As his hands finally collided with solid metal and the sweet brush of atmosphere passed over his armored body, Spartan Miguel Torres could only manage one coherent thought.

"Don't throw up, don't throw up, for the love of GOD don't throw up with your helmet on!"

As a Spartan, Lieutenant Torres was trained to endure every physical strain and torture conceivable. Unfortunately, being shot out a garbage chute into the vacuum of space with nothing but your armor, a cobbled together jetpack, and an A.I. shouting in your ear to watch the asteroids hadn't made ONI's list of torments.

The smooth clank of the airlock closing behind them reminded the nauseated Spartans it was almost over, and the hiss of atmosphere being pumped into the airlock set off a countdown in Torres head, one that ended when Taurus 2 gave the signal they were all waiting for.

"Pressure's stable." Immediately all four Spartans unsealed their suits, depressurizing and allowing freshly scrubbed air to replace the stale atmosphere inside. Behind him Miguel could hear Taurus 4 heaving and gasping for breath through his usual string of snark.

"Hoo-boy. And I thought those Tribute ladies could take your breath away. Damn I haven't had a ride that wild since."

"Can it Wade," Torres snapped over their helmets communicators, hoisting his BR85N battle rifle up. "Shake it off Taurus, I need comms and weapons check." His teammates all retrieved their chosen side arms for the mission, weapons that reflected their wielder as much as the role they played on the four-man team, even with the same dull green color scheme across their armors.

Wade Millard, Taurus 4, checked the action on his M7S submachine gun before making sure all the gun's various gadgets and attachments were secured. At only six foot in armor he was probably the smallest Spartan ever, but his Recruit Armor had more than its fair share of hash marks carved into it from the night ops specialist's many assassinations and silent takedowns.

Across the airlock, Taurus 3 pumped the action of his M9 shotgun, chambering a round for good measure. As the teams designated dramatic entrance specialist, Alexis Mikhailov liked weapons that matched the general description of his warrior armor and thick Russian accent: blunt and to the point. Shouldering his shotgun, he checked the frag and incendiary grenades still attached to his thigh plate, making sure nothing had been damaged in their improvised flight over, before giving his rocket launcher a once over. No matter the mission, he never left the ship without it. Ever.

Directly in front of him, Torres watched as his second in command checked and rechecked the release mechanism for his M739 SAW's drum magazine. The Spartan Enforcer took a second to check his back up weapon, an M319 grenade launcher before going back to his SAW. Normally Emile Thompson preferred his sniper rifle and a good piece of cover to a direct firefight, but like any Spartan he adapted with the mission, and todays called for Taurus 2 to fill the role of suppressive fire specialist.

Torres checked his own weapon, making sure the action of his BR85N battle rifle was clear and smooth, and double checked his ammo pouches and the pair of M6 pistols holstered at his hips. A quick readjustment of his Soldier armors helmet and the Heads up display painted the inside of his visor, environment readings pulling up one after another, until finally his targeting assist and personal radar came online. He pinged his status green, followed quickly by the rest of his team.

Shifting so Mikhailov was beside him, Torres counted down on his fingers, Wades hand hovering over the airlock's door controls. The second Torres reached zero, the door opened, and Taurus 1 and 3 lunged outside, spinning 180 and scanning with their eyes and guns for hostiles, only to find a dark, empty corridor.

"Clear," Mikhailov grunted, keeping his shotgun trained just in case. The two Spartans moved forward, allowing the comrades to exit the air lock weapons raised and ready. Torres cursed his own armors lack of an infra-red mod.

"Wade, Thompson."

"Nada boss," the recruit said, scanning the hall with his smg. "Not a heat sig anywhere. Even the walls are cold." Thompson scoffed under his helmet.

"Just like the captain said then: minimal power. And here I thought this would be tricky."

"Quiet," Torres snapped, switching back to his helmet communicator. "Keep your voices down. Helmet comms only."

"Got it," Wade said, snapping a half assed salute that left his teammates shaking their heads.

"How in world did you ever get to be Spartan?" The recruit shrugged and said something about trade secret, leaving Mikhailov's question unanswered as Torres tapped his gauntlet's data pad attachment, bringing a rough map of the ship onto their HUD's.

"Okay we all know the objective: destroy this ship and get out alive. Wade, Mik, you two make for the engine room. It's time to put those Covenant tech briefings to good use. We need those engines set to self-destruct."

"Aye aye Left-foot-enant."

"Do not worry Commander," Mikahailov rumbled. "I will keep Wade from shooting himself again."

"That was one time ya damn Rusky!"

"Save it for the mess. You two get the engines. Thompson and I will see what information we can pull from the ships computer." This time it was Thompson who laughed.

"Admit it Boss, you just want to shoot some hinge heads." They knew their lieutenants silence meant yes.

