armada.

UNSC Everest – CIC

Admiral Reeves stared at the same data, his face pale.

"Confirm those numbers," he ordered.

The sensor officer swallowed hard. "Confirmed, sir. At least twenty capital ships. They're—" A pause. "They're moving. Fast."

Reeves turned to his comms officer. "Alert HIGHCOM. Condition Alpha across all—"

The first plasma torpedo hit before he could finish.

Gamma Station – Harper's Office

The station-wide alert blared to life:

"COVENANT FORCES DETECTED IN ZETA DORADUS SYSTEM. ALL HANDS TO BATTLE STATIONS."

Harper was already moving.

He slammed open his door just as the first explosion rocked Gamma Station. The lights flickered. Distant screams echoed through the corridors.

A junior lieutenant skidded around the corner, blood streaking her face.

"Admiral! They're hitting us everywhere—Zeta Doradus, Sigma Octanus, even the Luna perimeter!"

Harper grabbed her shoulders. "Where's Reeves?"

"Dead. Everest took a direct hit to the CIC."

Of course. The Covenant had decapitated UNSC leadership in one stroke.

Just like he'd warned they would.

ONI Section Zero – Mars Facility

Captain Lockett watched the carnage unfold across a dozen screens.

"Sir," his aide whispered, "we need to evacuate."

Lockett didn't move. "Not yet."

He tapped a console, pulling up Harper's old contingency plans—the ones Reeves had shelved.

"Operation: IRON HAMMER II."

Gamma Station – Hangar Bay

Harper commandeered a Pelican, shoving past stunned logistics officers.

"Admiral!" someone shouted. "You're not authorized—"

"The Covenant don't care about authorization!" he roared.

As the dropship lifted off, Harper opened a fleet-wide channel:

"All UNSC vessels, this is Admiral Harper. Execute contingency Gamma-Nine. Fall back to these coordinates."

The nav points flashed across every ship's display—a tactical withdrawal pattern he'd designed months ago. The only hope of regrouping.

Space Near Zeta Doradus – Covenant Flagship

The Prophet of Stewardship watched the human fleet scatter.

"Pathetic," he murmured. "Their weakness is our blessing."

The Shipmaster hesitated. "Their retreat is… organized. Unusual."

The Prophet waved a dismissive hand. "No matter. Burn their worlds."

Harper's Pelican – En Route to Luna

The lieutenant piloting the dropship glanced back. "Sir… we're losing. Everywhere."

Harper stared at the tactical display. Half the Outer Colonies were already dark.

And in his pocket, Maya Foss's data chip sat like a live grenade.

Chapter 9: Epilogue – Seeds of Future Conflict

ONI Black Site – Undisclosed Location – Three Weeks After CERTAIN JUSTICE

The cell was dark.

Lieutenant Maya Foss sat on the edge of her cot, tracing the faint scar behind her ear where they’d removed her neural implant. Supposedly. What ONI didn’t know was that she’d had a backup—a subdermal data chip, smuggled in during a routine dental visit months ago.

The door hissed open.

Captain Elias Lockett stepped inside, his ONI blacks immaculate. "Comfortable?"

Foss didn’t look up. "You missed a spot when you scrubbed my file. My sister’s still listed as next of kin."

Lockett chuckled. "We’ll fix that." He tossed a pad onto the cot. "Sign this, and you get a new identity. Refuse…" He shrugged. "Well. The Covenant glassed half a colony yesterday. One more missing lieutenant won’t raise alarms."

Foss picked up the pad.

Fleet Admiral Hood’s Private Office – Earth

Hood stared at the casualty reports.

Twenty-three colonies. Gone.

The door opened without a chime. Harper stood there, his uniform rumpled, his eyes hollow.

"You look like hell," Hood said.

"I just came from Arcadia," Harper replied. "The Covenant hit a refugee camp. Children burned alive in their bunkers."

Hood exhaled. "What do you want, Daniel?"

Harper dropped a data chip on the desk. "Foss’s insurance policy. Lockett’s playbook. Every op ONI ran to undermine me."

Hood didn’t touch it. "And?"

"And I want my fleet back."

Eridanus Secundus – Insurrectionist Safehouse

The man who’d once been Engineer Rivera—now calling himself Serpent—studied the news feeds.

"UNSC IN DISARRAY AFTER COVENANT STRIKES."

"ADMIRAL HARPER RETURNED TO FRONTLINE COMMAND."

His followers—the New Serpentis Front—watched him expectantly.

"Earth’s weakness is our chance," he said, tapping the image of Harper’s face. "The Covenant will crush the UNSC. And when they do…"

He smiled.

"…we’ll take what’s left."

UNSC Pioneer – Bridge

Harper stood at the viewport, watching the stars.

His new XO approached. "Orders, sir?"

Harper didn’t turn. "Lockett’s still out there. The Covenant are coming. And Hood’s betting I can clean up this mess."

A pause. Then, softer:

"Set course for Reach."

[halofanfiction]

Fan Fiction:

Halo: Echoes of the Past

The wind here was artificial, carrying no odor or warmth. It rustled the grass. Dr. Sela Harman adjusted her visor as she stepped over a crumbled rock face.

“Still quiet?” she asked.

“My back aches,” muttered Professor Tilak, the Sangheili anthropologist beside her. His voice, filtered through his translator, came out flat and dry. He gestured with a clawed hand toward a rise in the earth. “But something old. Over there.”

Sela clambered up the incline and froze. Tilak was right. Her visor caught it before her eyes did: a faint, glinting outline in the tall grass. Armor. Mjolnir.

