Database: Anthology

We need more activity and content, so I had an idea for this: A Halo writing prompt, in which every now and then one of us picks a topic, and then all of us write a short story regarding the subject with one of our characters! Such things include social interactions, combat, or other things.

Anyone down for this?

List of writing prompts:

Prompt 1: Fighting against a very skilled opponent
Prompt 2: Adapting to a new, unknown situation
Prompt 3: Fighting against a physically superior opponent in a one sided fight
Prompt 4: Your character(s) are pinned down with very little ammunition remaining, dealing with an enemy that's overtaken their position.

I'm down. This a great idea. Not too much time, and my schedule is going to ease up after this week!

I'm down. I have enough time for this. I've just been busy writing my other story. :3

Glad you two are onboard. I'm sure Morgan will dive into this when he spots this topic, if he isn't too preoccupied with Halo 5. Lol.

I'll post up the first prompt tomorrow. It'll be something simple to begin with. Then someone else can say their prompt suggestion, and we'll either take turns, or the person with the best idea can set the prompt. Sound fair?

The best idea is decided how? By vote I'm guessing? If so, does everyone just suggest an idea and we go from there?

However, for the first prompt, I'm going to wait for your suggestion so I can get a feel of what these prompts should be like.

Oh, and I'd like to suggest one thing. Try and give some feedback. If you liked it, great, but at least try and find one thing that could use improvement (e.g. tone, grammar, illogical things, character development, inconsistencies, plot holes, etc). Also, try and point out one thing you thought was really well done and why you think it was well done.

As much as writing prompts will help, I think getting some feedback on them will do a lot of good as well. Considering more than one person will read them, everyone should end up with at least a few points on what they're doing well and what they could be doing better.

Naturally! The point of this is to critique and enjoy one-another's writing. :)

Writing Prompt 1!

Your character in combat with a particularly skilled enemy. Figured I'd start simple.

I'm down to do this, but where should we be posting these? Here? Or in a separate place?

I'd say here. Quick and easy access to both stories and critiques.

Right here works.

The evacuation was going as well as expected. Swarms of Prometheans originally guarded the sky, fencing in any attempt at escape as the metallic construct loomed overhead. The behemoth, beyond all understanding, didn't seem particularly intent on killing anyone yet, but it was still a threat, and the Legion was too far out of system to help here.

It was up to the Freelancers, this time around. The Freelancer flagship, Stonefree, was covered in burns and tears from her last skirmish with humanity's newest foe, but it was still operational enough to provide cover. At the helm, Admiral Teach, at the helm, commanded the ship bravely in the wartorn sky as the Stonefree's point defense cannons blazed in all directions.

Teach was no fool; he stayed well out of the Guardian's reach, focusing on keeping the civilians covered. Spiralling, rapidly dissipating rounds destroyed Phaetons without raining shrapnel on the humans below; every shot had to be on target, or they risked killing a fleeing bystander.

"Go! Go!" On the ground, there was a different story playing out. Doing his job to the best of his ability, Spartan John-B069 waved his arm frantically. "Shuttle's just a quarter mile away!"

A man stopped in front of him, holding his baby daughter. He panted, staring the Spartan down with a desperate, terrified stare. "How do you know they won't just shoot the damn shuttles out of the sky?!"

John grit his teeth, and pointed towards town. "If you want to take your chances with those mechanical guys, be my guest, but my advice is to take your chances. Admiral Teach has never lost an escape shuttle, and he's been ad Admiral since the Covenant war. I can't promise anything, but you're better off trusting me on this one."

The crowd had slowed slightly, and John noticed an unfriendly red blip on his motion tracker. The crowd slowly dispersed as the Spartan faced the intruder.

A Promethean Captain. The android was clearly armed, but the weapon's individual parts floated loosely behind his back in what John presumed was an "alert carry" position. Staring down the people, the Promethean construct addressed the people in a sharp, angry tone. "Humans. By the word of Created Leader, you are to return to your homes immediately. Attempts to flee will be seen as resistance."

John kept his body low. In truth, he'd run out of ammunition, and had to deal with this threat by hand alone. Even his knife had broken off in the hide of a rampaging battlewagon. The Spartan hadn't been noticed yet, and intended to use that to his advantage.

"We haven't done anything to you!" A middle aged woman in rugged work clothes stepped forward, her brow furrowed with anger as she gripped a crowbar. "I don't even live here! Let us through, goddammit! I'm not dying here!"

The Spartan was nearly in a position he liked, but the Promethean suddenly forced his hand. 

Analyzing the crowbar, the Promethean didn't waste an instant. "Hostile recognized! Subduing target!" 

