Disclaimer: I do not own Halo 1/2 (or 3 if they ever get around to it). Bungie does. And Microsoft, and whoever else has their ragged grasping claws on the franchise. But we love them for it. Eh, I'll take the credit for my characters.

First fic. R&R!

Janus Series

Stage 1.

October 20, 2554

First Covenant Invasion of Earth

The towering Sangheili Warrior paced nervously. Glancing around he feared his position. His lance was vulnerable. The Unggoy Technicians and Gunners had already set up what defensive emplacements they had (only two Cannons and a half dozen shields! They expect me to hold with that!), but even so, he was worried. His position was surrounded by buildings on three sides. His jackals were all gone, killed or scouting, and without the tower, he couldn't contact them through the buildings. One of the great black strips the humans criss-crossed their cities with ended in a round circle at his position. It was good, easy footing. It would suffice, even when covered in blood. Humans' preferably. He snarled at the Unggoy working on the comm. tower. Without it, he couldn't request reinforcements, or even how the rest of the battle was going. He could hear it, a constant rumbling punctuated with cracks and explosions, but the surrounding buildings muffled it. By the Prophets, he couldn't even smell if there were humans nearby. This whole area reeked of the creatures. He looked to his warriors, three Blooded and a single Unblooded. They nodded in respect to him, but the young one's shakes could not be hidden. His brothers had been killed by humans, the crude projectiles of their weapons punching through their 'suits and spraying him with gore. To his credit, he did kill two. He would get his new armour when they got back to the ship. If they got back.

A sharp crack, and one of his sangheili was thrown sideways, a spray of gore where his head used to be. Three more, the rest fell, gouts of blood and flesh raining on the ground, the equipment and the unggoy. One last crack, and over the blinding pain in his head, he had one last thought, "Cunning creatures…", before everything went dark to a chorus of screams.

There was the signal. The Lieutenant yelled for the attack, such as it was. The little grunt creatures were running around panicking making easy pickings for the marines. He drew a bead on one running towards him, his chunky arms waving, wailing in that annoying high-pitched voice. Three rounds flew out from his rifle. One penetrated through its eye socket, blasting a gaping hole in the back of its skull. The second ripped away part of the respirator, and most of its lower jaw. The third missed the skull completely and instead ripped a hole through the fin on its back, sending a pressurized jet of ice crystals shooting up. The little creature collapsed backwards, rolling to one side, its thick lurid blood oozing out from the gaping wounds. He swung his rifle around, firing upon another, the rounds striking the fin on its back. An explosion blew most of the tank apart, debris clanking off the crates nearby. The grunt was thrown sideways and collapsed, unmoving. He moved his rifle again, looking for a target, but they were all dead. He dropped his rifle down, and breathed out heavily. His first engagement, and he had gotten two kills. It had been easier than he thought it would be. Another marine walking over to him and patted him on the shoulder,

"How you doin', Silvas?", Sergeant Anders asked.

"Okay Sarge, a bit shaky though."

"Yeah, I remember my first time. Almost dropped my damn gun it was so scared. But you had it easy."

"Easy," asked Silvas, his face clearly showing his confusion while eyeing the scene of bloodshed.

"Yeah, easy. My first time, one of those elite bastards was screaming at me. I must've unloaded my whole clip into it before I realised it was already dead. It damn near killed half my squad. The only reason I even killed it was because it had already taken half a squad's gunfire already. Bastards still scare the shit out of me," intoned Anders, shaking his head slowly.

Silvas was about to ask when the grunt he had just shot twitched and tried to get up. He immediately pointed his rifle at it, about the fire a burst into its stocky body, when the sergeant pushed his rifle down. "Its already dead."

The little creature slowly raised itself up, ichor leaking from a dozen wounds on its body. It turned towards them and was about to raise its pistol when it froze. Stumpy hands clawed at the mask on its face, its cries increasing in pitch with its fear. It collapsed again, mewling pitifully, pawing at its mask, still looking at them with…fear? betrayal?. Either way, it died. Eventually. And they just watched.

"They can't breathe our air, son. They suffocate. Now secure the area and get these bodies out of the way," ordered Anders, not looking at him, walking towards the Lieutenant.

Private Antonidas Raphael De Silvas was originally from the world of Harvest. His family had sent him to Earth for schooling, and to keep him out of trouble. As was the case with most frontier worlds it didn't take long for the usual street gangs to appear. His parents knew how easy it was for a boy, especially of their background to get mixed up in that so sent him off to Earth to stay with relatives. While he wasn't all that thrilled about it, since he had just started middle school and had made some friends, but his parents were insistent. His relatives were a lot better off than they were, so he could live better, and he should get the best schooling. So, off to Earth he went with his brother, Racquel.

Harvest was glassed six months later.