She moved closer, breath hitching. Time had been both gentle and cruel. The Spartan sat propped against a stone outcrop, legs sprawled out, rifle across the lap. A small shrub grew up between the elbow and torso plate. The armor was scorched in places, blackened by ancient plasma or fire, yet still intact. The helmet—mark VI—remained in place.

“Don’t touch it,” she whispered.

Tilak stepped closer, his tall frame casting a long shadow over the remains. “Spartan armor endures,” he murmured.

Sela frowned. “No one came to collect him.”

An Unggoy assistant waddled over, eyes wide and bulbous under its environment hood. “More! Down the ridge,” it squeaked. “Three more Spartans.”

They followed. And they found them. A small perimeter. Dried plasma scarring the rocks, spent casings scattered. A final stand, by the look of it.

The team’s excavation paused for the day.

Later that evening, with the artificial sun dimmed and the stars of the Orion Arm rising, Sela walked the interior corridors of the ring alone. The old tech still functioned—barely. Doors responded, slow, with creaks of resisting servos. Her flashlight flashed across glyphs on the walls.

In a circular chamber, she found the Monitor.

It hovered an inch above the ground, dormant. Its casing was dim, eye extinguished.

She walked around it, half-expecting the old phrase: “Greetings, Reclaimer…”

Silence.

She sat down, leaning against the wall, staring at it.

The next day, one of the Unggoy stumbled upon a terminal. Still functional. They powered it with external cells. What came up was simple: combat logs. Brief records. Final entries. They played them, one by one.

A Spartan’s voice: “Holding the line. No evac.”

Another: “They’ll never take this ring.”

And the last: “To whoever finds this—we held. For Earth. For the future.”

Sela shut the terminal off.

That night, she stood on a balcony of Forerunner alloy, overlooking a valley lit covered with luminous moss. Tilak joined her.

“Why here?” he asked. “Why did they remain?”

“They chose to,” she said. “They had to.”

Tilak gave a thoughtful rumble. “We have worlds with cities rebuilt now. Sanghelios is healing. Earth too. Yet here...”

“Here is a tomb,” Sela said. “These Spartans never returned. But they left something behind.”

He nodded. “A testament to courage.”

The expedition departed three days later. Nothing disturbed. The bodies remained.

And on that Halo ring, under a sky too perfect to be real, the wind blew through armor and ruins.

The fallen Spartans stayed silent. But their legacy endures.

As all relics do.

[halofanfiction]

Halo Fan Fiction:

Halo: The Helmet Incident

It was supposed to be a simple maintenance day at Outpost Jericho. Inventory checks and overdue gear inspections. Master Chief—against every fiber of his being—was ordered to stand down and “get some damn rest.”

So he complied the only way he knew how: he cleaned his gear, twice, then stood motionless in the barracks corridor for three hours like a granite statue.

Then it happened.

Private Mendoza, new transfer, eighteen years old, full of confidence, swaggered into the armory where Chief’s helmet was laid out on the bench for diagnostics. He didn’t recognize it. Thought it was some kind of old museum piece.

“Hey,” Mendoza said to no one in particular, “bet I could squeeze my head into this bad boy.”

A chorus of gasps followed from nearby Marines. One dropped his coffee. Another turned and walked away, muttering a prayer.

But it was too late. Mendoza had already wedged it halfway down over his ears.

The problem was—Mjolnir helmets lock once they pass a pressure threshold. For safety. Or war. Or whatever logic Dr. Halsey had that day.

Ten minutes later, Chief returned.

He stopped. Looked at Mendoza, who was now sitting on the floor, knees tucked to his chest, the oversized helmet rattling slightly as he spoke.

“…Sir. I didn’t know it was yours. Sir.”

“You tried to wear my helmet.”

“...Yes, sir.”

“That’s my armor.”

“Understood, sir.”

“It has a neural interface.”

“I feel it, sir.”

A pause.

“I can hear… things,” Mendoza added weakly.

Chief knelt beside him. With one hand, he gently but firmly twisted the helmet loose—without ceremony or judgment, like removing a cookie jar from a very confused toddler.

Then he stood. Looked at the other Marines.

“Label your gear,” he said flatly.

He left without another word.

Two Weeks Later:

Mendoza’s new nickname in the unit? “Buckethead.”

It stuck. Even the ODSTs used it. Especially the ODSTs.

[halofanfiction]

Halo Fan Fiction:

Halo: Out of the Armor

The drop pod slammed down, and Master Chief hit the ground hard. No armor. No strength. Just the heft of a standard-issue marine uniform and a rifle in his hands.

The MJOLNIR was gone. A plasma blast had taken it out. Now, it was just him. Not the legend. Not the unstoppable force.

His squad moved out ahead, but he stayed back for a moment, scanning. The Covenant supply depot was close. He could hear the Grunts’ chattering and see the silhouette of an Elite standing guard.

They weren’t afraid.

As they advanced, the Elite spotted them and charged. No hesitation. No fear. Just pure aggression. Master Chief raised his rifle—no targeting system to help, no enhanced aim. He fired. Missed.

The Elite lunged. Master Chief barely dodged. The plasma sword burned the air where he’d been a second ago.

Pain. Real, sharp.

The Grunts chittered. "You're dead!"

Master Chief didn’t answer. He fired again. The Elite’s shields sparked out. The Elite pressed on, swinging his sword. Master Chief ducked, tackled the Elite, and pulled the trigger.

The Elite’s body went limp.

The Grunts hesitated. One dropped. Another screamed as a grenade took him out. The rest scattered.

When the last Grunt fell, Master Chief exhaled. His shoulder stung. His legs felt heavy. The ache of it all settled in. No armor, no enhancements. Just a soldier, vulnerable. But still standing.

Mitchell approached, looking him over.

