Uprising (Or: Insurgency!)

The Arbiter appears in an iridescent flash of golden light, landing onto a dirt path on the mountainous terrain of Delta Halo. The ex-bitch-boy looks around and listens to the distant explosions and sounds of plasma fire, before picking up the plasma rifle of a fallen Elite. For some strange, inexplicable reason, the plasma weapon is fully charged.

"I'm not complaining," the Arbiter shrugs. The Elite follows the dirt path, ignoring the smelly corpses of Elites and Brutes off to the side. It isn't long before the Arbiter runs into a pair of Brutes.

"The Arbiter!" one of the simian/elephantine aliens roar, "seize him, so we may sodomize him!"

The gray-armored Elite whips out a second plasma rifle and starts running on the sides of the mountain rock in slow-motion, as the music from the lobby scene in The Matrix starts playing from nowhere. The Brutes spray indiscriminately in the typical henchman style, missing horribly. The Arbiter's shots all miraculously manage to strike their marks, killing the Brutes.

However, the shooting and the music has alerted a nearby patrol.

"So that's why that music started playing out of nowhere! It's the Arbiter!" a Brute captain yells, his little red flag flapping in the wind. "Kill him!"

The pack of Brutes level their pincer-like plasma rifles at the Arbiter and let loose a withering barrage of crimson plasma bolts. Smiling, clacking his mandibles together, the Arbiter drops his weapons and raises his hands, letting loose a deep bellow. The plasma bolts suddenly freeze in midair before dissipating. The dumbfounded Brutes hesitate, staring at the silver-armored Elite with traces of trepidation in their collective gaze. Even the Brute captain seems to be taken aback by this strange occurrence.

Capitalizing upon their moment of inaction, the Arbiter ignites his plasma sword and leaps into the group, viciously hacking and slashing at the Brutes with the glowing, blue-white blade. Within moments, the charred remnants of the Brutes lay at the former bitch-boy's feet, their disembodied heads still displaying expressions of disbelief and shock. For some inexplicable reason, though, one of them had its eyes crossed and its tongue sticking out.

The Arbiter proceeds to the door leading to the next segment of the level. Just as he reaches the portal, several drop-pods crash into the ground nearby. The gray-armored alien cocks his head in slight puzzlement as the pods open up, and a collection of Elites and Grunts with a motley assortment of armor colors hop out and gather in a circle.

The Arbiter clacks his mandibles together, "what the fu--?"

"The Prophets and Brutes have turned against us!" a gold-armored Elite yells.

"We must summon our hero!" a red-armored Elite agrees.

"Make it so," the gold Elite nods in approval and kicks a green-armored Grunt. The little alien squeals before pumping his fist into the air. On his finger, a ring with a mountain symbol embossed on it begins to glow. "EARTH!" the Grunt screams.

"FIRE!" the red-armored Elite cries, raising his own fist into the air, a similar ring around one of his fingers. This one, however, has a flame embossed in its face.

"WIND!" says a white-armored Elite, following suit.

"WATER!" screams a blue-armored Elite.

"HEART!" an orange-armored Grunt squeals enthusiastically, hopping up and down as he pumps his own fist into the air.

A swirling portal of dark, purple energy appears on the ground, in the middle of the motley group, and a foul wind rakes the vegetation around them, eliciting a loud rustling of leaves that rivals the roar of a white-water rapid. Dark clouds appear in the suddenly dark sky, swirling overhead, and seeming to be centered over the portal. The Arbiter falls to his knees and grimaces in agony as an unholy choir of screams wail in his mind, a thousand mouths crying out in indescribable pain.

Staring into the depths of the dark gateway, the five ring-bearers continue to chant their respective words in unison.

The scene erupts into bedlam as blue blaster bolts rain upon the group, punctuated by lances of green energy. The Republic Commandos of Delta Squad rappel in as a familiar gunship hovers overhead. The author appears in a brilliant flash of light, his iridescent, crimson armor gleaming in the sunlight. Accompanying him are five, towering, hulking figures clad in magnificent, ancient, blue armor. They wield an unusual assortment of both multi-barrelled firearms and various close-combat implements in either hand. Two carry massive and ancient assault cannons, assisted by seemingly oversized power fists. The other three figures wield double-barrelled storm bolters, one also equipped with a power claw; another, with a growling chainsword; and the third holds aloft a glowing, humming power sword.