"Sync clocks Taurus. Let's get this done." The four Spartans broke into their two teams, Heading off in opposite directions down the corridor. Night-vision painted their HUD's an eerie pale green that revealed the smallest details of the smooth panels lining the lifeless halls. Torres had to keep reminding himself he was on an actual mission, not simply running through another wargame infiltration scenario as he felt himself fall into a familiar routine.

Reach corner, take positions on opposite sides of door. Ready weapons, enter door, scan room, check any adjacent spaces and hiding places, move on to the next. Lather, rinse, repeat.

"Guys?" Thompson called over the comms. "You seeing what we're seeing?" As usual, Wades sarcasm answered first.

"If you mean the absolute total fucking lack of any potential pin cushions for my bullets, then yeah I think we're seeing exactly the same thing." Another routine, as usual Torres had to shut the team's joker up.

"This ship is big enough to e-vac a colony," he reminded them. "Plenty of empty rooms and halls."

"Dah," Mikhailov rumbled. "But big ship means big crew. Not to mention soldiers and supplies to transport."

"So back to my original question then," Thompson huffed as Taurus 1 and 2 tagged another room clear. "Where the hell is everyone?"

"Uhh, guys? I think I might have an answer to that." Miguel knew immediately he didn't like Wades tone shift into serious.

"Taurus 4 report. What've ya got?"

"I think it was a Jackal."

"You think?"

"Well there's not exactly enough left for a positive I-D."

"Mik?" He asked, knowing the Russian could be counted on for a more detailed explanation.

"I am not sure Lieutenant. This is not plasma damage, no burns. This one seems to have been … mauled."

"Mauled?" Thompson asked, the barrel of his SAW dipping if only by a millimeter. "What like a wild animal? Are you saying one of the Covies pets got loose?"

"Nyet. I have seen animal attacks, and this is not that. I cannot explain, but this seems to have been driven. Murderous."

"So it's either a wild animal, or a psycho-killer. Greeeeat." Miguel sighed. Even in the worst circumstances Wade could always be counted on to treat it like a game.

"You know Wade; you could probably retire on all the money I'd pay just to shut you up."

"Hah! And miss this shit? Boarding enemy ships the size of cities, killing hordes of alien fanatics." Torres could only shake his head, knowing Wade would turn everything into a punch line in the end. Truthfully, it made everything just that much more bearable.

"Besides. Who else outside the UNSC offers this kinda hazard pa, WHOAH!"

"Contact!" Mikhailovs voice snapped, leaving his commander tensed, waiting to hear the report of his teammates weapons off Covenant energy shields, but instead.

"De-mons," The voice was weak, strained, and quickly followed by a clang and thud, its owner likely collapsing.

"Taurus 3, Taurus 4, Report."

"An Elite Sir," Mikhailov answered. "Heavily injured." There was the huff of labored breathing, the snarl of frustration, and yet another thudding fall as Wade weighed in.

"He's messed up pretty bad. Cuts and lacerations all over."

"Is miracle he is still breathing."

"Wade, assessment."

"Too much blood for an assassination gone wrong," the night-ops specialist said, his smg clicking into its holster on his thigh as he examined the Elite. "Lacerations don't suggest a knife or energy sword. Probably something dull with a hell of a lot of force behind it. Wait …" The clash of metal on metal rang out, echoing through the ship. Both Spartans snapped their weapons up, scanning the room around them, eyes dancing between their gunsights and HUDs.

"Wade."

"These marks on his harness look like they were made by … teeth." Another clang, further to their left. Torres and Thompson scanned again, keeping back to back. Torres could feel the tension in his seconds frame.

"Care to elaborate?" the SAW wielder asked, the lack of light and an unknown enemy not helping him in the slightest.

"Not sure if his energy shields broke before or after, but whatever it was crunched right through his armor."

"Like cracker." He almost asked his teammates to send images to his HUD, before something in front of them moved.

"Contact." Thompson snapped around, spinning on his feet and putting both Spartans weapons on the unidentified target. Torres tensed, finger moving to curl over his BR's trigger as his brain asked why a spotted Covenant hadn't drawn their weapon yet. Then the darkness in front of them growled, and stood up. It turned, huge legs and soft feet thumping on slick metal, a scraping noise shrieking through the hall as it's body swiveled to face then, and when its red eyes fell on them, Miguel did the one thing Spartans are specifically trained not to do. He froze.

For a fraction of a second everything stopped, and he could see the shrouded creature clear as day. Its body was built like a bear, but five times the size with limbs like old growth trees, and all tipped with huge bone white claws, the same color as the rock like growths crisscrossing its hide. The tips of long boney spikes peeked out over its shoulders, their ends scraping the ceiling as it breathed, snarling through a mouthful of teeth each the size of his combat knife. The shape was different, larger, bulkier, but the eyes were the same. Staring through his visor from inside that white and red bone mask, were the same eyes that had haunted him every night for as long as he could remember. For a split second, he was back in that forest, a scared boy, running for his life. Then the moment ended, and the boy became a Spartan.