“You good, Chief?”

“I’m fine.”

A pause. Then, “The armor gave me strength. But it took something, too. I needed to feel my limits again.”

He stood straighter, letting the pain ground him.

“Let’s move,” he said. “The mission’s not over.”

And they continued on. No armor. No legends. Just men doing their job.

[halofanfiction]

Halo Fan Fiction:

Halo: Shadows of War

The moon was a tomb. Dust, ash, and debris covered the ground, the silent proof of the UNSC’s relentless push through the Covenant's last strongholds. Sergeant Major Ezra Zane crouched beside a jagged cliff face, the distant sounds of war fading into the hollow expanse of this forsaken place. His HUD flickered weakly, the flashing lights of his squad’s movement barely registering on the outskirts of his consciousness.

"You know," Corporal Willa Ortega said over the comms, her voice low, "never thought it’d end like this. Hiding in the dirt, hunting Kig-Yar." Zane could hear the tiredness in her voice—no bitterness, just the simple fact of their reality. None of them had imagined it. But here they were, clearing out the last of the Covenant's scum, buried deep beneath the surface of a moon they’d never call home.

"We all end up somewhere," Zane replied, his voice hoarse. His helmet caught the dim light of the fading sun, casting a long shadow across the cracked landscape. The sky burned a dull orange, the horizon a smear of molten color. "At least we’re choosing how it goes."

The Kig-Yar were nothing like the bulk of the Covenant forces. Agile, sharp-eyed, and cunning, they had fought from the shadows, hiding in their underground bunkers like rats, burrowing deep into the craggy heart of the moon. But their time had run out. UNSC forces had systematically eradicated their operations, punching through layers of rock and concrete, bringing down every stronghold with brutal precision. The final days of the war were marked not by grand battles, but by these small, unheralded victories—still enough to leave a mark on any who survived.

The silence of the dead was broken by a tremor in the ground, a rumbling that suggested the remains of the Kig-Yar structures might collapse further. Zane straightened, scanning the darkened horizon with narrowed eyes. The ground beneath them quivered ever so slightly.

"Contact!" shouted Ortega, the word a sharp snap that sent them all to their feet. The ground erupted in bursts of gunfire as a Kig-Yar squad, well-hidden in the debris, came out of the dark. They were desperate, driven by survival and the knowledge that this was the end. But the Covenant had no more reinforcements, and the moon was a graveyard for their ambitions. These warriors had little left but their dying rage.

A flurry of plasma bolts whizzed past Zane, singeing the air with their angry heat. He ducked behind cover, his M90 shotgun already in hand, the familiar weight reassuring in his grip. "Take them down, fast!" he barked.

His team responded with the well-practiced precision of veterans, their weapons lighting the darkness, silencing the Covenant’s final fight. The Kig-Yar didn’t stand a chance. One by one, the distant, high-pitched screams of the alien soldiers were snuffed out, leaving only the sound of the wind and their echoes in the desolate night.

Ortega took a breath, her voice now quiet in the aftermath. "Another one bites the dust. For what, Sergeant? What does it all matter now?"

Zane was silent for a moment, staring out over the blackened horizon. The war had been long, too long, and now that it was over, there was nothing left but the ruins. The Covenant had shattered, their once-glorious empire turned to ash, but the galaxy would still carry their scars. He had fought and lost too many to feel any kind of relief.

"Because they don't get to decide who wins," Zane finally answered. "Not now. Not ever."

They moved off the battlefield in silence, like shadows of a war that had already taken everything from them.

[halofanfiction]

Halo: Last Stand at Thermopylae

Chapter 1: Arrival on Thermopylae

Master Chief sat in the back of the Pelican, the engines humming as the craft descended through the thick, storm-ridden atmosphere of Thermopylae. The planet’s surface came into view, a barren landscape of jagged rocks and dust storms. This wasn’t a world anyone fought for because they wanted it—only because it held something vital.

The hologram of Commander Lasky flickered to life on the heads-up display inside Chief's helmet. "Chief, the Covenant is closing in fast. Intelligence reports indicate that the facility in the Thermopylae canyon holds research that could turn the tide of the war. It’s your job to make sure they don’t get their hands on it."

Chief responded with a curt nod. "Understood."

"The scientists can’t be evacuated in time. Their experiment is still days from completion. Until then, you and the Spartan team are all they’ve got."

Master Chief glanced out the viewport as the Pelican neared the narrow canyon that served as the UNSC research base’s last defense. It was a natural choke point, with towering cliffs on either side, a perfect place to make a stand.

The Pelican touched down in the clearing, and the ramp lowered with a hiss of hydraulics. Chief stepped out, his boots sinking slightly into the dust. Ahead of him, 29 Spartans were already waiting, standing in formation. Their armor gleamed under the hazy sunlight, a silent, powerful force.

As Chief approached, a figure stepped forward from the group. Spartan A-217, a battle-scarred veteran, greeted him with a sharp salute. "Master Chief, welcome to Thermopylae. We’ve been prepping the defense, but the Covenant are getting closer by the hour. We’ll be seeing them soon."

Chief’s visor turned to scan the area, noting the heavy turrets, barricades, and sniper nests set up along the canyon walls. Every Spartan was armed to the teeth, but something in the air felt off—like a storm waiting to break.

"We’ve got a one-way canyon to defend," Spartan A-217 continued. "No retreat. No escape. And if the Covenant breach our line before the experiment is done, the war is lost."

Chief said nothing for a moment, taking in the situation. He knew what was coming—waves of Covenant troops, artillery fire, and a fight that would likely end in blood. But for him, there was no hesitation, only the mission.

"Then we hold the line," Chief said finally. "We buy time."