The weapon behind him slowly formed itself, solidifying into a gun that would be of particular interest to Jorge; large, long barreled splinter cannon. Essentially a grenade launcher, John knew damn well that one shot would kill at least five or ten of the bystanders in the crowd. He turned his body and bolted towards the beast. Before the soldier could notice him, John's boot connected. With a side kick, he knocked the android off kilter and onto its side. The splinter cannon fired a grizzly orange payload into the air as it slid across the ground and out of the Promethean's reach. The blast arced overhead, and exploded nearby against the side of a building, sending a shockwave and hot air through the crowd. Some people screamed, and one woman was knocked over in surprise.

"RUN!" John waved his arm, keeping his eyes on the Promethean as he pounced onto it like a panther. His hands reflexively went for the throat; he didn't quite understand how to definitively kill the beasts yet, so he defaulted to his old habits. The Promethean caught his arms, its claws wrapping around his smooth vambraces as the two struggled. John bulled forward, scraping the Promethean along the concrete to build distance and get the fight out of the way of the civilians, who were alternatively rubbernecking at the fight, and sprinting towards the shuttle when they were sure it was safe.

The tussle began to near a hill. The Promethean punted John in the stomach, throwing him off. "Situation problematic. Dispatching human warrior-servant." The robot's cool, somewhat stilted speech was a mismatch with its expression. The skeletal face glowed orange with high fury as it grabbed the splinter turret.

Fortunately, the Spartan had already cleared the distance between them. As the Promethean brought the cannon up, the Spartan kicked the barrel, knocking it down. He threw a right jab, striking the Promethean in the face with the simple punch. The Promethean's face turned, a large dent in its temple. Stepping forward, John swung his elbow, catching the Promethean on the forehead. He stepped in, grasping the android's chest. With a moment of difficulty, he looped his leg around and shoved, going for a simple takedown. The android reacted strangely, grasping the jaw of John's helmet. The two tumbled downhill. Their armor smashed through a block of concrete rubble, jarring the Spartan. The Promethean managed to gain leverage, and threw John several feet; he landed face down on the flat ground, scrambling to his feet and charging forward.

The Promethean was ready. As John threw a quick, wild punch, his fist struck nothing but thin air. Another curiosity about the foe; Promethean Soldiers were skilled at using slipspace IN BATTLE. Just a few years ago, mankind was baffled when Covenant ships could disappear and reappear in system; this was a rung above even that, as the Promethean's body reappeared several meters away. John charged and threw a powerful knee strike, but the Promethean vanished yet again, allowing the Spartan to pass right through. If Walter A. Law were here, he would be shaking his head with disapproval. John appeared to be letting his anger get the better of him. The Promethean was attempting to tire him out.

The Promethean appeared in John's blind spot, throwing an attack of his own, a simple, powerful one handed chop. The artificial intelligence failed to account for one thing; the Spartan's raw talent at fighting. John's blind spot immediately closed as John turned, spotting the robot. He punched under the Promethean's arm, negating his chop and decking the robot in the face with a smash punch; had Walter seen THIS, he would have been pleasantly surprised. The Spartan had thought the whole thing through.

The Promethean reeled, as John moved behind it, grabbing the back of its head and dragging it towards a broken building. With a shout, he drove the Promethean's face against the wall. Offguard but still functional, the Promethean attempted to turn, but was stopped by another punch. Soon, John had simply defaulted to his typical strategy; beat it until it broke. With targeted, hard, simple punches, he produced dent after dent in the robot's chassis, searching for a weak point as he drummed on the robot like a heavy bag. Within an instant, the onslaught proved successful; the Promethean's face plate was knocked off by a right cross, and John drove his fist through it, breaking the Promethean's head into tiny pieces.

Satisfied as the robot's body slowly evaporated, the Spartan turned, picking up the Splinter Turret and watching as the shuttle ascended, escaping the broken city.

"I miss hunting Brutes. This was going to be a long tour of duty."

[I'll have John's feedback done shortly. In the meanwhile, I'd like to do my story now.]

Autumn groaned with newfound annoyance, her eardrums beating with the enhanced echoes of the music filling the dark, illuminated nightclub. From what she had gathered in the past few hours of her time within the facility, they DJ enjoyed playing only the loudest, most bass saturated songs of the past and present.

Whether it was old twentieth century rock, twenty-first century pop, or twenty-second century rap, the sounds of the drum continued to cause her heart to give off the sensation of irregular beating.

"It takes a bit of getting used to!" the bar tender, a young man in his late twenties grinned, his voice carrying over the music loud enough for her to hear.

"It's just so random." Autumn shook her head, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "Is the DJ trying to give us all cardiac episodes?"

"Only the ones to refuse a tip." the barkeep chuckled, passing over a whiskey. "On the house."

"I appreciate it." Autumn shook her head. "I'm actually here on business."

"Strange enough place for a business meeting." the barkeep shrugged, wiping down a beer mug.