He exhaled, his index finger curled, and the crack gun powder and lead sent three armor piercing rounds down range. That was all the signal Thompson needed to open up. The Spartan enforcers SAW roared to life, throwing lead into the monster, only for the beast to roar and drop onto all fours. Then it charged.

"Move!" Torres snapped himself around, sprinting down the corridor. Thompson followed the next moment, the same instant his SAW's drum ran dry and left his trigger clicking. Both Spartans sprinted down the hall, back the way they came. Torres ejected his BR's magazine, stored it, then replaced it with a fresh mag. He heard the clatter of the SAW's spent drum falling behind them.

"Plan boss?" the enforcer asked, his helmets vents helping his breath come in waves instead of pants.

"One more corner, then we kill it."

As soon as he said it the turn arrived, both Spartans skidded around the near 90-degree bend in the hall, sparks flying where armor met floor. They sprinted another 500 meters, then turned together. In the same motion they traded weapons, SAW for BR, leaving Thompson free to store the rifle on his back before pulling the grenade launcher from his hip and loading a palm size round. The monster would come sliding around the corner, disoriented and off balance. Miguel knew Thompson would get two shots, maybe three before the beast closed the distance.

They waited, the sound of rending metal and snarling breath coming closer with every second. Then it was there, tumbling end over end on the slick purple floors, and just like they were trained, the Spartans unleased hell.

Thompson popped a grenade, loading another before the first touched the ground, and firing again as the first exploded against the beast's black hide. It howled in agony, the roar mixing with the report of the SAW, as Torres did his best to keep the weapons legendary kick in check. The third grenade was sailing through the air when the monster found its feet, glaring at them through a cracked mask, before it let loose another roar and charge again. Miguel's mind was already moving.

"Dive back left. Helljumper slam!" The move was designed to take down a Brute Chieftain or a Hunter, but Miguel decided it would work just as well here.

The Spartans dived away, the monster sliding between them, spinning when its claws failed to find purchase. Thompson rolled backwards and left, tumbling end over end until his feet met the curved metal between floor and wall, but for him it was a springboard. Enhanced muscles and armor launched him up onto the monsters back between its spikes. One hand shot out to grab one of the thicker spines, the other for the grip of the BR still magnetized to his back.

The monster reared back, standing on two legs like the bear it resembled, turning and thrashing as Thompson pumped three round bursts into its skull and neck. Torres fired what remained of the SAWs ammo, running at the monsters now exposed mid-section and slamming his shoulder into the beast's stomach, still throwing rounds from his weapon up into its body. Thompson screamed, the monster had twisted its head enough to grab the Enforcers rifle and the arm that held it, both crunching down in a combined twisting squelch. Torres kept firing, switching out the empty SAW for one of his pistols, still pumping lead into the thrashing monster.

"That's it!" Thompson snarled, and Torres could hear the sickening rip of tearing muscles and tendons before the familiar pop of the grenade launcher chambering. "Open wide you son of a bitch!" One final roar, and the beasts head exploded with enough force to send both Spartans tumbling, one out of its disintegrated jaws, the other diving out from under the falling carcass.

He didn't stop to catch his breath, he couldn't. Miguel forced his feet back under his legs, running over to his teammates side as a pool formed around the other Spartan. His right arm was limp and mangled, twisted completely around and out of its socket. His Mjolnir armor was cracked and broken where it still clung to his shredded under suit, the specialized bullet proof polymer ripped like fabric to expose everything from blood to bone.

"Dammit Thompson." Torres reached to his pack, pulling a canister of bio foam and squirting it into any wounds he could find. Through it all the enforcer only laughed.

"Please. You were thinking the exact same thing. Ohh, lord." His other arm was still connected to its socket, but with the grenade shrapnel stuck inbetween his armor plates it wasn't much better.

"Just keep your mouth shut," he said, activating his helmet comms. "Taurus 3, Taurus 4 do you copy?" Static. "Wade, Mik? Are you there?" Still nothing. "Dammit." Not only was the rest of their team silent, but the bio foam had run out, and Thompson's arm was still dripping blood.

"Come on," he huffed, magnetizing the SAW to his back and kneeling beside his teammate. "On your feet Spartan."

"My legs work just fine you know." The moment Thompson was upright though he staggered, his blood leaving with a good portion of his balance.

"Right. Wade, Mik, if you idiots can hear me, change of plans. Thompson and I are coming to you. We have unknown hostiles on board, repeat unknown hostiles. Do not engage."

Another roar in the dark. Both Spartans stopped, listening for the sounds origin, which wall the echo was bouncing off of. Torres quietly handed Thompson one of his M6 pistols, trading it for the remainder of the SAW's drum magazines.

"Want to chance that it's behind us?" The distant sound of plasma fire answered, and both Spartans gripped their firearms tighter. "Or that the covvies will shoot it fir, what the hell?"