The words were met with a grim silence from the Spartans. No one needed to be told what that would entail.

Inside the research facility, Chief and a small group of Spartans met with Dr. Sorensen, the head of the scientific team. The lab was bustling with activity—holographic displays flickered, diagnostic equipment hummed, and scientists moved from station to station with hurried urgency.

"Master Chief," Dr. Sorensen greeted, her face lined with exhaustion. "I wish I had better news, but the experiment won’t be ready for another 72 hours. If the Covenant break through before that… well, you know what’s at stake."

Chief’s gaze fell on the equipment scattered across the lab. "What are you working on?"

Sorensen hesitated. "I can’t give you all the details, but it’s a weapon—a breakthrough in energy manipulation. If we succeed, it could give the UNSC a fighting chance against the Covenant fleet. But it’s delicate work, and we need more time. Without it, Earth and the rest of the colonies may not survive the next Covenant offensive."

Chief gave a slow nod, his mission clear. Protect the scientists. Protect the experiment. Hold the line at all costs.

With the situation laid out, Chief regrouped with the Spartans. The sun was setting behind the canyon walls, casting long shadows over the base. The quiet before the storm was unnerving, even to the seasoned warriors.

"We’ve set up automated turrets, motion detectors, and explosives along the pass," Spartan A-217 reported. "It’ll slow them down, but if they throw enough at us…"

"They will," Chief replied. He checked his rifle, the familiar weight in his hands grounding him. "How many waves can we expect?"

"Intel says they’re deploying a full invasion force. We’re the only thing standing between them and the facility."

Chief looked at the other Spartans, scanning their faces behind the visors. Some were seasoned veterans, others younger, but they all shared one thing: the resolve to stand, no matter what. He admired that, but he also knew what that resolve would cost.

"Get some rest," he ordered. "We start soon."

As the Spartans dispersed to their stations, Chief remained, standing at the canyon’s mouth, gazing out at the darkening horizon. He’d faced impossible odds before, but this felt different. There were no reinforcements on the way, no fallback plan. It was just them and the Covenant.

And when they came, there would be no mercy.

Chapter 2: The Siege Begins

The canyon was unnervingly quiet. Dust swirled in the wind, and the Spartans moved silently as they fortified their positions. Master Chief observed the operation with a practiced eye, ensuring every last detail was accounted for. Automated turrets lined the narrow pass, their barrels sweeping the horizon. Sniper nests were perched high in the cliffs, giving the Spartans above a clear line of sight to rain fire down on the Covenant forces below. The chokepoint was fortified, but it would be tested soon.

Chief stood near a holographic map of the area with Spartan A-217, who was overseeing the placement of explosive charges along the canyon walls. "If they send in heavy armor, we’ll collapse part of the ridge and funnel them into the kill zone," A-217 explained, pointing to key spots on the map. "But that’ll only slow them down. We’re looking at hours, maybe days of this."

Master Chief's voice was steady, focused. "We hold as long as necessary. No Covenant gets through. Not while the experiment is still active."

Nearby, Spartans triple-checked their weapons, syncing up with the base’s defense network and laying out additional traps along the canyon. The atmosphere was tense but controlled—a quiet storm ready to break. They were all aware of what was coming. But no one spoke of it.

It started with a low rumble, felt more than heard, as the ground began to tremble beneath their boots. Master Chief looked out across the canyon mouth as dark shapes appeared on the horizon. The Covenant fleet had arrived. Dropships hovered above, descending slowly, ominously, as the vast invasion force began its approach.

"Eyes up," Chief’s voice came over the comms. The Spartans immediately snapped into position, weapons ready. Every sniper had their scopes trained on the incoming drop pods, fingers itching on triggers. There was no panic, no hesitation—just quiet focus. This was what Spartans were made for.

Through his HUD, Chief saw the first wave of Covenant infantry hit the ground—Elites, Jackals, and Grunts swarming from the dropships like ants. A moment later, the valley erupted in fire.

"Engage," Chief ordered.

The Spartans opened fire in perfect unison. Bullets, energy rounds, and explosions lit up the canyon like a battlefield straight out of hell. Plasma fire streaked toward the Spartan positions, but their shields held. The Covenant forces marched forward, relentless, but the kill zone was working just as planned. Elites fell by the dozens, caught in crossfires from the cliffs, and Grunts exploded in bursts of energy as they stepped into the trap-laden pass.

From his elevated position, Master Chief fired precise bursts, picking off Elites and Jackals attempting to coordinate the attack. His motion tracker flashed—an incoming Banshee strafing the ridgeline. He pivoted smoothly, launching a rocket that collided with the Banshee mid-flight, reducing it to a flaming wreck that spiraled into the canyon below.

"First wave down," Spartan A-217 reported over the comms, voice steady. "But that was just a probe. Bigger ones are coming."

The quiet between waves was eerie. Bodies and debris littered the battlefield, smoking craters marking where plasma mortars had hit. The Spartans didn’t relax; they knew the worst was yet to come.

"Status on Covenant movements?" Chief asked, scanning the battlefield for any sign of the next assault.

"Scouts show heavier units on the way. Wraiths, Hunters, and more dropships inbound," Spartan A-217 replied.

Chief clenched his rifle tighter. He knew the Covenant would adapt. They always did. Their tactics were shifting—hunters were now advancing in tight formations, using their massive shields to cover Elites, while Wraiths rumbled into position behind the infantry, preparing to rain artillery fire on the Spartan lines.

"Get ready," Chief said. "They're bringing in armor."

He checked the explosives they’d planted earlier, syncing the detonators to his HUD. The Covenant didn’t know what they were walking into.