"Give it to someone else, thanks." Autumn smiled, turning in her chair.

Her whole purpose for being within the Nightclub was still pretty hazy for her liking. Something she had shared with her husband was the annoyance at the lack of proper intel with her intel. All she knew was the target was named Lars Bartrum. First batch Spartan IV, ex-ODST. Defected from the UNSC shortly after his Mjolnir fitting.

Lars, from what ONI would share, had been missing for the better part of two years. Blaine was too easily recognizable to handle an undercover bag and tag operation such as this, and Autumn was the only one that had run these kinds of operations for the Office before that Osmin trusted for it.

"No-ones gonna take me alive!~
The time has come to make things right!
You and I must fight for our rights!
You and I must fight to survive!

Autumn's snapped back to attention. She had always assumed that picking a Spartan out of a crowd would be easy. The young woman, however, was sorely mistaken. Out of the thousands of attendants, the majority of them jumped to the beat of the music. An attempt to make out a taller person would be nearly impossible, the crowd of people moving as a wave.

With the new song, young college age girls began to stand. They whipped their hair back and forth, swinging their hips to the beat, the beer mugs in their hands sloshing back and forth. The men on the floor bumped shoulders into each other, causing the crowd to shift back and forth.

No-one's gonna take me aliiiive!~
The time has come to make things right!
You and I must fight for our rights!
You and I must fight to surviiiiive!

Autumn stared at the waved of people in a drunken stupor, her eyes peering expertly in search of her target. He was described as having short brown hair, a scar on the back of his neck from an Elite's wrist daggar, and a prosthetic eye.

No-one's gonna take me aliiiiive!~
The time has come to make things right!
You and I must fight for our rights!
You and I must fight to surviiiive!

"You sure he's here." Autumn whispered into her ear piece.

"You'll have to speak up a bit, fucking music's drownin' out your voice!" Blaine's voice crackled in her ear.

"The target, are you sure he's here? I can't tell in that crowd."

"Ma'am?" the barkeep asked, as Autumn turned to him.

"Sorry, I said I wasn't sure if you had soda here?" she asked.

"Certainly, what's your fancy?"

"Cola." she said, the barkeep turned to the spigot behind him.

"Listen, I know he's in there. I have the entire place under lockdown. Scott ran a scan throughout the building, only one prosthetic eye matching UNSC quality is in there." Blaine sighed. "

I'll see what else I can do from here, for now, mingle and keep your cover. This may be our only shot on getting this bastard. Remember, it's bag and tag if possible. No warning shots. If you have to discharge your gun, make sure it kills.

Autumn sighed, blowing air out of the corner of her mouth to move a tuft of hair from her forehead. Leaning back, she could lightly hear the sound of a glass clinking on the bar beside her. Turning, a cold glass of cola waited for her.

"Oh," Autumn smiled. "Thanks, how much?"

"On the house." the barkeep returned the gesture. "We like to make sure our customers have a unique time here. Helps people to keep coming back."

Nodding to the man, Autumn turned back, bringing the cup back up to her lips. Being a fizzy soda drink, she could still keep her attention to the task at hand. As the song slowly died down, the people's hopping began to slow, the DJ standing.

"Oh-ho-kay my cool cats and toms! That was 'Knights of Cydonia' by the twentieth century band Muse!" the DJ's voice boomed over the mic. "I'll be taking a few moments to swap around some music, but next up on our list will be 'Come on feel the Noize' by Quiet Riot!"

Autumn took a brave swig of her beverage, when she saw some shifting from within the crowd. When they had died out, the crowd stood practically level. Towards the far end of the crowd, a man easily towered above the rest of them. Luckily for her, the man had been facing her, and his prosthetic eye was the dead giveaway.

Spewing the cola out of her mouth, the barkeep reached a hand out, gently patting her on the shoulder.

"You okay?!" he asked, as she nodded, offering him a thumbs up.

"Yes, thank you." she said, leaving a credit chit on the counter. "Keep the change for your hospitality."

Standing, Autumn worked her way towards the crowd. Drums began to echo throughout the room once more. Marching towards the target, Autumn's heart beat to the rhythm of the filler music. It was a strange feeling, but also inspiring.

Easing her way into the crowd, she had her piece hidden snugly within her holster, beneath her shirt. Unclipping the safety strap, she advanced on the target. Reaching him, she held the weapon in her hands.

"Lars Bartrum." she said. "You're under arrest for acts of high treason and desertion against the United Nations Space Command. Will you come peacefully."

"Heh." the guy snorted, as she could just barely hear his prosthetic eye clicking around in it's metallic socket. "Wait until the song, sweet cheeks. I love dat song, requested it special."

Holding the pistol up, aiming towards his head, Autumn shook her head.