Miguel followed his seconds visor, back to the carcass they had just killed only to see the body dissolving into wisps of black smoke until there was nothing left. Nothing except the new monster turning the corner and looking right at them.

Miguel felt the beasts burning red eyes lock onto him, heard the snarl curl back its lips and bare its fangs. It wasn't as big as the last one, but it was still double either Spartan's size, and with his second's right arm injured beyond use, Torres saw only one realistic option.

"Run!" Both Spartans legged it down the hallway, the monster behind them roaring and chasing after them on all fours. They kept running, knowing from the last they could easily outpace the beast, until their escape literally turned to a dead end.

"Can we blast it open?" Thompson asked, his still working hand already reaching for a pair of frag grenades as his commander checked the door and walls for any controls. He knew enough about Covenant tech to know that green lights meant in use, and the lights surrounding the doors locking mechanism were glowing dull orange.

"Dammit," he cursed, turning back to face down the hall, only to find the bear like beast staring at them once again. With no other option the Spartans lifted their weapons, Torres the SAW, Thompson the M6 pistol he'd been given.

"Well boss," the enforcer laughed. "I pretty sure Wade would make a better joke than this, but I've heard of worse last stands for a Spartan." Torres didn't answer, he couldn't. Every moment he spent staring at those red eyes made it harder and harder to keep from slipping back into that horrible moment. He gripped the SAW tighter if only to hide how much he was shaking, then the monster roared and lunged. Miguel could hear the SAW's mechanism spinning up to speed, see Thompson's fingers curl around his pistols trigger, when a rush of air washed over their backs, and four digit hands grabbed them both by their necks. Both Spartans tumbled, landing on their backs as they were yanked through the door that closed swiftly behind them. The monster slammed into the sealed door, denting and bowing the metal out, but that was no longer a concern. The two dozen plasma pistols, needlers, storm rifles, and carbines being pointed at them were.

For a moment no one said anything. The Spartans remained where their rescuers had dropped them, backs on the floor with twelve Sangheili and a small group of grunts and Jackal's all aiming their weapons at the humans. Then one of the Sangheili, his golden zealot armor emblazoned with the glyphs of a Shipmaster, stomped toward them, energy sword drawn.

"Who are you?" Hearing english come out of an Elite's mouth wasn't strange, but it did take a minute for Torres to wrap his head around hearing his native tongue coming from an Alien.

"Spartan 217," he answered, never letting go of his SAW. "Lieutenant Torres of fireteam Taurus. Who are you?"

"The shipmaster of this vessel. What is your purpose here Spartan?" Now that threw him for a loop. Hearing an Elite speak English was one thing, but for one to address a Spartan as something other than demon was an actual surprise. When Torres didn't answer, he was given an even closer view of one of their captor's carbines.

"Answer the question human filth!"

"Here's an idea split-lip,' Thompson snapped. "How about you tell us what the hell is going on?" The shipmaster never moved.

"I will relinquish only as much information as you intend to Spartan. My situation, for your own."

"We were sent to investigate," Torres supplied, earning him the attention of almost every Covenant in the room. "We detected your ship on our long range sensors. My team was sent to check it out." He waited, watching the Elites and their Shipmasters reaction to see if they would buy his half lie, but he'd never been the best at reading non-human expressions, especially through those helmets' they wore.

"Your answer is … satisfactory human, for now. Lower your weapons." The other elites turned to their leader, babbling questions in sangheili until the bark of a second Elite, this one wearing the deep blue armor of a Commander, shouted over them.

"Silence! All of you! Those beasts could return at any moment. Until their infestation is dealt with we are all prisoners on this ship, human and covenant."

"Nal speaks the truth," the shipmaster boomed, looking down at the Spartans before kneeling and offering Torres a four-digit hand, one Miguel hesitated at but accepted none the less. As the Elite Commander helped Thompson to his feet, Torres took note of the unique dark grey skin he shared with the shipmaster. Relatives maybe?

"Retaking this ship is our first priority. Until this infestation is eradicated, our conflict can wait." The shipmaster locked eyes with the Spartan soldier, an unspoken warning that their truce would be a temporary one.

"What happened here?" Torres asked, still holding his weapon as the other elites finally lowered their weapons. The shipmaster waved for him to follow, guiding them over to a large holographic display on the far wall. A quick survey of the room confirmed they were on the bridge.

"We were pulled out of slip-space by an anomaly of some sort," the shipmaster explained. "Whatever it is, it has opened a portal and allowed those creatures to flood our ship."

"How many?"

"Thousands," the Commander, Nal, snarled. "The damn beasts have swarmed over nearly every deck."

"At first,' The shipmaster continued, "We believed it to be an attack by your forces, due to the creature's similarities to beasts found on your worlds." Thompson scoffed.

"Sorry hinge head, but I don't know of any bear that gets to be the size of that thing we saw, much less one that turns to smoke when it dies."

