New Author's Note:And here we are, people. The beginning of Six's adventure, all over again, in the crazy world of DanMachi. I hope I can do it properly this time(And yes, not much else was changed in the story itself beyond the chapters I intended to rewrite. Enjoy!


Old AN(kept for the newcomers):In but the span of two fucking days, two ideas originated in my mind. One, an old tale I had in mind regarding dear Cortana taking her mission to protect the Chief over to the world of GFL, which was posted just recently and, now, a tale where a certain Hyper-Lethal Vector replaces the lovable doofus that belongs to the DanMachi series for one important reason:Girls.

I watched DanMachi and may I be damned if ideas didn't keep coming for it in regards to a Halo story. I decided on Six as usual because they're an easy character to build up. Also I just... May be replacing Bell with Six... Yeah, apologies.

Add to that I wanted someone competent in the ways of battle, but incompetent when it comes to proper interactions with human beings(and Gods) and...

Yeah, say hello to what may amount to be another crackfic.


Planet Reach

Viery Territory

Near Aszod Break Yards.

Three days after Pillar of Autumn's escape.

Beams of azure light dug gashes into the surface of the planet. The sky glowed a burning scarlet, layers of clouds formed by smoke blocking the rays of star in the Epsilon Eridani system from fully lighting the surface and, in the distance, what looked like sea monsters from old fishermen's tales floated, their plasma weaponry tearing through the ground of the planet and turning all of it from what was once a beautiful, lush landscape to the burning hellscape it was now.

Around him, a hundred craft danced. Covenant Banshee Flyers swooped in, their twin plasma cannons raking his position with superheated balls of energy. His shields flashed as he turned the machine gun on its mount, greeting the two craft with automatic fire. Spent fifty-caliber casings fell to the floor as the gun chattered away, the man wielding it squatting so he could get the elevation necessary.

The rounds tore into the bluish-purple alloy of the Covenant craft's nose, denting and breaking chunks off of it. The soldier swept the gun toward one of the bird's canards and tore into it, chipping of chunks of important alloys until he reached the anti-grav engine supports on the wings. One of them detonated in a flash, the craft banking to the left hard before slamming into the ground and detonating in a ball of blue fire.

The soldier swept toward the other enemy flyer, but found himself in need to dismount from the gun as a boulder of emerald fire struck the weapon, melting its mount and barrel. The Banshee dived toward him as he drew his Assault Rifle off of a magnetic lock on his back and opened up, letting loose 7,62 by 51mm rounds into the thing. He aimed for its canard, but was met by blasts from its cannons and from behind.

Unggoy, the Covenant's stout, short Grunts, fired their plasma pistols at him. Emerald fire washed over the back of his armor's shields, causing them to flare up. He focused on the Banshee, letting the rounds pelt him in the back for but a moment as he scoped in the antigrav generator. Round tore through the plate, the Spartan emptying a magazine of the weapon into the side of the machine's stabilizing wing strut.

It charged its baleful cannon.

And it fired.

He jumped off the platform he was using as a defensive position, feeling the heat and radiation of the Fuel Rod Gun washing over him. His skin prickled, feeling like needles were stabbing into it. He thanked whoever would still be listening for the armor being designed with lead lining as the enemy aircraft pulled away from the gun run to lose the risk of hitting the ground.

Noble Six landed, foot first onto a Grunt's face, squashing it under his boot with a sickening crunch and spilling glimmering bright-blue blood on the ground. He hefted his assault rifle to meet the other grunts and opened fire, each round striking either the Unggoy's greyish, hard flesh or their armor plate. Each round still tore through and did damage, but didn't penetrate out the other side.

Holstering the rifle the moment it clicked empty and drawing his Magnum, he scoped in an Elite Major that was rushing him. The Sangheilli, a double-jointed leg, four-jawed species with snake-like eyes, had always proven to be one of the most dangerous enemy units. Six pelted the target with bullets, each round sparking off the Major's reinforced shielding, his orange armor glistening with each strike.

The Spartan switched the hand with which he held his gun, drawing his knife just as he broke through the shield and the pistol clicked empty. He surged forth, planting the blade of his knife into the belly of the Elite before pinning him to the ground. He did a snap-reload of his pistol, tossing out the empty mag, pinning the monster down as it tried to stab at him and putting two rounds into his skull, flinging the intricately-designed helmet and fully revealing the snake-like head of the damn thing.

He grit his teeth, raising the pistol again. Two Fifty-caliber pistol rounds ripped through the air, striking a pair of grunts and sending them tumbling forward, while another Elite rushed him from the side, effectively blindsiding the man. The creature grabbed him and slammed him through the wall of one of the ruined buildings. It pinned him down next to the corpse of a female SPARTAN whose tags flashed for a moment in front of his eyes.