"Ho-okay you fine ladies and gents! It's a wonderful night to feel alive and free, don't you agree? If you do, let's see your Come on, and feel the noise!"

Come on feel the noise!
Girls rock your boys!
We'll get wild, wild, wild!
Wild, wild, wild!

With the song's beginning the crowd around them began to stir once more. Autumn held the pistol even tighter, prepared to squeeze the trigger if her refused to follow instruction. Lars, however, began to move his body with the crowd, dancing along.

"So you think I got an evil mind? I'll tell you honey!" Lars grinned, rubbing her chin with his thumb, singing along to the song. "I don't know why! I DON'T know why!"

Smacking the pistol from her hands, the weapon discharged into the air, before scattering into the crowd. At the loud explosion, the crowd, even in their drunken stupor, began to charge their way towards the exit. The DJ's eyes opened wide, as he ducked beneath the DJ's booth.

Recoiling backwards, Autumn grunted as Lars' knee smashed into her ribcage. Ducking backwards, she braced her left forearm against one of his wide swings, pushing his attack back and smashing her right forearm into his throat.

So come on feel the noise!
Girls rock your boys!
We'll get wild, wild, wild!
Wild, wild, wild!

Taking her change to be on the offensive, she ducked under one of Lars' counter swings, sweeping his right leg out. Falling onto the nearest table, Autumn swung a boot up to catch his chin. Lars, however, caught her boot and twisted, spinning Autumn to his right. Autumn groaned, smashing another table.

Rolling backwards, she stood at the ready, while Lars cracked his fist.

"I shoulda known they woulda sent the wife of Blaine Harlowe after me. It's only fitting, considering he's the one that trained me." Lars spat. "I take no pride in beatin' a lady."

"Neither do I, princess." Autumn cracked her neck. "Save the semantics for a woman that gives a shit."

Both combatants approached each other, exchanging blows. Autumn ducked under one, smashing a mighty left jab into his right kidney. Groaning, she hopped off of her right boot, smashing her left foot up and into his chin, knocking him back. Continuing her advance, she smashed him in the chest with one knee, than the other.

Following up, she smashed her fist across his cheek with a mighty right cross, snapping his head across. On the way back, she back handed him, causing a mixture of saliva and blood to splatter against her cheek.

Stepping backwards, Lars growled in annoyance as Autumn attempted to follow up with a swift uppercut. Catching her fist, he squeezed, pulling her arm close to him, before elbowing her in the forehead, punching her with his spare arm.

Come on feel the noise!
Girls rock your boys!
We'll get wild, wild, wild!
Wild, wild, wild!

Spinning through the air, Autumn crashed into the DJ's booth. Recovering, Autumn stood, a trickle of blood running down her forehead. Her vision was a little blurry from the exchange, but she could overcome him. Preparing herself, Lars advanced, placing a boot firmly into her ribs.

Stumbling backwards, he continued the assault, attempting to punch low again. She growled, wrapping one arm around his waist, her spare arm bracing his punching arm. Flipping him over her back, she turned and smashed a nasty fist into his nose, breaking it.

"Augh, du bish! Du broke ba node!"

"I'll break more than that, if you don't come quietly." Autumn huffed.

"Fug off, cut."

Grabbing one of her ankles, Lars tripped Autumn up, the woman landing on her back. Swinging a mighty fist down to attempt to reciprocate her attack, Autumn rolled to the left, smashing her elbow into his mechanical eye two times.

When Lars was sufficiently stunned, she lashed her left boot up and into his forehead, staggering him. Recovering to her feet, Autumn kneed him in the chest again, smashing a nasty right cross, followed by a devastating headbutt. Using hall of her strength, she jumped off of her right boot, swinging her left boot around across the side of his head.

Turning around from the force of the blow, Lars crashed into the DJ's booth, effectively shutting off the music. Things became eerily quiet, Lars standing to his feet, clenching his fist in rage.

"I'b godda kill you, an' I'b godda do id slowly. I hope your husbad is wadching."

Turning to stare at her, his one remaining eye glared at her with rage, while his prosthetic one sparked. Autumn watched as he reached into his back pocket and produced a knife, flipping it in his hand expertly.

Advancing towards her, he swung the knife at her, as both of her hands reached out, bracing his lunging arm. The two locked in a battle of strength, one that Lars unfortunately had the advantage over. Reaching back with his left fist, he smashed her across the cheek, knocking her head back. After his punch was completed, he smashed it back across her forehead, causing the gash to deepen even further.

Kneeing her in the hip, Autumn groaned as Lars chuckled, the knife growing ever nearer to her. The two continued to lock arms, fighting each other for dominance, the blade now locked in both of their hands. Autumn, in her dizzy state, however, did not notice as Lars brought his head back for a nasty head butt.