Standing out on their white, skull-like helmets, the red "eyes" of the Terminators seem to bore into the assortment of ex-Covenant aliens. The author points at the latter and says, "turn that shit off! All that screaming is giving me a headache!"

"Foul servants of Chaos!" the sword-wielding Terminator sergeant booms, his guttural tone enhanced by the vox-speaker on his ancient armor. "And xenos, no less!"

"Suffer not the alien to live!" the other Terminators bellow menacingly, making the group of aliens collectively soil their armor.

"By your powers combined," a deep, basso voice rumbles, "I am..."

"What in the name of the Emperor is that?" the Terminator sergeant queries.

"It's our hero!" the two Grunts in the group exclaim. The Elites, however, remain silent, as they stare in shock and awe at the monstrosity they have unwittingly summoned. The Republic Commandos, Link, and the Terminators all stare at the thing in confusion, whilst the author has an M14 battle rifle braced against his shoulder and aimed at the abomination.

"JIGGLYPUFF!"

"What," Boss asks the author, "in the galaxy is that thing?"

"It's a demon worshipped by the young, impressionable children of my world, introduced as a marketing device; a beast capable of lulling its victims to sleep with its terrible, Britney Spears-esque singing. This freak of nature is just one of many, and is just a single species amongst a multitude of these demonic creatures collectively known as 'Pokemon!'"

"You can't be serious," Scorch deadpans. "Are you? No fierfekin' way."

"Look!" the author yells, pointing at the demon, "that en't no ordinary puffball! It's got a mean streak, a kilometer wide!"

"Yeah right," Sev rumbles, "what's she do? Slap your bum?"

"I'm warnin' you!"

"Oh, would you knock it off with the Monty Python references?" Link screams. "Let's just send this thing back to wherever it came from!"

"Death awaits you all with nasty, big, pointy teeth!" With that, the author starts performing a pantomime of said "nasty, big, pointy teeth", with his gauntleted hand over the part of his helmet where his mouth would be. The Terminators exchange confused glances with Delta Squad.

"This is fucking ridiculous," the Hero of Time sighs as he draws his sword. "One puffball on a stick, coming right up!" The green-clad hero raises the Master Sword and charges, screaming at the top of his lungs. Navi follows him, screaming, "HEY! WATCH OUT!"

"Huh?" the puffball gives the advancing hero and the fairy a quizzical look before closing its eyes taking a deep breath.

"Stop it! Stop it! Fire! Fire!" The author, the Terminators, and the clone commados unleash a torrent of projectiles against the pink Pokemon. And for some reason, one of these is a rubber ducky.

"PUFF!" With speed belying its rotund form, the little critter leaps at Link, dodging the shots (and the rubber ducky) and landing on the fairy-boy's head, clinging to his hat and hair with its tiny fists.

"Don't call me that!" Link roars at the author, turning around with the puffball atop his head.

"Call you what?"

"Don't call me 'fairy-boy!'"

"What?" the author shrugs in his red MJOLNIR armor, "only Malon can call you that?"

"Shut up!" The blonde hero's face blanches.

"Oh, Fairy Boy!" the author exclaims in a bad falsetto, momentarily lowering his weapon, "ravish me! Slay me with your 'Master Sword!'" Everyone stares at the author, with perturbed expressions on their faces. Well, the Terminators and Republic Commandos have helmets on their heads that obscure their faces, but it's pretty obvious that they're staring at the author in a manner that says "dubya-tee-eff, mate!"

Furious, and crimson in the face, Link grabs Jigglypuff from atop his head and hurls the creature at the author. The author runs the Pokemon through with his M14's bayonet, before firing several times into the critter at point-blank range. "Puuuufffff..." the abomination cries weakly before disappearing back into the Warp-hell from which it had been spawned, in a localized conflagration that consumes its body. The fire dies away and disappears, leaving behind a patch of scorched dirt.

"Our hero has been slain!" the Grunts wail in despair. The Elites tense and start to draw their weapons.

"For summoning the foul beast, and for consorting with the sinister powers of Chaos,..."

"And for being aliens!" one of the Terminators pipe up.

