Chapter 1: Campfire Tension

The crackle of the fire, and the sounds of the soft flowing river just behind it slowly drew Jimaelhae from his memories. Memories from just a few hours ago. Everything had changed since then however, everything he had known had been shaken down to the very foundations of his faith. He didn't know what to believe anymore.

A growl emanated from the woods, and the elite snapped his head in the direction of the noise, his hand raising the carbine slightly.

"They won't attack," a voice said from the fire.

Jimaelhae turned to regard the marine sitting by the fire with his hands in his armpits, trying to retain as much warmth as he could. The fire was helping greatly, and so was the heat of the jungle. The waters from which the marine had been dragged were nearly frigid though, and until he was dry hypothermia would be an enemy.

His name was Sgt. Nathan Little, the sole survivor of Platoon 6. His armor was thrown in a pile just behind him. It was still in good condition except for the chest plate which had a large gouge across it. When Jimaelhae dragged him from the river the human had been near death, so Jimaelhae bandaged the wound tight stopping the blood flow.

"How do you know that?" Jimaelhae asked.

"Individually, they are damned stupid. However their attacks in the jungle were too well coordinated and thought out. Something is controlling them, and so will hold them back until there is enough out there to make a good attempt at killing us. Or it could be that two worn soldiers just aren't worth it," Nathan said, staring into the fire, watching the bright flames consume the wood, and the corpses of the elites that had been killed by earlier flood attacks. The extra weapons were piled beside Nathan's armor.

Jimaelhae turned back to the woods with a 'hunh'. He knew the marine was probably right. From his tale Nathan was more experienced with the flood. A run through the jungle, betrayed by one of his own, and hunted by the flood at every turn.

His situation hadn't improved much. Now sharing a campfire with a creature who should by all rights be smashing in his skull. He didn't have much choice though. It was either trust Jimaelhae or die.

Jimaelhae though had no interest in killing Nathan. After the brutes had turned on his people he realized that everything he had been told was a lie. He had decided to try and repay the humans for all the blood he had spilled. Thinking about his decision however, he realized he may have to fight his own brethren.

Not everyone can forsake the path that was chosen for them, so easily.

Barkarus saw the hastily erected tents, and the blazing fires. He made his way towards them, determination lengthening his stride. Here he would stake his claim as chieftain. Undoubtedly another brute would challenge him for the position. Barkarus would merely kill the challenger, and his claim would be fortified.

When Barkarus entered the brute encampment, the jumble of brutes, jackals and drones stared at him, the blood matting his fur, and the war hammer clutched in his paw. Barkarus strode through the throngs to the center of the camp. Once there he raised his arms, holding the war hammer above him.

"Tartarus has fallen. I, Barkarus, claim the right as wielder of the hammer to be the next chieftain of the brutes," Barkarus yelled out, his voice echoed across the silent camp.

"What makes you think you are worthy?" a voice called out. Barkarus turned to see a particularly large brute emerging from the crowd. Barkarus knew him, his name was Karlirous. He believed himself to be the best warrior in the clan, if he was beaten then the other brutes would bend their knees.

"You challenge my right?" Barkarus asked knowing full well the answer.

"I do," Karlirous barked, folding his meaty arms across his chest. Barkarus snorted, and set the war hammer down. He bared his fangs, and charged. Karlirous charged as well, barreling towards the smaller brute.

The camp watched, entranced. The winner of this conflict would be their leader they knew. The future of the brutes and ultimately the covenant weighed upon this fight.

The two had almost collided. At the last second Barkarus dropped lower and shifted just a bit. Karlirous realized what was going to happen, and he was powerless to stop it. Barkarus smashed all his weight into the larger brute's knee. The snap that ensued could be heard by everyone, followed by the bellowing scream of pain and rage. Karlirous fell to the ground, and tried to get back to his feet but he couldn't manage it.

Barkarus snarled again, and leapt upon the fallen Brute's back, and began pummeling his skull as hard as he could. Karlirous flailed his arms, trying to get Barkarus off of him, but it was to no avail.

Fist after fist collided with bone, until finally it began to crack. Barkarus placed his hands on the fallen brute's head, and with all his strength pulled. Another snap echoed across the camp, this time however, it was from the neck. Barkarus continued to pull, tearing flesh. Finally the head came free.

Barkarus stood holding the battered head above him. He let out a mighty growl, and raised his other arm in victory.

There was nothing but silence. Then from the front a small chant started. It quickly grew, spreading amongst the crowd.

"Barkarus, Barkarus, Barkarus," they all chanted.

Barkarus roared, letting the blood from his kill drip down across his face. He was chieftain, and soon Halo would again belong to the covenant.

The edge of the jungle was dark, and silent. According to stories, the first Halo was covered in woods, this one however was much more tropical. It was all jungle.

In the darkness beneath the trees a single marine leaned against a large tree. She was looking at two small oval pieces of metal in her hand.

CORPORAL LINDSAY FENRIS B33194637 0+ both read. Rank, name, service number, and blood type. Fenris sighed and slipped her dog tags back on. She reached into one of her pockets, and pulled a small container from it. She took the lid off, held out one hand and shook two pills from the container. She popped both in her mouth and swallowed, before taking a swig from her canteen.

She put the lid back on the bottle before looking at it. She didn't have many left. She would have to get some more somehow. Where she didn't know. Her squad had been ambushed by the flood and the survivors had all fled in different directions. She didn't know where anyone was now. She was alone, low on supplies, and lost.

Her hand went to her face to wipe away her sergeant's blood. It had splattered across her after one of the combat forms took his head off. Still, his fate was better than Harris's.

A growl emanated from the jungle.Fenris picked up the shotgun laying beside her and aimed it towards the jungle. Nothing came out, but she frowned nonetheless. She stood, and picked up the battle rifle laying on the ground on the other side of her. It was her issued service rifle, and had a strap on it. She slipped it over her shoulder now.

There was no point in sitting around and waiting to die. She might as well try and get somewhere. Back was a battlefield full of corpses, mostly elites. Forward was a dark unexplored jungle. She decided she might as well explore the unknown. Maybe she could find help.

Maybe she would find a way off this artificial world of death.

Nathan grunted with pain as he slipped on his armor. Jimaelhae watched the battered sergeant prepare himself to move. Despite himself, the elite felt some respect for the human. He had been operating on limited sleep, had survived a jungle infested with the parasite, and was still alive after the slash across his chest.

"Where are we headed?" Nathan asked.

"Out of this jungle. Our chances for survival will be much higher if the flood can't ambush us from above," Jimaelhae responded.

Nathan let out a small humorless laugh at that, before picking up one of the spare carbines. He turned the weapon over in his hands. He was unused to it, but he had been trained with it. The humans were not stupid, they knew how to adapt.

Nathan turned to look at his new comrade. It felt awkward for him. He was putting his life in the hands of the enemy. An enemy that had been on a genocidal campaign against his species for years. He didn't trust Jimaelhae, but he didn't have much of a choice.

He would have to put away his hatred so he could live.

"Let's go," Nathan said. The elite nodded, and the two started into the jungle. Jimaelhae went first, while Nathan followed closely behind watching the treetops.

Nathan sighed inwardly. Jimaelhae had begun to trust him, had forsaken everything that he had been told. Nathan wondered if both species could take a lesson from this one warrior.

If one man can find redemption upon the field of battle, maybe all hope was not lost.