My faithful reviewers, I bid you greetings from Australia! The trip was slower than expected, but now your author has returned to his story and shall write immediately.
Chapter 10, "Retribution Doesn't Come Cheap".
We went to find our agents, who hadn't reported back. Instead, we found a massacre.
We arrived only a few minutes after we had left the city. We set out a few miles before we came unto the most horrific thing we had seen: hundreds of Elites, Grunts, and even Hunters, were strewn about the ground. We immediately ascertained that this wasn't the work of the Demon; nay, this slaughter could have only been committed by Brutes, for the bodies had been ravaged by nothing more than raw strength. Even dead bodies hadn't been left to peace, as they were desecrated, limbs ajar from the main body. This would be the beginning of a campaign that would ultimately lead us to the most unexpected comrades we could hope for. But that will be a later part of my story. At the time, we realized this had to end- NOW. Armies of our best Elites (no pun intended) marched across the barren area of Halo known as the "Quarantine Zone", where snow constantly blanketed the ground, and conditions were so harsh and forbidding that they could only truly suit our greatest foe ever, worse in tactics and mentality than even the Humans. The path etched through the deepest canyon in the zone would lead us to our destination: the temperate climate forests of the ring, which matched the Brutes home world climate. We were on guard, though, as the dreaded place that we now treaded through was bound to be crawling with the Flood, and we couldn't risk any casualties, lest those fallen corpses come back from the grave as agents of the Flood. That would actually last longer than expected, for we were battle-free for at least a few hours. It was 0650 in the morning, when the first scream of the vile beasts echoed like the screech of a Banshee through the hollowed rock walls. We readied for the worst.
They descended upon us from above, erupted from patches of loose dirt in the ground, and converged from all sides. This entire excursion looked more like a trap now; almost as if someone had alerted them prehand to our arrival. 'I should have expected this' I thought, 'the Brutes must have riled them in an attempt to impede anyone's progress towards their bases in the forests.' They indeed did a good job, but we had all known this confrontation would come, and the Prophets were right about one thing: the Flood too would fail before the onslaught of our warriors. The Jackals took up routine position in shielding the Elites, while the Grunts fired on anything that moved outside of our proximity. I and nine other Hunters began firing at long-range targets. As much as we pelted them, however, they flowed into the canyon in even larger numbers; it seemed for every one, there were a hundred waiting. After hours of continuous fighting, both sides finally came to what might be considered a standstill. We were extremely low on ammunition, and their numbers were beginning to thin out. We saw this as as good as any a chance to do what we hated most: we ran from the fight. Albeit we risked our lives by staying, it shattered what we stood for to flee a battle. None-the-less, we had to perform the task at hand; slaying the Brutes, as they had done to our own. After ages of plodding through snow and sliding over the ice beds, we arrived at an opening where the ground before us stopped. We walked to its edge, and marveled at the beauty of the sight that lie before us.
The thick jungle stretched out to the horizon, until it halted at a beachfront. We couldn't just waltz in and ask the Brutes for a drink, though, so we started planning our infiltration and annihilation of their packs. We would insert a squad of Spec Ops Elites into an area not far from the primary establishment over the rigid mountains to the West, while I would take my pack of Hunters and make a distraction no one could miss. The Grunts would scout ahead into the camps surrounding the mountain and report back, if they were still in one piece. We began at 1145 hours in the morning, and from the earlier battle our forces were depleted and weary. Elites of lesser status-no, none of us were greater than each other now. We charged head-first into the forest, expecting some welcome party of beasts to ambush us, but found untouched land within. The Grunts might as well have been petrified, for despite the fact they normally waddled around, they were taking baby steps all along the way. Our forces reached a milestone in the forest, and the wreckage of trees and brush tossed about alerted us that something had to be waiting for us. "Commander, I smell Brutes!" one of the Grunts screamed. "Positions! Don't let them get the drop on us!" he roared to us. Their hiding spots revealed, packs of Brutes sprung from the bushes and trees. "Didn't take you very long, did it?" a Brute asked, "I'm sure the first welcome party was kind enough to greet you with open arms." Another snarled. "You vile beasts shall pay for the blood you have spilled!" one of my fellow Hunters said.
An explosion erupted from behind the mountain. It appeared to have been caused by human grenades. Just another thorn in our side, for we prepared to fulfill the task at hand. A bloody battle it would be.
A cliffhanger of sorts, no? I shall update soon! For now, I bid you all Adieu!