The Wraiths started their assault, launching glowing plasma mortars high into the sky, their arcs deadly and precise. Explosions tore into the cliffs, sending rocks and debris raining down on the Spartans' positions. Master Chief saw a turret go down, its operator vaporized in a direct hit.

"Now," Chief commanded.

In unison, the explosives along the canyon wall detonated. The deafening roar of the collapsing ridge echoed through the canyon as tons of rock and debris crashed down, crushing Covenant forces beneath it. The Wraiths were temporarily halted, forced to navigate the rubble. It gave the Spartans precious seconds to regroup.

But the Covenant, undeterred, pressed forward.

With the choke point breached, the Covenant switched tactics again. Elites and Brutes surged toward the Spartan lines, backed by towering Hunters with fuel rod cannons glowing ominously.

"Keep them back!" Chief ordered, moving to the front lines.

Plasma grenades detonated around him as Covenant forces tried to overwhelm their positions. Master Chief charged, a blur of motion as he closed the gap, smashing into a Brute with a devastating punch that sent the creature sprawling. He pivoted, unloading a burst of assault rifle rounds into an Elite at close range, the alien’s shields flickering out just before it collapsed.

The Spartans fought like a well-oiled machine. A team of three Spartans cut through a pack of Grunts, their synchronized movements making quick work of the alien fodder. On the cliffs, snipers were thinning out the advancing infantry, but they were starting to run low on ammunition.

"Chief, we’ve got a Wraith closing in on the right flank!" A-217 called out over the comms.

"I’ll handle it," Chief replied.

Without hesitation, Chief grabbed a Spartan Laser from a fallen comrade. He sprinted toward the Wraith, dodging plasma blasts and incoming fire. He slid into cover behind a boulder, the Wraith now in his sights. As the laser charged with a high-pitched whine, Chief popped out of cover and fired. A crimson beam of energy seared through the air, cutting through the Wraith’s armor and igniting its fuel core. The massive Covenant tank erupted in a ball of fire, lighting up the battlefield.

Despite the Spartans' heroic efforts, the Covenant kept coming. Wave after wave of infantry, vehicles, and airborne units assaulted their defenses. Plasma fire lit up the sky, and the canyon walls echoed with the sounds of battle.

As night fell, the battle showed no signs of letting up. The Spartans were holding, but just barely. Ammo was running low, and the automated turrets were malfunctioning after taking repeated hits. Chief knew they couldn’t hold forever—but that wasn’t the mission.

He checked the timer on his HUD: 48 hours left for the scientists to complete their work. They still needed more time.

Over the comms, A-217's voice cut through the noise. "Chief, we’ve lost Spartans on the ridge. We’re down to 20."

Chief acknowledged, but there was no room for hesitation. "We keep fighting."

As the next wave of Covenant forces prepared for another assault, Master Chief readied himself. They were going to be tested like never before.

And this was just the beginning.

Chapter 3: Attrition and Sacrifice

The battle had stretched into its third day. The constant barrage of Covenant forces was relentless, wave after wave crashing against the Spartan defenses. The once sturdy fortifications lining the canyon had been reduced to smoldering wreckage. Bodies—Covenant and Spartan alike—were scattered across the battlefield. The air was thick with the smell of plasma burns and scorched earth.

Master Chief hadn’t slept. None of them had. Time had blurred into a single, long assault, a trial by fire designed to break even the toughest of warriors. But Spartans didn’t break.

Chief crouched behind cover, plasma fire sizzling over his head. He glanced at his motion tracker, the red dots swarming like angry wasps. The Covenant were pushing harder than ever, seemingly endless. But he could feel the attrition taking its toll. Their lines were thinning. The Spartans were down to 14 now, spread across the canyon in small, specialized units.

"We're getting low on ammunition," Spartan A-217 reported through the comms. "One more wave like that, and we're in trouble."

Master Chief gritted his teeth. The Covenant was bleeding them dry, testing every possible weak point, and the Spartans were running out of options. There was still no word from command. The only thing that kept them fighting was the countdown on Chief’s HUD: 24 hours remaining until the scientists completed the experiment.

They just had to hold out for one more day.

"Resupply at station Gamma," Chief ordered. "We make every shot count."

Despite the grueling conditions, Chief never wavered. Every time a Spartan fell, he was there, rallying the remaining soldiers, leading from the front. His presence was more than just tactical—it was morale-boosting. The Spartans knew they were fighting a losing battle, but as long as Chief was with them, they believed they could win.

In the heat of battle, Chief moved through the lines, coordinating defense efforts. He directed snipers to target Elite commanders and kept the heavy gunners focused on the advancing Wraiths and Hunters. He shifted Spartans into tighter formations, pulling them back when the Covenant overwhelmed key positions, and rotating those on the front lines to give them moments to recover.

"Keep focused. Stick to your zones," Chief said calmly over the comms, his voice cutting through the chaos. "We hold this line."

One Spartan—an eager but young warrior named M-198—was pinned down behind cover, struggling to get a shot off as Jackals advanced toward his position. Chief sprinted across the battlefield, taking out two Jackals with pinpoint shots before covering M-198.

"On your feet, Spartan," Chief said, helping him up. "No time for hesitation."

M-198 nodded, his courage renewed. "Yes, sir."

As the Covenant's relentless assault continued, the Spartans knew sacrifices had to be made to protect the facility and the experiment. One such moment came when a Scarab—one of the Covenant’s towering, spider-like assault platforms—entered the canyon. Its massive energy cannon hummed ominously, preparing to decimate the remaining Spartan forces.

"Scarab incoming," Spartan A-217 shouted over the comms. "That thing will level us if it gets any closer."

Chief assessed the situation. The automated turrets had been destroyed, and their heavy weapons were running low. There was only one option.