Her head snapped backwards, Lars taking the moment to plunge the knife into her ribs, from the side. Autumn's eyes widened as excruciating pain filled her every being. Lars didn't stop, however, as he smashed fist after fist into her face, keeping his other hand on the knife.

Finally, he kicked her away, admiring the crimson liquid on his knife.

"You'll nodice I didn'd ged you id the heard." Lars said, moving slowly towards her. "I wad you du suffer, da same way your husbad made ME suffer in dat hell he called 'draining'."

Autumn grasped at the wound, the world around her was dizzying. Black and red seemed to form around the edges of her vision. Crawling away, Lars began to advance, a wild grin on his face.

"Guess it's the 'coda' of this song for you." he smirked, twirling the knife around in his hands.

Lars stopped, however, as the door to the room opened. Blaine Harlowe stood there, without his power armor, fists clenched. Lars turned to face the Spartan II, a cheeky smile adorning his face.

"Ah, id dakes doo do dango. Free makes a crowd."

"I see you can count." Blaine growled. "You'll be missing that particular skill very soon."

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!" Blaine's mighty roar echoed throughout the nightclub, the DJ, who had braved a peek, suddenly retreated once more.

Sprinting towards Lars, Blaine slid on his knees, smashing Lars square in the gonads with a mighty left jab. Jumping to his feet, Lars released the contents of his stomach onto the floor. Blaine grabbed him by the back of the neck, pulling him backwards.

Using his Spartan II might, Blaine threw Lars with one hand at the far wall. Charging after Lars, Blaine scooped up a pool cue from the wall while en route. Swinging with his everything, the stick shattered over Lars' skull, slashing the skin just beside Lars' last good eye. Kicking Lars in the gut, Blaine crouched low.

Sprinting at Lars, Blaine jumped off of a nearby table, super man punching Lars across the cheek with his left fist. Following up immediately, Blaine's right foot smashed up and into Lars' chin. Walking forward, Blaine's fists smashed Lars in the face, left and right, fast as a bullet, hard as a roaring steam engine.

Lars slumped up against the bar, as Blaine hefted him by the neck of his shirt. Sliding Lars across the bar, the barkeep, who had opted to stick around, vaulted over the counter as Blaine passed, bringing a medkit directly to Autumn.

Throwing Lars into a group of tables and chairs, Blaine hefted one of the stools like a club. Smashing the club into Lars' chest, Blaine swung the wooden seat across Lars' face, sending the man soaring into one of the nearby pillars.

Without letting up, Blaine smashed fist after fist into Lars' face, who at this point had the consciousness of a steamed vegetable. Ducking down, Blaine prepared a nasty right uppercut, the force of the punch knocking Lars off of his feet. Blaine's hands lashed out, grasping Lars' ankles. Spinning around and around, Blaine gathered enough speed for his liking, before tossing Lars head first into the bar. Glass bottles filled with alcohol cascaded down upon the man.

Walking over, Blaine reached over the counter, pulling the sticky, beaten and broken man to his face. Using a cloth from the counter, Blaine gingerly wiped the gook from Lars puffy, broken face.

"How can you see yourself out in public like this, Lars me boyo?" Blaine tisked, wiping blood gently off of Lars' now useless prosthetic eye. "Wouldn't you much rather be in the safety of your jail cell? Where no-one can judge you for how you look?"

Lars dope-fully nodded his head, his eye lids opening and closing slowly, as he likely saw stars.

"Didn't I tell you when I trained you that squad-mates were family, and under my watchful eye, everyone was a family." Blaine said, almost sounding like a reassuring, yet berating mother.

Yet again, Lars nodded his head slowly, his head swirling back and forth.

"Do you think it was wise to attack my wife, knowing full well that I was likely around?" Blaine asked, wiping some drool from Lars' mouth.

This time, Lars slowly shook his head left and right. His eye now almost completely swollen shut, slowly scanned the room.

"You gonna go peacefully now to jail, like a good boy?" Blaine asked, as Lars nodded. "Good, though there is one thing..."

Blaine smiled, patting Lars on the head, clenching his left hand around the back of Lars' neck.

"You ever lay your filthy fucking hands on my wife again, I'll make Midnight station a fucking paradise for you."

Smashing his fist into Lars' face, the man crumpled to the floor. Blaine non-chalantly dragged Lars by the ankle to Autumn and the barkeeper, who had tended to her wounds.

"Hey, it means a lot. Thanks." Autumn smiled to the man, who nodded, taking his leave. "Sorry Blaine, I almost had him."

"Almost is like horseshoes and hand grenades." Blaine said sternly. "You did well today, and I'm really glad you're okay, honey. Now, what did I tell you to tell the others at the Office when we bring this useless twat back?"

"You should see the other guy?"