"...I sentence you to death!" the author finishes. As the author shoots each Grunt in the head, the Terminators and clone commandos unleash a hail of gunfire and blaster fire upon the Elites, tearing through the aliens' energy shielding and effectively turning them into sizzling chunks of burnt meat. "Hostiles eliminated," Four-Zero says, lowering his DC17M blaster carbine.

"There's another one!" a Terminator points at the Arbiter with his assault cannon. The Arbiter shrieks like a little, human girl at the sight of the massive, multi-barrelled cannon being aimed at him. Link arches an eyebrow at the alien.

"Wait!" the author orders, "he's...umm...an Inquisitorial agent!" The Adeptus Astartes halt, a credit to their fanatical devotion and discipline. Taking advantage of the pause, the author snaps his fingers, making an Inquisitorial rosette on a chain appear around the Arbiter's neck. The rosette resembles the letter "I", crossed with the three bars that represent the three main orders of the Inquisition, and a jawless, human skull at the center of the icon. The author continues, "he's guiding us to the objective, so...er...that we may stop the Brutes from unleashing demons upon the universe?" He chuckles nervously, hoping that the Space Marines buy his somewhat flimsy story.

Link whispers, "d'you really think they'll buy that?"

"We'll see," the author mutters.

"I see," the Terminator sergeant finally nods, forcing down his disgust at the notion of working with an alien. It was not unusual for the Inquisition to hire alien mercenaries, at times. "Lead the way, alien," the Space Marine gestures with his humming force sword before thumbing the activation switch into the "off" position. As the blue disruptor field emanating from the blade dissipates, the Arbiter lets out a sigh of relief and opens the door he's been standing by the entire time.

And so, they progress through the level, although the Terminators keep slaughtering anything that isn't human, and screaming "DIE, XENO FILTH!", among other dogmatic phrases. The clone commandos rarely get off any shots before their targets are eliminated. "They keep stealing my kills," Sev grouses. "I don't see your name on any of 'em," Scorch chuckles, "but, I hear ya; I wanna blow something up, already. Boss, y'got a song to pass the time?" The squad leader shakes his head.

"Life's gonna suck when you grow up, when you grow up, when you grow up! Life's gonna suck when you grow up - it sucks pretty bad, right now!" the author sings and abruptly stops to shoot a Jackal that had hidden behind a crate. The Arbiter quietly addresses the author, "why do you kill the Grunts and my brethren?"

"Well, think about it. Despite all the fan fics that have the ex-Covenant joining the Terrans, that is the most highly unlikely scenario. Sure, there could be a cease-fire and possibly a temporary truce between the factions, but they can't be allies. I think that piece of fiction by Soulguard, 'If You Were My Hero', was one of the more likely possibilities of what the post-Halo 2 setting could be like. Or it'd make a nice transition into the third Halo game. That alliance was only one of convenience. Once they stop Truth, I bet they'll turn on each other and resume fighting."

"Why would it be unlikely?" Three-Eight inquires, as the Deltas are listening while the Terminators are busy killing any alien life form they can find.

"Well, the Covenant are a bunch of religious nuts," the author explains, "and as history has demonstrated, conservative, right-wing, religious fanatics hold unshakable beliefs. Plus, the Elites and Grunts just hate humans, and find them utterly disgusting; the latter was even mentioned in the Halo novels. And the humans would probably hate them right back, since, y'know, they were getting their asses handed to them by the aliens. It'd be like the same universe that the Space Marines hail from. Except without the legions of superhuman clone soldiers. And the powers of Chaos aren't of any concern, because people are already screwed up, overly decadent and imperfect, anyway."

"What about those SEAL-Grunts you had earlier?" the Arbiter asks. "They followed your orders!"

"Simple. They were unmodified clones that I had growing since the beginning of the previous parody."

The Deltas ponder on the implications of this information as they finally arrive at the platform where the massive Scarab, controlled by Sergeant Johnson, is parked. The Arbiter soils his armor as he sees the massive war machine pointing its main cannon right at him. Dwarfed by the heavily armored behemoth, the Terminator Space Marines aim their weapons at the arachnoid walker, unsure of the threat posed by it.

"Hey, headbutt-boy!" Johnson's voice says over the external speakers, "get a Banshee and cover me! We're gonna RAWK the building that Mowhawk is hidin' in!"

