A/n: I've finally returned. I wanted to get in an update before the break, so I thought this would be a good story to get going on. I've edited a few minor things in the first chapter, but here we are with chapter three.

Thorvamee laughed bitterly as he got to his feet. The one holding the beam rifle stood completely still, waiting for an answer. He stared down at the frail ex-warrior without offering to help him up. He held the weapon out, butt-end first, to Thorvamee, who suddenly growled and knocked it aside. All the other weapons in the chamber were instantly trained on him. Regardless, Thorvamee stood at his full height to stare into the other sangheili's eyes.

"You stripped me of my rank, my identity." the prisoner beckoned, accusing. "I have been kept locked up in a containment field for seven years, and yet you come back to me? For what? To humiliate me?"

"To save you, friend," the elite replied coolly. "They wanted to make an example of you, to instill pride and honour among our kind." He laid a hand on Thorvamee's bare shoulder, but was shrugged off.

"And you approved!"

The ranking elite said nothing for a moment, but took one step forward and delivered a backhanded slap to the prisoner's face. The sound of the blow echoed through the silent chamber. He spoke, "It is my duty to uphold the traditions of our brothers; you are no exception. I have no mercy for those I command, or those I respect." His tone lightened. "T'aom, I knew they would not go through with your sentence. It is reserved only for the deadliest of traitors and those who betray our cause… heretics. You," he clapped Thorvamee on the shoulder, "are not a heretic. So, my brother, will you join us? Will you fight once again?"

T'aom Thorvamee hesitated, contemplating his decision. He had nothing to turn to, as the sangheili were only wanted for fighting. This was his only chance at freedom. Slowly, he presented his outstretched hands. The ranking sangheili grunted approvingly and set the beam rifle in his arms. T'aom ran his fingers over the length of the barrel and snapped to attention.

"Field Master T'aom Thorvamee," the commanding sangheili said, "welcome to the Covenant."

"You're kidding me, right?"

"That's what I said to him. If it is, the colonel must have a funny sense of humour."

"So, it's a joke?"

"No."

"Damn. Does he realize how far this'll set us back?" Lukas rubbed the growth on his jaw and swore. "Fifteen kids? I hope you're good with children, Woody."

Both marines met up in their usual hangout in the CP. They usually had a few hours to rest before they were needed around the city. The corporal had spoken with Abbot, and Lukas had come out of the infirmary, visiting the girl from yesterday's events. He had his hands wrapped around a porcelain mug of much-needed coffee and sat back to set his feet on the table while Nathan cleaned his weapons.

"Says they're the best of their class… he just wants me to show them around the city, so they don't get caught out in the snow without their mittens. They do know how to shoot, though. That'll at least make this job easier," Woodrow said. "They're being flown in tonight, so we won't do anything too overly dangerous before they arrive."

"Mm. It turns out, that girl we found was part of the reserves that stayed to help when the Covies touched down. She says she used to live an hour away from the city, so she's fighting to protect her hometown."

"She a body-builder? Might explain a little," Nathan absentmindedly ran his hand over his cheek. "Was she a part of a unit?"

"I think so. We have reports coming in from around the city and it looks like her guys are spread all over the place. Everybody's scattered everywhere. Hell, I don't even know what's happening maybe three blocks out from here. You know Sergeant Reichs? Just last week, he spent half a day with his men camping out behind the Beletzkov wall, with a score of Covies just on the other side the whole time, and they didn't even notice they were on opposite armies until one guy started up a conversation with one on the other side."

Woodrow laughed. "When was this? I don't remember seeing Reichs' guys for a while."

"You were sweeping ninth and sixteen, I believe. They needed a little long-range support to help the sergeant retreat, and you'd already left."

"Ah, I remember. We had to take the subway tunnels because there was a tank sitting in the middle of the road. By the time we got to our destination, the Covies already packed up and left. What happened to Reichs?"

"Surprisingly, he managed to take out the group behind the wall, but he found out thathe was actually on Covenant-held space. Me and two other guys were there to eliminate the army of reinforcements that showed up, but that was clearly not going to happen. So we fired off one round each, then ran around without them seeing us, then hit them from a different position. That stalled them until our guys could get out. After linking up with the rest of our forces, Reichs went to help fight in downtown Beletzkov maybe two days ago. We haven't actually heard from anyone in there since."

"Do you think they lost the ground?" Nathan's face was grim. If a man didn't check in daily (or even hourly) in this city, he would be considered KIA.

Lukas shook his head with a small grin. "Mark Reichs is a fighter. If anyone could last in the kill zone over the expected time period, I'd put my money down on the sergeant."

Woodrow raised an eyebrow and placed his sidearm in its holster. "Then it's too bad you already owe me, Lukas. You really shouldn't gamble anymore, my friend."

Tim made a face and set the mug down. "We headed out again?"

"We're on patrol today. I figure we'll circle around the block then maybe see what's up with the good sergeant."

Lukas found his own rifle and donned his helmet. He turned to Woodrow. "Let's go?"

The sniper loaded the magazine into the receiver. "Let's go."

"Go, go. Keep moving forward, you." Sergeant Marcus Reichs patted the young marine on the arm, urging him to advance up with the rest of the platoon, picking their way around the crater-filled street and through the wreckage of buildings, cars, and piled up bodies. A company's worth of men were locked in a melee with deeply entrenched Covenant forces. Both sides were unwilling to give up ground, while bombs and bullets and plasma bolts were exchanged, and the harsh environment tore at the troops.