"Told you," One of the grunts behind them snarled, elbowing the jackal beside him as Torres and the shipmaster focused on the newly displayed holo-map of the ship.

"Where did it start?" He asked as the shipmaster pointed toward the back center of the ship.

"Here, the slip-space drives. That is where the portal that allowed them entrance first appeared. Since then, dozens have been reported all over the ship, including the vehicle bays."

"I need to contact my men. They were heading toward engineering when we,"

"I knew it!" Torres spun, ready to defend himself from the lunging Elite only for Nal to stand between them. "Investigation, a likely story! You came here to destroy us, admit it Demon! Why else would you send two of your ilk to our."

"ENOUGH!" The shipmaster roared, standing tall and towering over the other Elites who backed away. "We have all seen what these abominations are capable of, how they slaughtered our brothers with nary an effort! Even the demon bears the scars of their savagery!" Thompson gripping his M6 tighter, turning so his limp arm was less obvious. "Human, Covenant, these beasts care not! We are all prey to them!" The shipmaster turned back to Torres, yellow eyes burrowing into the Spartans armor through his helmets eye slits.

"Contact your fellows and guide them here. We shall have the doors ready when they."

"WAIT!" Human and Elite alike turned when a new, much squeakier voice stumbled in, its owner hobbling under the weight of his methane tank and several dozen bandages. The shipmaster only snarled.

"Not now Mekek."

"Yes now! This is our chance to stop those things!" Torres didn't know what was more bizarre, a grunt talking back to an Elite, or that he was listening to it.

"Explain."

"I figured it out," the grunt, Mekek said, shoving his way to the holo-display controls and pulling up a model of the engines slip-space drives. "When we brushed past the anomaly, it caused a resonance with our slip-space drives, dropping us out and creating a slip-space tunnel."

"A tunnel to where?" Torres asked, the Spartan leaning toward the display as Nal looked closer as well.

"And why have we not been pulled to wherever this tunnel links?"

"I don't know," the grunt answered honestly. "Maybe the other drive is acting like a sort of, anchor or something? My point is, if we can reset the drives they should disconnect from the anomaly and the portals should close."

"Define should?" the shipmaster rumbled, grabbing the unggoy by the tank and spinning him around face to face.

"Well, best case scenario is the portals close and we just have to do a little pest control. Worst case well … we make a blind jump and fry the drives."

"And you see no other options?" The grunt shook head and the shipmaster groaned. The Spartans could see the other Elites glancing at one another nervously and Torres couldn't blame them, the plan had too many risks for his taste, but aside from fighting a never ending horde it was their only option.

"You," Torres said, looking at the unggoy. "If I can get in touch with my men, can you talk them through your plan?"

"Can they follow orders and keep quiet?"

"One can," Thompson scoffed, leaning back against a control console and wincing as a fresh trickle of blood started from his arm. "Wade's gonna love this." Without warning the doors caved in, metal bending and warping but not breaking as the Elites drew their weapons at it. The shipmaster hefted his energy sword, moving to the front of his warriors.

"Contact your fellows Spartan, while we are still permitted reprieve." The door warped again, the body behind it roaring in anger.

"Taurus 3, Taurus 4 this is Taurus 1, come in over." He waited, listening through the static sizzling over the helmet's comm channels for any sign his teammates were receiving. He was about to call again when.

"Hey boss!" Wade's joking tone finally answered nervously over the sound of smg rounds firing. "Uh, remember how you said not to engage those new tangos? Hehe, sorry."

"Never mind that, what's your location?" he was thankful to hear one of Mikhailov's rockets boom, the Russian Spartan cursing as he reloaded.

"Two miles from extraction point, near main drive room. Derr' mo! Launcher is jammed!"

"Listen you two, the Covvies don't like these things any more than we do. Their shipmasters agreed to a truce until these things are taken care of."

"Swell,' Wade cheered over the report of Mikahilov's shotgun. "Die you mother fuckers! HahahaHAA! Bring your pretty face to my bullets!" The Spartan recruit's shouts of deranged glee were loud enough to draw the attention of a few Elites, though on the plus side Torres finally got to see what a confused Sangheili looked like.

"Is nothing pretty about these monsters!" Mikhailov snarled, his shotgun's blast turning into a wet splash as Wade cursed.

"Dude watch the spray! What the hell is this black stuff anyway?!"

"Focus you two. Those things are coming through slip-space portals all over the ship. The covvies head-tech has a plan, and you two are the only ones in position to pull it off right now so listen up." Another roar echoed through the ships walls an into the bridge as Torres stepped away from the holo-display, SAW ready as below them Elites and Jackals took up positions at the bridges second lower floor entrance.

"Okay," Mekek swallowed, hoping the humans could hear him through the injured Spartans's helmet. "The first thing you need is to get to the slip-space drives, so keep going aft."