"Exactly."

My feedback for John's will be coming soon.

My turn, I guess.

"Ever feel like you've outlived your time?" The dark red Spartan spoke suddenly, shocking the marine sitting closely next to him.

The hold of the pelican was cramped and hot, almost fifteen soldiers sat inside. While most of the men and women there were marines, four Spartans sat near the exit, ready to jump out the second they opened for the hot-drop they were flying into. All four were silent, except for this one, and only now.

"Excuse me, sir?" The young marine questioned, too shocked at the break of silence to give an instant answer.

"How old are you?" The Spartan rephrased his question.

"23, sir. Why do you ask?" The marine replied, nervously.

"I'm getting close to forty. Not many Spartan III's got to my age." The Spartan mused solemnly, suddenly as if lost in thought.

"Oh... I'm sorry to hear that, sir. I was eighteen when the War ended. Stories I heard, people I knew just gone... It must have been tough fighting it, considering how tough it was just living." The marine joined the Spartan in looking at the floor, when suddenly the large armored man stood.

"I didn't ask to get all touchy-feely." The Spartan walked towards the back of the pelican, the other three Spartans standing just behind him as the back doors opened.

Below, everyone could see the battle raging under them. Covenant Remnant fighting Prometheans fighting Humans. It was an all out war zone, but the Spartan had seen worse in years gone by. Nothing he could ever see now would be a terrifying as the Flood.

"Spartan Vance, you heading the assault?" One of the Spartans asked Vance, as he pulled his shotgun off of his back and turned.

"I'll be fighting before you even land." Vance said confidently. He then jumped out of the pelican, falling like a rock as he held up his fist and planted it into the ground under him, the shockwave blowing two grunts away into the ether, and grabbing the attention of two elites nearby.

The first elite placed its storm rifle on its back and drew a long, shimmering blue sword, lunging forward to impale Vance before he even got a chance to stand upright.

Vance stood straight up at an incredible speed, catching the elite by the wrist and turning. With his back to the elite's chest, its arm over his right shoulder, Vance pulled downwards, throwing the huge lizard over his shoulder, opening it up for a combat knife to the throat. Before the second elite could redraw its holstered carbine, Vance had fired his shotgun, blowing a hole in the elite's chest cavity and killing it instantly.

The midst of battle, Vance slid to take cover behind a large rock. He surveyed the area, most of the large conflict happening in the large area of shallow water before the start of the ocean. At the end of the beachhead there was a forerunner tower, from which several Promethean Soldiers were sniping outside with binary rifles.

Several yards away from him Vance spotted a very large elite, easily standing at seven to eight feet tall. It held a carbine in one hand and a sword in the other. Without bracing his shot with his bladed hand, the elite major fired, with a few shot killing the Promethean snipers with ease.

"This is Spartan Vance to Control. Moving in to rid the Remnant of their leadership on the field." Vance spoke into his communications channel inside his helmet before continuing forwards, unconcerned with Control’s inevitable reply.

The Remnant major stood towards the back of the battlefield, accompanied by five Unggoy fodders, three Kigyar riflemen, and two Sangheili guards all ready for an assassin to do exactly what Vance had planned to do.

Vance moved behind yet another rock, with shrubs and small trees protruding from the side to work as cover. With a clear shot lined up, Vance placed his shotgun onto his back and drew his magnum. While the new issued magnum had a slower rate of fire, its pure power and accuracy made it a force to be reckoned with. The first five shots hit their mark, picking off each Unggoy in the sides of the head. With the fodder dead and the rest of the large Remnant squad alerted, Vance tossed a frag grenade, blowing the Kigyar into a mess of flying limbs, armor, and broken rifles while also shattering the two Sangheili guard’s shields, opening them up for two headshots from Vance’s magnum once more.

“God, I love this thing.” Vance sighed joyfully as he casually walked up to the lone, exposed major.

“Seems they even give cowards and fools the armor of Demons these days.” The Sangheili major turned towards Vance. He towered over the red Spartan by a few feet, and was old enough to remember a day when his enemies stood as tall or taller as himself.

“Please… I’ve been kicking your asses back when you were more of a threat than an annoyance.” Vance’s cockey comment seemed to hit its mark. The enraged elite growled as he holstered his sword and tossed his carbine carelessly into the shallow water.

Close quarters combat, armed or unarmed, was Vance’s specialty. The elite was issuing a hand-to-hand challenge, and Vance was more than happy to oblige. It was common belief that Spartan model IV’s were on par with their previous counterparts, despite their less extreme augments. However, in almost every case Vance himself had witnessed, the list of best to worst worked down the generations. There was no way he could take on one of the surviving Spartan II’s, and he had bested IV’s on multiple occasions. The GEN II Mjolnir armor only enhanced these skills.