"Who's 'Mowhawk'?" Four-Zero asks nobody in particular.

"Tartarus, the Brute Chieftain," the Arbiter replies. "Author, what is our course of action?"

"Hold up." The red-armored author turns to the Deltas, "take the Terminators and get aboard the Scarab. We'll rendezvous inside the control room for this Halo. Stick with Johnson."

"Yes, sir!" the commandos nod and hurry to board the Scarab.

The author turns to face the Arbiter, and says dramatically, "let's take those Banshees." In slow-motion, the two of them stride toward the parked Banshees, with the Backdraft music playing - again, from out of nowhere. Finally getting aboard the Banshees, they power up and take off, and the music abruptly, yet tastefully, changes to Kenny Loggins' "The Danger Zone." As soon as they rise into the air, they come under immediate attack by Covenant Wraith mortars and enemy Banshees.

"Why are they attacking us with only one or two at a time?" the Arbiter queries.

"Because the Covenant forces are typically led by retards who only win because of their superior technology and numbers."

"Hahaha! That sounds about right." The Arbiter pauses as he realizes something. "Wait a minute...hey!"

"Dude, didn't you see what happened in the last parody?"

"No, but..."

"The Chief was facing off against an Elite zealot guarding a bridge, and scared it into jumping off said bridge with a plasma grenade!" the author exclaims, "you 'Elites' are goddamned idiots!"

"Oh? And 'Keez' was superior to us in terms of intelligence?"

The author hesitates before letting out a sigh. "Touche. Keyes was an idiot, rest his soul."

The Scarab fires its main gun, blasting Wraith after Wraith, while the shade turret opens up on the enemy Banshees buzzing over the lumbering walker. The plasma mortars splash against the impervious, alloyed armor of the four-legged machine, leaving only slight discolorations or scorch marks in the reflective surface. The Terminators brace themselves with their armored feet and legs on the upper deck of the Scarab, firing at the Banshees with their weapons and even managing to blow a few up with their powerful, high-caliber munitions.

The Banshees begin concentrating on the Scarab, firing their fuel rod guns and blazing away with their plasma cannons. The hulking Terminators merely side-step the shots, not even flinching as fuel rods explode right next to them.

"Let's help 'em out," the author radioes the Arbiter. The Elite's Banshee waggles its wings and swoops down at a strafing Banshee, loosing blue-white plasma at the enemy craft. The awkward ship explodes in a blue-white cloud of plasma and electricity, raining debris down upon the ground. The charred, half-disintegrated corpse of the Brute pilot lands on the edge of the deck before being kicked off by the heavy boot of the Terminator sergeant. All the while, Link is cowering on the ramp with his shield in hand, desperately trying to ignore Navi's mantra of, "hey! Listen! Watch out!" In irritation, a Terminator nails the fairy with a round from his storm bolter, somehow only knocking her out.

As they finally reach the control room facility, Johnson starts firing the Scarab's cannon at it in an attempt to make an opening in the otherwise impregnable structure. The Arbiter and the author both crash-land their Banshee fliers and enter. In a brilliant flash of light, the Terminator squad teleports in, with the marine non-com and the shaken Delta Squad in tow.

"W-what was that?" Scorch queries. The author sighs and slaps his faceshield, "dammit. I should have warned you, teleporters and faster-than-
light devices in the Warhammer 40,000 universe usually open a dimensional rift and must travel through the Warp. It's like hyperspace, except with a shitload of freaky demons and crap screaming and clawing at you the entire time."

"Oh." Fixer says simply, with a hint of sarcasm, "is that all?"

"I liked it in there," Sev mutters.

"You all right, Deltas?" the author asks, giving the squad's sniper a quizzical look.

"We're good to go," Boss nods in response to the author's query.

"Besides, those 'demons' were a bunch of weenies," Johnson growls.

"Oh really?" The author eyes the smelly, wet spot in the marine's trousers.

"Also," the sergeant says, "I think I need to change my underwear."

"No time!" exclaims the Arbiter, "we must stop Tartarus from activating Halo!"

"Yes," the Terminator sergeant thumps his storm bolter against his ceramite breastplate. "We must not allow them to open this gateway and unleash the demonic forces of the Warp upon the Imperium."