"You do realize that's the direction most of these things are coming from?" Wade snarked as his smg kept barking out bullets.

"That's why you need to hurry! The faster we reset the engines, the sooner these things stop showing up."

"Shipmaster!" Spartans and Elites alike turned back toward the upper level entrance, the door they had been pulled through bowing and warping before the human's eyes.

"Close the blast doors!" the shipmaster yelled, a nearby Elite already keying the command. Two more, much thicker panes of deep purple metal clamped shut over the bending doors, their mechanisms locking, but not drowning out the relentless roars.

"That won't hold for long,' Torres said, loading a fresh drum and cocking back the SAW's action before turning to the shipmaster. "Is there another way out of here?"

"None that would grant us a better position," the Sangheili snarled, holstering his sword in favor of a plasma repeater and turning to his soldiers. "Warriors take heed! This is not a battle of armies, but a fight of survival! There is no more honor in falling to these fell beasts than there is shame in fleeing from them! Do not waste your lives, but neither forget what you fight for this day! To once more feel the dusted wind of Lodam, to taste the sweet breeze of Yermo! Fight for your families, for the home we must return to! Fight for Sanghelios!" The war cry that went up nearly drowned out the roaring outside, and both Spartans traded a glance and remark over their comms.

"For a split-lip, he sure knows his way around a speech."

"He's also right," Torres added flatly. "Mik, Wade, you heard him. This isn't the kind of fight you'll get a memorial for. Don't get reckless." Wade of course, laughed.

"Reckless? Me? Why would I ev,AGH! Son of a bitch! Wanna play tag do ya? C'mere ya Underworld wanna-be!" Miguel could only groan as Mekek looked up at him, confusion plan beneath his gas mask.

"I thought demons were supposed to be quiet?"

"Most of us are," Thompson admitted, putting down the M6 and maneuvering his still working hand until he'd loaded another grenade round into its launcher. Mekek looked like he could've given the Spartan an entire lecture on not using such a weapon in an enclosed space, but instead he turned back to the holo-display.

"Okay, once you're at the drive room, there will be a small console just inside the door, orange and green display."

"One minute!" Mik snarled, rocket launcher roaring over what sounded like a small horde of black and white creatures. "These monsters may be small, but there are many, many of them!"

"That's Russian for nearly there," Wade smiled, likely covered in enemy blood and loving it, before his tone shifted to he who sees the oncoming storm. "Ah crap, don't tell me: We're heading for the room with all the monsters pouring out of it aren't we?"

"Yeap," Mekek chirped, making The Spartans wonder if it was his mask or the gas unggoy breathed that made their speech sound so high pitched. "The panel is for the door control. Get inside and turn the orange side up, that'll lock the door behind you."

"Are you crazy?! Boss are you hearing this, cause it sounds like a Covvie munchkin wants to lock us in a room with a bunch of blood thirsty freaks of nature!"

"Do you want to fight TWO streams of those things?!" Mekek yelled, surprising all four Spartans, and startling quite a few Elites in earshot. "Seal the doors and you can clear the room, leave them open an they'll."

"All right all right! Don't get your plasma pistol in a twist!" Torres allowed himself a smile beneath his helmet, having finally found someone capable of shutting Wade up.

"Door is sealed," Mikhailov rumbled, the sound of the locking mechanism fading in over the comms as a low electric hum threatened to drown out all other noise.

"Check your fire Mik," Miguel warned. "Those are slip-space drive coils. One wide shot with the rocket we'll all need a new ride."

"Taurus 4 copies," The Russian Spartan snapped, his shotgun again singing out over the chorus of roars and wet shattering impacts. "We have located enemy entry point. It is … smaller than expected."

"Probably why we didn't see any of the big bear or wolf look'n ones when we, YOW! Why you lousy lil ankle bit'n!" There was another wet pop and Wade likely unloaded the rest of his clip into the offending monsters head. "I am official tired of these things! Okay what's next?"

"On the third level, there's a console at the end of the main walkway," Mekek explained, maneuvering a holographic schematic of the room on the display. "That's the direct interface for the drive controls. The ship's still on minimum power so that's the only place you can interface with the drives from."

"Got it," Wade huffed, probably doing a pointless acrobatic in his commander's mind. "Next?" As Mekek talking the Spartan recruit through resetting the drives, Torres dropped down to the Bridge's lower level, where the Shipmaster and his Sangheili stood ready at the door. They could hear the metal groaning, wavering even as the beasts on the other side heaved against it. The locking mechanism's lights, the dial taking up most of the blast doors center, flickered and faded as the metal groaned with stress, before the tip of bone white claws appeared between the panels.