After they held the line against the first few waves, it gradually became a battle of guerilla warfare and a game of chicken. The marines were now at their breaking point, and would not last out another attack or the cold. They would be the offensive force today.

The marines cautiously made their way up the street, hiding behind cover for a moment and then moving forward again. Each was weary of Covenant snipers, for they had been fighting a close ranged battle for the most part as visibility was extra poor in this area of the city. Reichs gripped his M7 tightly, concentrating on the next piece of cover he would get to. He didn't volunteer to take the route through the shops and apartment buildings lining the street, as house-clearing and close quarter combat were cumbersome and risky at this point.

He squinted to make out the shapes up ahead, when he noticed an unmistakable glow. Suddenly, it arced through the air and landed beside two leading marines. One managed to dive out of the way, but the second was consumed in the bright blue flash before anybody could yell out "grenade!"

Further up the street, at least two plasma stationary weapons opened up and their stream of bolts slashed through the streets, cutting through five men. The rest of the file of marines dove behind the debris or off to the sides of the road, each with an incoherent swear. Reichs was pinned down behind a scorched warthog that was missing three of its wheels, the windshield, and the driver's seat.

"Shit, how the hell were we supposed to know they were this close?!" Reichs shouted to another fellow NCO, "I thought recon said we had about two intersections to cross and enough room to flank!"

The marine flinched as plasma struck the warthog and flew over the hood. He clawed at his helmet. "Bastards must have moved up the street after they tried one last charge this morning! How the hell were we supposed to know? Can't see worth—"

Reichs cut him off as soon as he heard more explosions. More blue orbs were soaring through the air and killing marines caught out on the street behind debris. There was the sound of shattering glass as a man—minus a leg—flew into a once intact shop window. The ground shook beneath Reichs as more grenades were flung from unseen enemies.

"We can't stay here! We gotta get off the streets now!" Reichs growled. "McDonald, you see that window? Third floor of that apartment, get there with your jackhammer and wait for my order. Go!"

The private motioned to a second, his assistant, who carried the extra rockets and the two weaved across the street avoiding the plasma fire. Reichs turned back and activated his COMM. "Harkins, get up here with me!" he barked into his headset.

A moment later, another marine armed with a rocket launcher dove behind the warthog and pressed his back up against the steel plating. He rotated the tubes and set a hand on the fore grip. Harkins looked at Reichs and asked, "Sir?"

The sergeant looked over the hood and pointed to where the plasma originated from, tracing the bolts back to its start. Reichs spoke into his radio, "McDonald, you copy?"

"Loud and clear and in position."

"Your window should be just enough to penetrate the fog and hit its mark. Fire both rockets at where they're shooting from. After you get those rockets off, reload and displace. Tell me when you're in position number two. On my mark…"

"Roger that. Standing by…"

"Two, one, mark!"

The projectile zoomed at a downwards angle, followed by a second one. Harkin measured approximately where the rockets would end, stood up and launched his own in quick succession. The four rockets streaked through the haze and after the explosions—coupled with alien screams—the street was silent. Reichs heard the cackle of gunfire off in the very distance but the area was quiet. His headset cackled in his ear.

"We're in position."

"Hold your fire, marine. Get back down here." Reichs scouted ahead and found chunks of Covenant soldiers. The plasma turret emplacement had been completely destroyed. Upon seeing this, the sergeant sighed with relief and took a deep breath. "Rally on me, marines. We're not done yet."

As if on cue, a white mass of plasma arced up from around the corner of a café and smashed into the tenth floor of a hotel overhead, showering the Reichs and his people with bits of concrete, steel, and shards of glass.

A Covenant phantom glided through the clouds, revealing the sprawling human city of white snow and grey buildings. The majority of the city had been reduced to rubble and the structures still standing were all in sorry states. There was not a building left without sections blown out and not a road clear of debris. Field Master Thorvamee tightened the piece of armour on his forearm. Much to the surprise of many, he had chosen blue plated armour versus the rightful gold uniform. He knew that the humans always aimed for the highest ranking officers, and they had every right to do so. Dressed in the armour of the lowest of sangheili, he would simply add more time to his life. However, his shoulder pieces were white and contained engravings: his left, the mark of shame; and his right, the mark of a true elite warrior.

When he had been released, the soldiers still alive that had served under him came to support him once more, while the older, more "wisened" sangheili looked down on him.

Another sangheili walked in front of Thorvamee and clicked his mandibles. "You look well, Thorvamee."

"As do you, S'monsomee." Thorvamee knew this soldier well. They both served together at the beginning of the human-Covenant war and came to respect each other greatly on the battlefield. "Where do we stand in this battle?"

"It is a grueling struggle, and I am told every human fights with the determination of a demon."

Thorvamee snapped his head to face his friend. "Are they here, now? The demons?"

"No, Field Master. These are only the weak, ordinary species. But our trained kig-yar specialists are no match for these human snipers… one in particular. I am told he rightfully deserves a title of a demon."

"What have the Field Masters told you of him?"

"They have not, for the original ones have all been killed. These reports are by low ranking warriors who watched their commanders die… Ah, we have arrived."

As they turned to exit the phantom, Thorvamee looked at the other elite. "Thorvamee," S'monsomee said, suddenly worried, "are you certain you can remove this nuisance? Our prophets grow impatient."

Thorvamee stretched and examined his beam rifle one more time. He replied, "He is only human."

A/n: I'll try to write up more of this story over the weekend, but in the meantime, tell me what you thought of the newest chapter, 'kay? 'Kay.