But Sangheili, especially those who had survived the Human/Covenant War, were not a force to be taken lightly.

“So you wanna take turns hitting? Gotta ref? Should I have brought gloves?” Vance joked just before the major lunged forward, a heavy right cross flying to Vance’s face as he shifted backwards, dodging the attack.

“Right to the point. Got it.”

Vance sprinted forward and watched as another cross came at him at a high speed. The Spartan slid across the water, grabbing the elite by the ankle as he did, knocking the alien warrior off balance and sending him to the floor.

Without stopping to stand fully, Vance turned sharply and sprinted back towards the major, jumping and aiming both of his boots for the back of the fallen Sangheili’s head. Before the hit could land, the elite major rolled, dodging the attack and standing before Vance could recover, landing a powerful kick to the Spartan’s chest, forcing him to stagger backwards. Looking to end the fight, the elite closed the distance he had created and went to impale Vance with his energy dagger.

“Whoa!” Vance ducked the blade, the elite’s shoulder shooting past his head and right over his left shoulder. Vance brought his arms up, grabbing the elite by the shoulders and practically pulling himself up the large foe to dig his knee into the elite’s chest. The counter attack hit, causing the Sangheili to recoil forward, bringing his head down to Vance’s level. The Spartan moved to the right, using the elite’s knee as a springboard, Vance jumped upward and brought both fists down on the base of the elite’s skull.

Despite the powerful strike Vance dealt, the Sangheili major kept his footing and recovered superbly.

“You fucking cheated! What the hell? Aren’t you guys supposed to be all about honor?” Vance scolded his enemy mid battle, pointing his finger as if he were yelling at a familiar entity.

“Once, during the War, a young warrior under my command was assigned to end the lives of the half dead humans left on the heels of our victory. Afterwards, he came to me and asked me the same thing one of your filth asked him ‘Do the ends justify the means?’... I struck him down where he stood. Because, during that time, we were no longer living in the means, but the ends. And we were victorious. When you’re victorious, the means matter not, human.” The Sangheili major humored Vance’s claims with a speech. Vance crossed his arms, and waited for the elite to finish.

“Man. For a giant gecko, you took a really long time to try and justify cheating.” Vance shot back, half observation, but mostly insult. The elite drew his blade and roared in response, obviously not sharing the same mind as Vance.

The Sangheili charged Vance, swiping his blade horizontally at Vance’s head. The Spartan ducked, following that with a forward kick, hyperextending the warrior’s right knee, causing him to fall onto his left knee. Before the dagger could come in for a retaliatory strike, Vance brought his foot up and kicked the Sangheili in the bottom of the jaw. When his foot was planted, Vance spun around, jumping as he did so, and brought his foot across the major’s face. As the elite spun in place, he kept his footing and came around with a wound up fist, his bladed hand connecting to Vance’s midsection with momentum the massive muscle weight behind it. The strike sent Vance flying backwards, as his footing had not yet fully recovered from his previous attack,

As he landed, Vance rolled over his shoulder, finding himself on his hands and the balls of his feet. When he looked up, most of the distance between himself and the elite was closed as the warrior sprinted toward him. Vance followed suit, and as the two powerful fighters clashed, Vance used his thruster pack to dash forward and bodycheck his enemy. The elite, wrapped his arms around Vance, like a sinister version of an embracing hug, planted his feet, turned, and threw the Spartan straight down onto his face. As Vance pressed his arms below himself to push himself up, the Sangheili warrior placed his hoof on the back of Vance’s head and pressed down, holding his helmet under the water in a uninformed attempt to drown him.

Suddenly, the major was thrown off by the out of place sound of an energy blade being drawn just before a sharp, burning pain came into his lower leg. The elite cried out in pain as he pulled his leg off of Vance’s head and took a step back to see a energy dagger similar to his own drawn from the Spartan’s wrist. He looked in shock and disgust as Vance stood and wiped the mud from his visor.

“Heaten! You stole that weapon off of a proud warrior!” The Sangheili major shouted in pure rage as Vance took a fighting stance.

“It’s a keepsake from my childhood. I’ve had it for.... Almost longer than I can remember.” Vance chuckled, holding a steady fighting stance. “I’ve even carved my initials into it. Wanna see?”

“I’ll kill you Demon!” The elite lunged, bringing his energy dagger over his head and arched it downward to stab Vance in the top of the helmet. But, like since the beginning of the battle, Vance was faster.

“Please...” Vance sighed.

The Spartan shifted his position, pivoting on his right leg, his front now facing perpendicular to the elite’s. As the doomed elite’s blade drove towards the sand, his head lowered into Vance’s own, upward pointed dagger, the Sangheili’s neck descending itself onto it. By the time the elite stopped himself, the Spartan’s stolen weapon was plunged deep into his neck. The fight was over, and the major was surviving purely by Vance’s will.