"Let's get a move on," the author nods in agreement. "Delta Squad, take point. The Arbiter and I will be right behind you. I want the Terminators bringing up the rear." The Deltas compose themselves and double-check their DC17s, while everyone else follows suit. The author checks a large, holstered bolt pistol on his hip before checking his M14. The Arbiter had picked up an energy sword, earlier in the mission, and still carries his plasma rifle. Johnson is armed with an SRS99C S2 AM semi-atuomatic rifle. How he got his hands on one, especially after being captured and imprisoned by the Covenant, is beyond me.

As the team makes its way through the facility, the halls are eerily quiet.

"This gives me the creeps," Scorch says. "Even worse than that little trip through the Warp."

"Stay vigilant, brothers," the Terminator sergeant tells his squad, "the enemy must be nearby, laying in wait."

"Should be fun," Zero-Seven opines. "I wanna kill something, already!"

"Are we there yet?" the Arbiter whines. The author, Four-Zero, and Three-Eight quietly shake their heads. The Elite repeats, "are we there, yet?"

"Shut up!" the author hisses. "Enemy contacts, ahead. Everyone take cover; let's surprise 'em."

"How do you know?" Four-Zero asks as everyone hides behind support pillars lining the high, vaulted walls.

"Motion-sensors," the author replies, triple-checking his M14 and making sure his bayonet is properly secured.

"Those sensors would come in handy," Three-Eight says, "any chance we could throw those into our payment? Along with installation?"

"Eh, sure, whatever. Everyone get ready."

As the four Brutes stroll past, they are jumped by our heroes. The Terminators quickly, noisily, and messily take down the Brutes, cutting them down with their weapons and powerfists. Several more Brutes and a formation of shield-bearing Jackals enter, alerted by the commotion. The author, Fixer and Scorch hit the deck while Sev and Boss take cover behind the pillars, again. The Terminators, however, stand firm and unleash a hail of storm bolter fire as the Jackals slowly advance. The Arbiter cloaks himself and starts sneaking up the ramp.

"Scorch! Fixer! I want heavy weapons and grenades on those Jackals, now!" Scorch quickly assembles his DC17M blaster into the anti-armor configuration and fires a charge at the encroaching aliens. Seeing the Jackals' formation of shields disrupted, and their own slain brethren at the feet of their enemies, some of the more impulsive Brutes barrel forward with shoulders and heads lowered, trampling some of the less fortunate Jackals in their rage-fueled rampage.

Firing their weapons, the Terminator Space Marines charge forth to meet the aliens with a cry of, "For the Emperor and the Primarch!"

The author joins them, only managing to keep up because the Adeptus Astartes are bogged down by the sheer weight of their bulky Terminator armor, firing his M14 from the hip. Johnson waddles behind them, visibly uncomfortable with his messy trousers. All the same, he manages to pick off some Brutes and keeps the Jackals' heads behind their somewhat translucent shields.

With a high-ground advantage, the Brutes tackle the Terminators and the author. The Space Marines do not falter, however, and blast the simian aliens with their powerful bolters and assault cannons; the former also cut the aliens down with their bladed weapons, while the latter smash and fell them with their massive power fists. The author, however, manages to side-step his own opponent and empties ten rounds of .308 Winchester into the creature's upper back, its neck, and its head. The beast looses its footing and slams into the ramp, nearly flattening Scorch.

"Headshot!" the author crows before an overcharged plasma pistol shot slams into him from behind, taking down his suit's shields and leaving him highly vulnerable. "Oh crap."

The author takes cover as he waits for his shields to recharge, occasionally peeking from behind the pillar and firing at any Jackals that aren't looking. All the while, the author tracks the Arbiter's movement. Nice, he thinks, he's hiding in the shadows when his active camouflage wears off. The Terminators, apparently, are aware of the Arbiter's presence, as they successfully avoid hitting him with their volleys of fire. In minutes, the Terminators dispatch the rest of the Brutes and advance upon the remaining Jackals.

To the amazement of the commandos, a cluster of Jackals is sent flying through the air, their bodies cut into pieces by a floating energy blade.

"It's a hunter-killer sword!" Scorch screams.

"Cool!" Sev exclaims. At that point, the Arbiter's cloaking device deactivates. "Oh," the commando says, "it's just him."