"Spartan Y-086, take your squad and hold that thing off," Chief ordered. "You know what to do."

Y-086—a Spartan with a reputation for fearlessness—didn’t hesitate. She rallied her squad, knowing full well it would likely be a suicide mission. They made their way through the wreckage, moving toward the Scarab’s legs, their weapons blazing.

The battle turned into chaos. Y-086 and her squad leapt onto the legs of the Scarab, attaching explosives to its joints, all while dodging the Covenant infantry and the Scarab’s defensive turrets. One by one, the Spartans in her squad fell, but Y-086 pressed on. With a final, heroic push, she placed the last charge on the Scarab’s main cannon.

"Charges are set!" Y-086’s voice crackled through the comms. "Finish the fight."

Chief barely had time to react before the explosion ripped through the Scarab. It collapsed in a heap of twisted metal, its massive frame crashing to the canyon floor. Y-086 and her team were gone, but their sacrifice had bought the others time.

Chief stood silently for a moment, watching the burning wreckage. "You did well, Spartan," he muttered, though no one could hear.

The hours dragged on. The Covenant, despite their heavy losses, showed no signs of letting up. With each passing wave, they sent more advanced units: Elite Zealots, Brute Chieftains, and aerial Phantoms strafing the Spartan positions. The once well-fortified defenses were now crumbling, and the Spartans had been forced to fall back to the last line of defense in front of the facility’s main entrance.

Chief’s visor flashed red. Only 9 Spartans left. The Covenant numbers were overwhelming them, and there was little room to maneuver. Plasma fire rained down from every direction, and the air crackled with the constant sound of explosions.

"We’re running out of time!" Spartan A-217 yelled through the comms, ducking behind a piece of fallen rubble as a plasma grenade detonated nearby.

"Hold the line," Chief responded, his voice unwavering. "We can’t fall now. Not this close."

Despite his calm tone, Chief knew their situation was becoming more dire by the minute. The Covenant was tightening the noose, and the Spartans were almost out of ammunition, explosives, and soldiers. Even with all of their training, courage, and resilience, they were mortal.

Chief glanced at the timer in his HUD: 12 hours left. The experiment was almost complete, but the Covenant was bearing down on them with renewed ferocity. He turned to Spartan A-217, who was clutching a plasma burn on his arm.

"We need to buy more time," Chief said. "We can’t let them breach the facility."

"We’re running out of Spartans," A-217 grunted through the pain, glancing at the few remaining soldiers still fighting.

"We’re not out yet," Chief replied. "We’ve been through worse."

As the next wave of Covenant soldiers poured into the canyon, Chief led the charge, positioning himself at the forefront of the battle. His assault rifle barked as he unloaded into an advancing group of Elites, cutting them down one by one. Behind him, the remaining Spartans fought with everything they had, every movement precise, every bullet counted.

One Spartan—L-054—was critically injured, pinned down by a group of Brutes. Chief made his way to her position, dispatching the Brutes with ruthless efficiency. He knelt beside her, quickly assessing the damage.

"Can you fight?" Chief asked, his voice steady.

L-054, bloodied but defiant, nodded. "Not leaving this fight, Chief."

Together, they pushed back the Covenant, holding the line as long as possible. But even with all their efforts, the Covenant kept coming.

By the end of the day, only 3 Spartans remained: Master Chief, A-217, and L-054. Exhausted, wounded, and low on supplies, they stood in front of the facility’s entrance, the last line of defense between the Covenant and the critical experiment inside. Plasma fire lit up the night as Covenant forces regrouped for what would be their final push.

Chief checked his HUD. 6 hours left. They just needed to hold on for a little longer.

"We're not done yet," Chief said quietly, determination clear in his voice.

A-217 gripped his weapon, his breath ragged. "Let’s finish this."

The Covenant was preparing for their final assault, and the Spartans—though diminished—were ready to face them head-on. They would fight to the last soldier, for the mission, for each other, and for humanity.

Chapter 4: The Final Stand

The canyon had grown eerily quiet, the lull before the final storm. Master Chief, Spartan A-217, and Spartan L-054 stood in front of the shattered remains of their fortifications, the last defense between the Covenant and the research facility. Behind them, the entrance to the facility loomed—silent and unyielding. The countdown on Chief’s HUD showed 6 hours left until the experiment would be complete. Just a few more hours, and the scientists’ work could shift the tide of the entire war.

But between them and victory stood the full might of the Covenant’s invasion force.

Chief checked his assault rifle. Ammo was dangerously low, and L-054’s injuries were critical. A-217, though still standing, was clearly running on fumes, plasma burns covering parts of his armor.

"We’ve been through worse," Chief said, breaking the silence. His words weren’t just for the other Spartans—they were for himself. There was no margin for error now.

L-054, her breathing labored but her resolve intact, nodded. "We’re not done fighting."

The motion sensors in Chief’s HUD flared to life. The Covenant were on the move again, closing in for their final assault.

Chief tightened his grip on his weapon. "Stay sharp. This is it."

A low rumble echoed through the canyon as the Covenant forces began their approach. Phantoms hovered overhead, dropping more Elites, Brutes, and Grunts into the pass. Banshees screamed across the sky, strafing the Spartan positions. At the center of the onslaught, a towering Covenant Scarab rumbled forward, its massive energy cannon aimed squarely at the facility.

Chief scanned the battlefield. They were outnumbered, outgunned, and out of time. But that had never stopped them before.

"Pick your targets. Make every shot count," Chief ordered over the comms.