Six growled, then kicked up with both boots, shattering the creature's shield and its jaws. Purple blood and fragments of teeth filled the floor, next to the spent casings of the dead SPARTAN's weapons. Six tossed aside his empty MA37, grabbing the DMR off the corpse and putting three rounds into the Elite's head for safety. He scrambled to his feet, checked his comrade and whispered, "I'm sorry..." as he pulled the magazines out of the girl's pouches, sliding four of them into his own.

His shields burst and he felt a wave of radiation and heat wash over him. Turning around, he saw a Grunt had fired its pistol on overcharge. He shot a round through its skull, checked the weapon's ammo counter and, upon seeing it nearly empty, he dropped the mag, switching it out for a fresh one. He waited for his shields to recharge, but found himself struck by a needle round.

He grit his teeth, looking at his shoulder, then he pinned himself against a wall and pulled out a biofoam can. The round had punched clean through, thankfully, but he was still bleeding. It meant that he could use his arm at least. He scoffed, slid the biofoam canister back into its pouch and stood to his feet, then gasped, dodging under the swing of a Brute's gravity hammer. The Jiralhanae were giant, hairy apes with some of the most brutal weaponry the Covvies saw fit to allow them.

The Gravity Hammer, a gigantic weapon worthy of the name with a gravity-repulsor head and a massive, brutal-looking blade on its back, both of which were attached to a massive, thick shaft onto which the Chieftain held to swing the damn thing. It struck the wall next to Six with enough force to shatter it into a thousand little rapid-flying shards of stone and broken steel. The blast washed a few Elites outside with the needle-sharp concrete shards and metal rods, one of which deflected off an Elite's shields and between a grunt's eyes, straight into its brain.

Six drew his knife, holstering he rifle and pushing forward. He planted the blade of his knife into the Chieftain's arm as it raised it to defend itself. He stared, wide-eyed, as the Monster grabbed his wrist, twisted it and forced the knife from his hand before preparing to strike him. The Spartan punched it in the face, staggering it, then with drew the knife from the muscle of the giant ape.

He ducked as it angrily swung the hammer sideways, trying to hit him, then rolled off to the side and kicked it between the legs. A low blow, but it was effective, seeing as it seemed to stun the creature and open it up. Six sprang up from his crouch and planted the tip of his blade deep into the lower jaw of the monster, through it and into its brain, causing it to fall limp. He withdrew the blade, sheathed it and lifted the gravity hammer, turning to see two more Brutes charging him.

Hefting it and activating it, he swung downward into the ground, sending a rippling shockwave that knocked the two Brutes off their feet and disarmed them, allowing Six to plant the large blade of the hammer into one's back and stomp the other's skull in, painting his boots the color of its blood. He grunted as a superheated plasma beam struck him and turned to see a Jackal carrying a focus rifle.

Drawing his DMR again, he blasted it in the head before a plasma bolt struck his helmet, a crack appearing in the glass of the visor. He swore to himself, his vision partially obscured and his ammo counter, gone. He took cover behind some rocks as more plasma bolts washed over the area, waiting for his shields to recharge. When they kicked on and the golden blanket of protection enveloped him again, he poked out of cover and blasted at the Elite in blue armor that was firing at him.

Two rounds rang off the enemy's shield. The Spartan had painted him out of a crowd of Grunts, Elites and Brutes that'd gathered ahead of him. He and they were between the fuel pipes and that collapsing building where he'd fought the brute. He looked to the floor, finding the corpses of two more SPARTANs, as well as frag grenades and a shotgun with a full mag. He took cover again, primed his two grenades and lobbed them.

They landed in the middle of the crowd of Elites and Grunts while Six readied his shotgun. Once the detonation and subsequent screaming of the grunts occurred, he surged forward, aiming his shotgun at the nearest Elite Team Lead and pelting him with slam-fire shots from the weapon. Three rounds of pellets tore through shield, armor and skin and the Elite's blood splattered the grunts behind him.

Six jumped, landing with one foot on top of a Grunt's head and crushing it beneath him, before kicking another, stomping onto his gas tank to cause a leak and letting it fly toward his allies. The response fire of a hundred plasma rounds came fast, several missing, but many finding their mark. His shields burst again and he could feel the rounds of Needle Rifles, Needlers and Plasma weaponry striking and tearing through the armor.

Another stray round punctured the bottom left of his helmet, sending shards of glass flying into his cheek and leaving him without a Motion Tracker. He growled, turning his shotgun and putting two shells through an Elite Major whose shields had been burst by the frags before kneeling and firing into the grunts again. When the gun clicked empty, he tossed it aside and grabbed another MA37K off the floor, from next to the corpse of one of his comrades.