"Let's make our way into the control room!" the gray-armored Elite says.

Everyone makes haste. The author says to no one in particular, "y'know, I get the distinct feeling that we forgot something."

Back aboard the abandoned Scarab, Link cowers below decks as Wraith mortars strike the hull, and Banshees circle around the immobile walker while peppering it with plasma fire and fuel rods. Of course, the bombardment is doing little to no damage, whatsoever. Unless you count the ruined finish.

"HELP MEEEEEEEEE!" the blonde hero screams.

Back to the control room, the author inwardly shrugs to himself, "meh. Guess it was nothing."

Upon their arrival, they spot Tartarus and his retinue of Brutes surrounding a glowing, holographic control panel. Tartarus is man-handling a struggling Miranda Keyes, while 343 Guilty Spark flits around the Brute chieftain's head.

"Come, Reclaimer," Tartarus says, his massive hands tightly gripped around Miranda's. The Brute has forced the Index into the commander's hands and is apparently trying to force her to insert the Index into the panel. "It is simple. All you have to do is insert the key..."

"Please be careful," the floating, blue lightbulb pleads, "this Reclaimer is most delicate!" Growling, Tartarus grabs the monitor and snarls, "you shut up! Or I'll gouge out your eye and fuck your socket!"

"I don't think that would be pleasurable for either of us," Guilty Spark comments.

"Please don't sodomize the lightbulb," Johnson says as he shoots Tartarus in the head.

"Ow," the Brute chieftain deadpans. "Why'm I not dead?"

"Because you're not supposed to die, yet," the author says.

"Right. Anyway," the Brute grabs Keyes's hands and sticks the Index into the slot. "Now the Great Journey shall begin! And there will be no more Starbucks coffee houses, Walmarts, or Jamba Juice stores!"

"BOSS BATTLE!" the author screams. Dramatic music starts playing and the scene darkens. When the darkness recedes, the Brute Chieftain, the Arbiter, the Terminator sergeant, Delta Three-Eight, and the author are all standing in a line facing Tartarus, who has become inexplicably huge and has a slightly different, more menacing art style. The heroes lined up against the Brute chieftain are all "super-deformed", with big heads and stubby limbs. Although there isn't as noticeable effect on the Space Marine, since they look like super-deformed doughboys. But they're still badasses. Anyway, on the catwalk above, the rest of Delta Squad, Johnson, and the Terminators are busy fending off Tartarus's Brutes. Dramatic, stereotypical, role-playing, Super Nintendo-esque, game music starts playing. For some inexplicable reason, none of the combatants are able to advance or retreat, and a blue menu, divided into two blocks, appears at the bottom of the screen.

In the left box - in bold, white lettering - is the name "TARTARUS THE HORNBALL." In the right box are the names of the heroes, along with fractions with varying values, followed by "HP". Next to them are bars that are filling with color.

"Okay, what the futch is this?" the Arbiter asks.

"BOSS BATTLE!" the author repeats.

"'Boss battle'?" Boss inquires. His bar fills up and a menu pops up. "What the hell? 'Fight'? 'Magic'? 'Item'? What is all this?" The commando selects "Fight" and the words "DC17M Blaster" appear in the air. Then Boss's blaster fires. Blue blaster bolts hit Tartarus, and a white number appears at his furred, elephantine feet. Three-Eight's bar has emptied itself and is already charging up, again.

Suddenly, Tartarus's image flickers and the words "Fist of Rukt" appear in the air. Tartarus brings his hammer down onto the ground before him, and an unseen force hits our heroes. They all flinch and brace themselves against the shockwave, and little white numbers appear at their feet. Weakened, the commando is forced to kneel.

"Three-Eight! On your next turn, cast "Heal" on us, under your 'Magic' menu!" the author says. Boss merely shakes his head, capable of only watching and waiting, now.

The Terminator sergeant's bar fills up and his menu comes up. The menu reads: "Fight," "Storm Bolter," and "Item." The Sergeant selects "fight" and the words "Power Sword" appear on the screen. With that, the sergeant stomps forward and slashes at Tartarus. However, the word "Miss" appears at the Brute's feet.