A-217 and L-054 took up their positions, each Spartan preparing for their last stand. As the Covenant advanced, the Spartans opened fire. L-054, despite her injuries, took down a charging Brute with a well-placed shot, while A-217 blasted an Elite from cover with his last remaining rocket. But there was no denying the overwhelming force coming their way.

The Scarab fired, its massive energy beam scorching the ground near the facility. The shockwave knocked L-054 off her feet, her shields flickering out. Chief rushed to her side, pulling her into cover just as plasma fire peppered their position.

"I’m good," L-054 said, though her voice was strained.

Chief nodded and handed her his last energy sword, salvaged from a fallen Elite. "Use this."

She took it, the blade humming to life. "Thanks, Chief."

The Covenant swarmed them, plasma fire lighting up the canyon in an all-out assault. The Spartans fought fiercely, their skills honed by years of battle. Chief moved like a force of nature, taking out Brutes with ruthless precision, ducking between cover and returning fire at every opportunity. But even his armor couldn’t withstand the onslaught forever.

A plasma grenade landed near A-217’s position. He dove to the side, but the blast caught him, sending him sprawling. Chief saw him go down, struggling to rise as his shields flickered weakly. The Covenant troops were closing in on him fast.

Chief charged forward, cutting through the enemy with controlled bursts from his rifle. He reached A-217 just as an Elite raised its energy sword to strike. Chief blocked the attack with his forearm, grabbed the Elite by the neck, and snapped it with a single twist.

A-217 coughed, blood trickling down his face inside his cracked visor. "Guess we’re really pushing it now, huh, Chief?"

"You’re still breathing," Chief replied, pulling A-217 to his feet. "That’s what counts."

Together, the remaining Spartans continued to fight, their resolve unwavering. Plasma grenades and fuel rod blasts exploded around them, but they held their ground, determined to give the scientists inside the facility every last second they could.

Despite their fierce defense, the Covenant forces were closing in fast, overwhelming their final position. The Scarab’s energy cannon fired again, and this time it was a direct hit. The facility’s entrance shook, debris raining down as part of the structure began to crumble.

"They’re getting too close!" A-217 shouted over the comms.

Chief scanned the battlefield and saw the Scarab moving into position to deliver the final blow. Its massive cannon hummed, preparing to destroy the facility—and the critical experiment inside.

"There’s no time," L-054 said, her voice strained but resolute. She activated the energy sword in her hand, the blade crackling with lethal power. "I’ll take care of the Scarab."

"You can’t—" A-217 started, but L-054 cut him off.

"We don’t have a choice."

Chief understood immediately. "Go."

Without hesitation, L-054 sprinted toward the Scarab, using the wreckage and debris as cover to close the distance. Plasma fire rained down around her, but she was relentless, determined. She leapt onto the Scarab’s leg, climbing swiftly despite her injuries. The Covenant troops on the Scarab opened fire, but L-054 was faster, ducking and weaving her way toward the core.

When she reached the Scarab’s central power system, she plunged the energy sword into its reactor. Sparks flew as the blade sliced through the alien machinery, triggering a massive overload.

"Do it now!" L-054’s voice crackled over the comms.

Chief and A-217 watched from the ground as L-054 detonated her last remaining grenades, taking out the Scarab’s core in a brilliant explosion. The blast was enormous, the entire Scarab collapsing in a fireball of twisted metal.

L-054 was gone.

A-217 stood in silence, his head bowed. "She bought us time."

Chief nodded, staring at the wreckage of the Scarab. "She did what Spartans do."

With the Scarab destroyed, the Covenant forces reeled. But they weren’t done yet. Phantoms circled overhead, and waves of Elites and Brutes charged forward. Chief and A-217, the last two Spartans standing, fought with every ounce of strength they had left. Their armor was cracked, their ammo nearly gone, but they didn’t stop.

The timer on Chief’s HUD read 1 hour remaining. Just one more hour until the experiment was complete.

A-217 took position beside Chief, firing his remaining rounds into the advancing Covenant. "Think we’ll make it, Chief?"

Chief reloaded his rifle with his last magazine. "We don’t need to."

The Covenant pushed harder, their sheer numbers threatening to overrun the facility. But as the final minutes ticked down, the sky above the canyon began to darken. Not with Covenant dropships—but with UNSC reinforcements.

A squadron of Pelicans and Longswords appeared over the horizon, raining fire down on the Covenant forces below. The Phantoms were torn from the sky, and the ground forces were decimated by the sudden onslaught.

Chief looked up, recognizing the unmistakable shape of the UNSC Infinity as it descended into the atmosphere, its cannons blazing. Reinforcements had arrived.

As the Covenant forces were obliterated by the UNSC’s airstrikes, Chief and A-217 lowered their weapons, exhaustion finally catching up with them. The experiment had been saved, and the reinforcements had arrived in time.

A Pelican touched down near them, and a squad of Marines rushed out, securing the area. Commander Lasky’s voice came over the comms.

"Chief, you did it. The experiment is complete, and we’ve broken the Covenant assault. Get those scientists out of there. You’re coming home."

Chief looked at A-217. "We lost a lot of good Spartans today."

A-217 nodded, his voice heavy. "Yeah, but we saved the future."

Chief stood in silence for a moment, remembering L-054 and the others who had given their lives for this moment. Then he turned toward the facility.

"Let’s get them out."

[halofanfiction]

Halo Fan Fiction:

Halo: Return of the Destroyers

During a black night on a distant UNSC world, two Covenant dropships fly through the atmosphere, their engines screaming.

"Incoming!" shouts a UNSC marine.

The dropships open their bays.

Two massive Mgalekgolos drop to the earth. The UNSC marines call them "Destroyers."

"Alright, marines!" barks a UNSC sergeant. "You know the drill."