He swept it to the right, squeezing the trigger and letting it go off, while with his left hand he fired his M6G, putting down target after target as a swarm of Elites and Brutes charged him. The corpses of Grunts now littered the ground between them, the Covenant stumbling over one-another to get the killing blow on the SPARTAN that had defied them for three long days.

He gasped, watching as a Spirit, one of the twin-prong aircraft of the Covenant swept in, its plasma cannon tracking him. He kept up firing, preparing himself to move, but the concussive blast of the strike, combined with radiation and the splintering of his armor's shields, sent the SPARTAN flying into a rock, back-first. Said rock shattered as the man's armored body slammed into it, blood spewing from his mouth onto his helmet's cracked visor.

WARNING! WARNING! WARNING! SPINAL FRACTURES AND INTERNAL DAMAGE DETECTED!

The words blared over his flickering HUD, scarlet-colored and in bold. He pulled up his TEAMBIO, looking over the exact fractures just to make sure he knew what the hell was going on. Explained why he couldn't feel his legs anymore, either. His breastplate also shined on his display, blaring with warnings about collapsed lungs and a failure in the armor's system. His teammates' bios flashed over to the right... All of them black, save for Jun's, which had been disconnected.

He breathed and felt a surge of pain through his side, his throat burning. He tasted copper, gazing down at his chest, which had been opened by the Spirit's concussion plasma cannon. The machine had deployed its own complement of troops. More Elites and Brutes, including one Elite wielding a blade left-handed. An Elite Zealot, it looked like. An angry Zealot.

He grinned a bloody grin, then spoke, "Initiate overload sequence for in-armor reactor..." and hacked up a chunk of his lung. His head fell back against the rock, watching as the system's multitude of prompts appeared. He spoke, "Bypass security sequence and disable the timer, code BLOWN FUZE..." and watched those same prompts vanish in a flash, with only the code-phrase for the detonation appearing. He felt his armor's last actions, the disengagement of the stabilizers and coolant systems to allow the reactor to overload and detonate. It just needed one more catch-phrase, one seemingly imbued into the MJOLNIR system's codes since the start.

He felt the warmth of the overloading reactor on his back while plasma radiation was boiling the skin, as the code-phrase flashed and stabilized on screen, with the machine requesting that he speak it aloud. He grinned, images of the work he'd done with NOBLE playing back in front of his eyes. His skin grew paler and soon, he'd be dead too, with his heart about to burst due to the over-exertion. SPARTANs weren't invincible, after all, but, well...

"... Be... Human..." He recited, then closed his eyes, feeling as the heat of the Reactor grew to the range of a mini-sun. His skin burned, his entire body ached and his mind slowed it all down. He was joining NOBLE now... Back up above, hopefully, where they were all watching his last stand. Following the radiation's cleansing flame, a detonation of massive proportions washed over the entire area, killing any and every Covenant asset in the place, including the enemy's air force...

... To hell with'em all...


Night had fallen over the world, it seemed. Six stared up at the starlit sky above him from between what seemed to be the walls of a crevice, but what was in fact the walls of two houses that faced one-another. He lay there, sprawled out against the ground, blinking. Phantom pains rushed through his body in a moment, causing his muscles to tense up.

He grabbed onto his chest as he stood ramrod straight and upright, swallowing big gulps of air and feeling his lungs in his body. His armored hands ran over the breast plate, revealing no hole, nor damage. Gazing down, he saw that, indeed, his armor's breastplate was whole. His left hand twitched, clasped around something familiar. The SPARTAN brought his hand up as his skyrocketing heart-rate started slowing.

He breathed, letting his right hand slump down onto his lap. He looked at the left, seeing that it was wrapped around his M6. He slid the weapon onto his hip, then felt for his helmet. Once his hand touched skin, however, he realized he wasn't wearing it. Scanning his surroundings and slowly calming down, he found it. Laying on its side in a puddle, but unbroken, the visor seemingly repaired.

He marched up to it, lifted it off the ground and looked at it. The standard-issue HAZOP helmet had a standard-sized visor, though it combined a series of interesting additions into one beautiful and sleek helmet design, with an added respirator system at the mouth, a TAC-LINK on the right side of the head and a reinforcing helmet plate on the forehead. It was painted jet-black with yellow accents near by the mouthpiece and had a standard golden visor.

The SPARTAN slid it onto his head, unwilling to look himself in the eye as his mind wandered. How had he just survived not only a Covenant weapon's blast, but also the detonation of his own suit's power pack, which had for all intents and purposes been a Hydrogen Bomb going off right on top of him? He blinked, then sighed and scanned the surrounding area for other weapons as his MJOLNIR's systems booted up.