Shortly after that, the Arbiter's bar fills up. His menu reads: "Fight," "Magic," and "Item." The Arbiter selects "Item" and the following items appear on his list: A rubber ducky, a coconut, four plasma grenades, a rubber band, three paper clips, and a partridge in a pear tree. The Elite selects the plasma grenades and the words "Select Target" appear on the screen. He selects Tartarus, and the text disappears. Then, the words "Plasma Grenade" appear on the screen. The Elite chucks a plasma grenade that sticks to Tartarus and detonates. Another white number appears at the chieftain's feet.

"We have to stop the Halo from firing!" Commander Keyes shouts.

"Not while Mowhawk is still down there, ma'am!" Johnson bellows. "Let the others handle it!"

"Hurry it up, down there, sirs!" Four-Zero shouts.

"Eh, I'm lazy. Let's end this," the author says as his bar finishes filling. His menu reads: "Fight," "Magic," and "Item." He selects "Magic" and selects "Summon." After a moment, and after the author's bar has emptied, the words "Mighty Smiting Bat" appear on the screen. The author steps forth and holds up his hands. In a brilliant flash of light, the Mighty Smiting Bat appears and falls, hitting him in his faceshield.

"No!" Tartarus screams. "NNNNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!11!1!1one!oenoneeleventyone!1!"

"Again, with the trashing of my awesome movie!" George Lucas complains, appearing abruptly out of nowhere.

The author leaps into the air and grabs a handful of Tartarus's thick, white fur on the side of the alien's face. Like the Force Commander from Warhammer 40,000: Dawn of War, he swings the Mighty Smiting Bat at Tartarus's head, slamming the powerful weapon into the simian creature's head and face. Finally, dazed by the brutal assault, Tartarus crashes to the ground. At the same time, the author deftly lands on his feet a short distance away, turns, and slams the Bat into the Brute's head in a fatal, finishing blow.

Tartarus fades away and is no more.

Miranda leaps down and glomps the author. "That was...hot!" she says. The Terminator gives a respectful nod, murmuring, "not bad."

"Wait!" the author attempts to fend off the commander. "What about the Halo?" Everyone freezes and sees the Index still in place. They madly rush for the console and, with much scrabbling of hands, they wrench the key out. The energy building up in the control center flares before sputtering and dying. In space, where a glowing ball of energy has been steadily growing and pulsing, is hit by the energy flare. There is a brilliant flash of light and the energy dissipates into the darkness of space.

"Well, the universe is safe for the moment," the author sighs in relief.

"What do you mean?" the Terminator sergeant inquires.

"This Halo has sent an activation to the other Halos that exist. They're all in stand-by mode and're ready to be fired."

"WHAT?" exclaim Johnson and Keyes. The clones, Terminators, and the Arbiter all stare at the author expectantly.

"You are correct, Reclaimer," Guilty Spark replies. "However, the Halos may only be activated from the main control facility."

"And where the hell is that?" Sergeant Johnson asks.

"Earth," the author answers. "Somewhere in the Sol System."

"Correct," Guilty Spark bobs in the air, with a hint of irritation.

"So we have to get back to Earth," Keyes says.

"Well, the Chief is already on his way," the author says, "I've sent Samus and Omega to accompany him in his mission..."

"Which is...?"

"To follow the Prophet of Truth. The snail is on his way to Earth as well. We won't have to worry, but we should make best speed back to Earth."

"Then...what do we do now?" Scorch asks.

"We wait."

"'Wait'?" everyone looks at the author, incredulous.

"Well, duh! Halo 3 hasn't come out yet!"

Everyone, except for the author, facefaults.

To Be Continued...

Author's Note: Wooo! One more chapter! Not like I entirely care, but I'm a little surprised to see that fewer people seem to be reading. Or leaving reviews. Well, whatever. It was just an observation I made. Anyway...yeah. I'm running out of ideas, I think. Just in time, eh? Hehehe. However, I've had the ending in mind since the beginning of this parody. Hopefully, it'll make you laugh. For various reasons. One of which: Halo 2's ending sucked. It was an abrupt cliffhanger with no real sense of closure. Not like the first game. Although I will be doing the "abrupt cliffhanger" ending, I'm hoping that the way I do it will be amusing.

Anyway...yeah. Hope some of you earlier readers are still enjoying this. I kind of have fun looking back and reading what I've written. Although the typos make me cringe.

Tiger Tank.