"Brother!" Miguel turned and stepped back as Nal heaved a Fuel Rod Cannon toward the shipmaster, the other Sangheili catching, and turning down onto one knees as he shouldered the weapon in one fluid motion, the other Elites wisely stepping back. The tortured metal slowly parted, the gap inching wider in time with the snarling grunts behind it. Miquel aimed his SAW, sighting his target as the beasts bone white muzzle appeared through the gap. He almost missed the subtle shift in the shipmasters aim, the tiny downward tilt of the fuel rods barrel before he squeezed the trigger. The unmistakable wumpf echoed, bouncing off the floor with the sparking green round as it sailed up through the door gap, right into the beast's mouth, giving those inside milliseconds to watch its head evaporate in a cloud of black and green before the doors slammed shut.

"Nice shot." The shipmaster simply grunted, extracting the fuel-rods magazine, revealing only two slots still glowing.

"I want a count of all batteries," He shouted. "We cannot afford to waste a single shot."

"Lieutenant!" Torres snapped his head up, rushing back up, the Shipmaster and his brother close behind.

"What is it?" the Sangheili asked as Mekek furiously maneuvered a schematic of the ship.

"They must've clawed their way into the main power conduits. Without a solid link to the reserve batteries we can't restart the drives."

"Where is the malfunction?"

"Here," the unggoy said pointing to a bulkhead further down the ships spine. "Teth section, one of the seconadry conduits just aft of the Drives."

"Wade, Mik," Torres snapped. "You get that?"

"Dah," Mikhailov grunt, three shotgun rounds popping off in quick succession. "But drive room is hot and getting warmer! If we abandon this room we might not get it back."

"I will go," Nal volunteered, hefting a carbine and already moving toward the far wall. "That part of the ship is familiar too me."

"No," the shipmaster snapped, grabbing the commander by his shoulder armor and turning him. "I cannot permit you to do this."

"And I cannot permit one of our brothers to face such odds," Nal snarled, before his tone dropped to a hush. "If I must die, at least let me cleanse my shame in battle." For a moment, Miguel swore he recognized the shipmaster's expression; the unasked question of why? It was the same look, warping from confusion, through pity to resignation that he had seen on his doctors faces for years.

"You truly are a fool," The older Sangheili sighed, placing a four fingered hand on his brother's shoulder. "If, you think I will permit you to face this alone. Spartan!" Torres looked to the shipmasters eyes, features that had born nothing but hate and death for humanity for decades, now void of anything save the steel of combat.

"Every life on this ship is precious to me," he said as Nal made his way to the upper level door, and began keying the commands to open it. "And though our kinds have been all but drowned in each other's blood, I must now put my faith in you, Spartan Torres."

"We'll hold the bridge," He nodded, standing tall as the doors below once again groaned with renewed assault and the shipmaster turned to his grunt engineer.

"Mekek, as soon as the connection is complete make your plan reality. Then engage the engines, move us away from the anomaly with all haste."

"Yes sir," he said as the two Sangheili walked toward the door.

"Seal the doors behind us. When we return, we shall rap upon them thrice."

"Good luck," Torres called as an Elite across the bridge keyed the doors open, only to close them again as the Sangheili brothers rushed through them. "And Godspeed."

The two Elites quickly made their way aft, sprinting down darkened corridors and hallways, paying no mind to the wide color spectrum of blood covering the floors. Nal couldn't help but curse his brother's stubbornness. The shipmaster's place was on the bridge leading his warriors, not guarding his little brother's back. But that was a private reprimand to be delivered after they were safe.

"Here," He said, stopping at the entrance to one of the ships many elevators. Igniting his energy sword, he sliced the edges of the wall panel bordering the door, revealing a small maintenance shaft. "This will make our journey all the quicker."

"I will not ask how you know of this place," Harka joked flatly, storing his plasma repeater on his back as he followed the younger Sangheili into the tall but narrow space. With only the light of Nal's energy sword guiding them the two made their way through the cramped space, Harka's digits twitching around the hilt of his own blade as his sense scanned the tunnel behind them. Finally, they reached a wall where the shaft had obviously been cleared away, the panel bare and easily accessible. A few more swipes of Nal's energy sword returned them to the darkened main halls of Whispering Piety, and the sound of roaring intruders to their ears.

"The horde will soon have our scent,' Harka noted, grabbing his plasma repeater and engaging his comm unit. "Mekek?"

"Just a little further," The unggoy said, the brothers already running down the hall once more, eyes scanning and searching for evidence of the problem. "It should be right … there!" Harka stopped, dropping to a crouch as his armored feet skidded over the floor. There on the left wall was the problem; three long claw marks gouged into the wall, down to the circuitry beneath.

"We have located the malfunction," he said, returning his weapon to storage before prying the damaged panel off. "Stand by." Nal kept his weapon trained, eyes searching the darkness around them for signs of an enemy as Harka examined the damage.

Contrary to human intelligence Elites did have some understanding of how their own technology worked, at least enough to make small repairs when needed. A quick glance revealed the damage was mainly superficial, the beasts claws merely forcing a pair of energy conduits no thicker than plasma pistol grips to separate where their ends met. While he wouldn't put it past a rabid beast to simply lash out, the claw marks were the only damage he could see, and Harka knew by the smell there was no blood in the area. He moved to realign the conduits with one hand, the other dropping to the hilt of his energy sword. The beast that made these marks was either incredibly stupid, or a very clever hunter.