As his HUD flashed online in front of him, he let it fully power as he stepped forth, looking around. He drew his sidearm, checking the magazine and his own pouches for ammunition. Still had two whole magazines and had only expended a round out of the current one. Sighing, he slid the weapon back into place and slowly moved forward, keeping his eyes peeled.

His HUD finally booted up by the time he reached the end of the alley, scanning the area ahead slowly. A wide street resembling something out of the books about medieval European villages someone had read to him a while ago resided in front of him. A paved road with wooden stands covered by tarps, sparsely travelled by people at this time of night stood open before him.

He checked his Motion Tracker as it booted on, then hummed as he saw that the only places where there was any movement was within the buildings around him, presumably their inhabitants milling about. He sighed, then stepped out of the shadows, hand hovering over his weapon. He had to find a place to lay low right now, figure out where the hell he was.

Stepping out onto the empty street for but a second, the man checked his front and his rear for any movement, looked at his MT, then marched forth into the streets, making sure that he wasn't followed all-the-while. Stopping at the main boulevard, the man looked up and down it. The distance between the buildings here was more significant than the one on the side-streets he'd walked through, but the biggest surprise for him was the gigantic tower off to the right.

Intricate, beautifully built out of the same stone that the city itself was made out of and standing taller than all buildings within the town, the tower in itself was a skyscraper-sized building that disappeared into the darkness above. He blinked, dumbfound for a moment, before shaking it off and straightening out his posture. He marched down the road, looking around for a way, a place to hide in.

Avoiding civilians on the main streets, as few of said civilians as there were, the SPARTAN proceeded through alleys and side-streets again, keeping an eye on his Motion Tracker to ensure nothing came to meet him. He found the town to be a massive gathering of houses and buildings, all on a large tract of land among mountainous terrain and surrounded by a defensive wall.

The Tower seemed to be the center of the place, so the SPARTAN thought as he crossed another main boulevard of sorts. Split by eight such roads, it seemed, into seven different districts, one of which the SPARTAN saw in the distance due to the lilac lights emanating from it as he moved away. Taking one of the routes that, according to his compass, led west, he found himself again on an open boulevard, marching down it toward a set of Ruins. Ancient buildings, resembling old aqueducts of the Roman era that had collapsed and even older Churches resided around the small section of the district he'd walked into.

He sighed, then approached the church, propping open the doors to find the place completely empty, save for a confessional booth on the left, the stand on top of the stage in the far back and a couple of benches. He figured this would be as good a place as any to bunker down for the night and figure things out in the morning. He could've gone on, but, to be quite honest with himself, Six was tired...

He'd been tired since the start of this entire mess. When Jorge had died taking out the Long Night of Solace, he'd felt lost. When Kat took the needle round through the helmet, damned be Covenant plasma radiation disabling her recharging shields for that moment, he'd felt angry. When Jun left and Carter finally died, he felt the hopelessness... And frankly, when Emile died, that's when the tiredness came.

He sat himself down in a corner of the church, away from windows and possible prying eyes, then removed his helmet and leaned his head back against the wall. He still had his travel pack with him, it seemed, as he felt it and all the supplies within pressing against it. Undoing the buckles holding it onto his back and underneath the camo net that Jun had gifted him, he brought it forth, taking his canteen, undoing the cap and pouring half the contents down his throat before long.

Water had never tasted so sweet and yet so bitter in the SPARTAN-III's entire life. Not even after he'd been given the opportunity to join the Project. Sliding the item back in place after putting the cap back on, the Spartan sighed. He pulled out the bedroll at the top and slid it beneath his head, making sure he had a comfortable seating position. He'd sleep like this, ready for anything and with a hand wrapped around the pistol's grip just in case.

He listened in for a moment, making sure nothing moved around him, but all that echoed was the rumbles of an old, decrepit building about to fall over from the stress of still existing for nothing. He slid his helmet onto his head, looked over the motion tracker, then hummed. He'd eat when he woke up. If he woke up. Part of him had hoped this was just a last hallucination his mind had shown him to make him pious before he fully died, or something as silly as that, but...

He sighed. No point in hoping...

What he didn't realize, however, as he went to sleep, was that a young woman had been watching him for the past minute. Black hair caught in two ponytails, a beautiful face, blue eyes, a petite, but developed form and a white dress with blue accents made up this fair maiden. She was, by all definitions of the word, a goddess. Literally, she was a Goddess, but without what made a God or Goddess one. She lacked a Familia.

She smiled, murmuring to herself from the hidden passageway near the altar, "Hello there, new blood... Maybe you're my ticket to a Familia!" as she slowly, gently slid back behind the wall and closed it so as not to wake up her new unwilling neighbor. She smiled to herself, then marched back down the stairs to her one-person room, preparing mentally to speak with the new armored fella outside come morning.