A caravan of Warthogs wheels into view, circling the Destroyers.

The Destroyers, standing back-to-back, open fire, hurling huge fiery blasts of energy.

The Warthogs dodge the energy blasts.

One Warthog driver carelessly careens too close to a Destroyer. The Destroyer smashes the vehicle with its shield.

The other Destroyer incinerates another Warthog. Only three Warthogs remain.

A Pelican flies into view, unleashing its armaments on the Destroyers.

The Warthog gunners melt a Destroyer down into oblivion with combined turret fire.

The Pelican and Warthogs easily dispatch the remaining Destroyer.

"That's the third time this week," remarks the sergeant. "Where's Master Chief?"

"On the other side of the canyon, responding to another deployment of Destroyers."

On the other side of the canyon:

A Destroyer roars, its bellows of pain echoing through the canyon.

Master Chief dashes around a Destroyer and climbs its back.

The other Destroyer opens fire just as Master Chief leaps off of the first Destroyer, melting it down.

Master Chief rolls to his feet. He dashes to the remaining Destroyer. He climbs its back and slides two grenades under the Destroyer's armor plating.

He leaps off the monster.

The resulting grenade explosion destroys the giant Mgalekgolo.

Master Chief surveys the carnage.

His comms crackle. "Chief? Report back to base."

"Copy that. Spartan-117 returning to base."

In the briefing room, Master Chief stands before the base commander and his aide.

"What are these Destroyers?" asks the base commander. "Where are they coming from?"

Cortana's holographic projection flickers to life. "The Destroyers are a super-class of Mgalekgolo," she explains, "They are four times the size of the Hunters and first appeared eight months ago on a Halo ring."

"The Covenant means business. Where are they getting these troops?" the commander asks.

"Unknown. Very little is known about the Covenant homeworlds. By my calculations, they could occupy over a thousand different worlds and have a population of hundreds of trillions."

The base commander's mouth drops, his cigar falling to the floor.

Cortana continues, "The truth is, we know very little about the full capabilities of the Covenant. We've barely scratched the surface of their organization."

"The Covenant is breaking out the big guns," the base commander realizes. "They didn't expect to find us. They're encountering more trouble than they anticipated, and now they're rolling in the rest of their troops."

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?" asks the other UNSC officer sitting in on the discussion.

"This war is far from over," Master Chief says grimly.

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Story written by Richard Doi.

[halofanfiction]

Notice Regarding Halo Fan Fiction:

Fan fiction at halofanfiction are created by fans of the Halo universe and is intended solely for entertainment purposes. It is not endorsed by or affiliated with the creators, developers, or publishers of the Halo series, including 343 Industries and Microsoft Studios.

All characters, settings, and storylines within this fan fiction are fictional and do not represent official canon or lore of the Halo universe. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Readers are reminded to respect the intellectual property rights of the original creators of the Halo series. This fan fiction should not be considered as official content or part of the established Halo storyline.

Thank you for your understanding and enjoyment of this fan-created content.

[halofanfiction]

Fan Fiction - Halo Short Stories:

Halo: The Mega-Mgalekgolo

A Pelican descends through the atmosphere of a Halo installation, its engines roaring.

A green figure leaps from the rear of the Pelican and drops with a loud thud in the middle of a jungle clearing.

The figure looks up and surveys its surroundings: Master Chief is on a mission.

Nearby marines chatter over their comms.

One of them yells into their comms excitedly.

The jungle comes to life as marines dash through the foliage to help their comrade.

Master Chief joins the fray, leaping into the clearing.

Cortana exclaims: "WHAT. IS. THAT?!"

Before them stands a Mgalekgolo, four times the size of a normal one.

The creature is evidently a variant of the Covenant "Hunter."

Marines pepper the giant Mgalekgolo with assault rifle fire.

With a single swing of its arm, the oversized Hunter knocks marines high into the air.

Cortana tells Master Chief, "You might want to sit this one out. I'm calling in the cavalry."

A pair of Longswords zoom overhead. They swing around and shower the giant Mgalekgolo with missiles.

The enormous Hunter raises its shield, fending off their attacks.

Cortana comments, "Chief, look! A rocket launcher!"

On the ground is a rocket launcher recently abandoned by its previous owner.

The Spartan seizes the rocket launcher and fires off a shot at the exposed backside of the Mgalekgolo.

A gaping maw appears in the backside of the Mgalekgolo, but uninjured worms rush to fill the gap.

The Longswords make their exit. "Chief, we're all out of missiles. We're heading back to base to rearm and refuel."

Master Chief thinks quickly.

"Cortana, we have a couple of Gauss Warthogs on the other side of this jungle."

"If you think you can make it."

"I'll make it."

Master Chief dashes into the fray, spraying the Mgalekgolo with bullets.

The Mgalekgolo chases him.

Master Chief leads the Mgalekgolo to another clearing.

As soon as the Mgalekgolo enters the clearing, marines manning Gauss guns open fire on the creature.

The creature roars in agony.

The Longswords zoom overhead once again. "Chief? We're rearmed and ready to fire on your command."

"Light it up," Master Chief replies.

The combined firepower of the Longswords and the Gauss guns melts down the giant Mgalekgolo. Its worms loses their cohesion and strength.

The marines look on. "Jeez! Where did the Covenant find that one?"

"I have a feeling we haven't seen the last of them," says Master Chief, grimly.

Master Chief returns to the UNSC base and made his report. The UNSC classifies his finding as a "Mega-Mgalekgolo."

Word of the Mega-Mgalekgolo quickly spreads through the UNSC ranks, inspiring them with newfound fear and respect for their Covenant foes.

______________________________________________________________

Story written by Richard Doi in April 2024.