"This is Shipmaster 'Kycham to the Bridge," he said slowly and carefully. "Prepare to initiate Slip-space drive restart." A swift push of his arm and the conduits realigned, sending glowing energy flowing back through the circuits, illuminating the faces of both Elites.

"Yes!" Mekek cheered. "Power restored! Hit the glyph of Faithful revision."

"The what?!" Wade guwaffed through the spartan's helmet comms.

"THE RED ONE YOU IDIOT!" Immediately the ship fell into complete darkness, only for the power to return a moment later, bathing the bridge in light from a dozen now active consoles.

"Slip-space drive restart complete. Power restored!"

"You heard him!" Torres shouted, "All ahead full!" The ship lurched only just as Whispering Piety's engines activated, sending the ship surging forward. Between the sudden lurch and the growing roar just outside, Mekek almost didn't notice the warning glyph blink into existence on the display.

As the ships drives rebooted, the halls of Whispering Piety were bathed in white-purple light, illuminating blood stained and corpse strewn corridors all over the ship. The renewed illumination shone off Harka and Nal's armor, the plate shining even through all the scuffs and scratches earned from their short cut, as well as the black lupine form looming over them.

"Brother!" But Harka was already moving, energy sword flashing into existence seconds before its tip sliced through the beast's flesh. It was easily twice either Elites size, digitigrade legs, long powerful arms, and a hunched neck and back supporting a long head full of jagged teeth. The monster howled in pain, black fur sizzling, but it did not retreat. Nal lashed out with his carbine, green plasma bolts peppering the wolf like beast's chest and skull, earning the younger elite the monster's full attention.

Before it could lunge Harka was on it again, slicing down with his sword only for the beast to swing a massive paw out at him. The shipmaster dove, rolling forward under the swing before planting his feet again, and thrusting his sword up into the beasts left leg. Another howl of agony, the monster finally relenting as it limped on a newly bloodied leg. Harka heard the hiss of the carbine's battery being replaced and tensed, ready to lunge and eviscerate the creature to protect his brother, but when the monster turned on him instead, Harka realized too late that Nal had the same idea.

The beast turned, leaping at him with outstretched claws, but before Harka could angle his blade to pierce its skull on arrival, Nal had pushed him from its path, leaving the younger Elite to be bowled over in a mess of armor and bloodied fur.

"NO!" Harka screamed, his vision turning red as he charged the monster, jumping onto its back and plunging his sword into its spine as it racked Nal with its claws. But what should have killed even a Hunter only enraged it, the monster throwing itself back like a maddened bull. Harka had no choice but to hold on, his energy sword twisting in his vice like grip and the beast's rabid motions, until the combination of its pierced back and wounded leg finally caused it to stumble. Right into the exposed power conduit.

Between the renewed whine of the slip-space drives and the remaining monsters locked in with them, Wade and Mikhailov had no words to describe the sudden short circuit that flashed over the drive room, leaving Mekek completely unprepared to find not one, but both drives surging into a new frequency and resonance.

From 70 kilometers away, Whispering Piety was only a smudge of purple against the vast star spotted black. But even then no one on Preemptive Strike's bridge missed the sight of the Supercarriers engines suddenly flaring to life.

"Captain she's moving!" Starsgarb cursed, jumping up from his command chair and storming toward the window, the command to fire the MAC gun already on his lips when.

"Slip-space rupture!" The space in front of Whispering Piety seemed to rip, tearing open until the familiar blue bloom of slip-space was gaping before it, leaving Preemptive Strikes captain and crew unable to do anything but watch as the Supercarrier and her crew disappeared through it.

"Ensign," The Captain snarled, already stomping toward the navigational station. "Tell me you were able to chart its course."

"I, I," the young ensign stuttered, hands still flying across his console. "I'm sorry sir it must've been a blind jump. The ships sensors are fast but, all I was able to get was an origin point. I'm sorry sir but, she's gone." It took a moment for his words to settle over the crew, the silence holding like a shocked breath as the Captain returned to his chair. Not only had his last chance at naval glory vanished without a trace, but it had taken four brave Spartans with it.

Aaaaaannd CUT!

Now I know what you're thinking, don't most RWBY crossovers skip the whole how they got there part? Well most of the ones I've seen do, and frankly I'm not a fan. Plus this story's cast is going to be almost totally OC, so I felt a bit of extended set up was needed. That being said I do still have one issue needs addressing.

Call me self-conscious, an attention-whore, needy, whatever. Fact is this is the longest one of my stories has gone without getting at least one review. So if you have the time and want me to continue this, please put what I'm getting right or doing wrong in the little box down below. Please?