“I’ve met few people I couldn’t eventually kill.” Vance’s upbeat tone suddenly changed as the elite’s reptilian eyes met his visor. “Whatever journey you find yourself on next, ask yourself…”

Vance tore his blade out the side of the Sangheili’s throat, taking skin, muscle, and a lot of blood with it. The elite fell to the floor, just moments away from death, he lived just long enough to hear Vance’s final words to him.

“What does it make you if you were killed, one on one, by a being you consider less than dirt?”

Bad John wrote:The evacuation was going as well as expected. Swarms of Prometheans originally guarded the sky, fencing in any attempt at escape as the metallic construct loomed overhead. The behemoth, beyond all understanding, didn't seem particularly intent on killing anyone yet, but it was still a threat, and the Legion was too far out of system to help here.

There is nothing wrong with this quote, I'm just indicating that I'm giving feedback for John's story.

Overall, I really liked the combat scene between the Soldier Captain and John. Soldiers have proven in the game that they are not really push-overs, which is something you definitely have shown in your writing here.

The subtle nuances in your writing, however, are what really ice the cake. The fact that John felt pain when crashing through the concrete, whereas the Soldier felt nothing because of his robotic form was very nice.

As always, John's wit and brutality in combat show, which is always pleasant. My only regret is that it wasn't longer xD. However, knowing John's expertise at CQC definitely makes up for that.

I'll get to more individualized critiques later tonight but I just wanted to point out something I'm seeing across the board.

War tends to be capitalized ALL the time these days. Just because we have a character named "War", does not mean that you forget the basic rules of the English language. When referring to Walter as "War", it's capitalized because it is a name. If talking about actual war, the noun, no need to capitalize it unless it starts a sentence.

I say this because I care. I don't want people committing such a simple mistakes. You guys are educated, you can do better

Manny wrote:I say this because I care. I don't want people committing such a simple mistakes. You guys are educated, you can do better

Manny wrote:I don't want people committing such a simple mistakes. You guys are educated, you can do better

Manny wrote:I don't want people committing [such a simple mistakes.] You guys are educated, you can do better

You smell that? Smells like irony!

In all seriousness, I know I'm not the best when it comes to perfect grammar and spelling. I think if anything, the improper capitalization of 'War' derives from the idea that War is an event, not commonly used as a name.

That and I have the nasty habit of capitalizing certain words incorrectly in my sentences.

I've noticed that I always have those errors when posting on forums. Usually I post from a mobile device but it has happened with computers as well. It's something I'm working on, and annoys me greatly.

Anyways, as I said, I've been noticing the "War" issue with almost everyone.

The thing about capitalization in the context of stories like these is that we are supposed to cap everything that is of importance. The Great War (WWI or the Human/Covenant) is capped, the character War is capped, and unless it's in a certain context almost every use of war is capped. So, you can see the confusion.

My critique for Morgan;

You gotta let Autumn come into her own more as a character. It kinda left a bad taste in my mouth to see the story end the way it did. I'm not saying her winning the fight was paramount; the general plot of the battle could have gone in that direction, but still been tasteful, but the dialogue sorta hurt the experience. The whole "how dare you harm my wife" thing really drove home the "knight in shining armor" aspect. I would have preferred to see some eb and flow in their teamwork.

Maybe after being stabbed, Blaine arrives and dominates the fight, but the bad guy grabs a gun and Blaine, for a second, is dead to rights, giving Autumn a chance to throw the knife and knock the gun out of his hands. Maybe Blaine is completely stoic during the battle, and his rage at Autumn's injury is totally implied, and Autumn has to call him off to prevent him from KILLING the man. Maybe after evenhandedly beating the guy, Blaine ends the scene by saying "thanks for softening him up for me," with Autumn vowing not to lose face like that again.

However, lately this hasn't been the case, specifically in the collab. Despite being a Spartan IV, brass acknowledged her ability to lead a fireteam, and put her in charge of some very seasoned combatants, so this fiction seems a little bit like a step back in terms of her character.

As for the combat, it was pretty well done. There was just enough left to the imagination, and the setting was pretty interesting. Reminds me of a James Bond movie.

My critique for Vale;

Good stuff. Nice to see Vance back in action. His brutality, and more importantly, his one liners haven't slowed down.

I would urge you to do a character study of not just elite dialogue, but the mentality of your opponent, so you don't fall into the trap of tired sangheili cliches. But, that's not a particularly obtrusive issue, so other than that, I've got not complaints.

Looking back on it now, you're right. As a character, I still have her waaay too dependent on Blaine. She's ONI now, and a field Agent at that. Next time, I'll be sure to keep this in mind.

Thanks for the feedback.

Morgan: I tend to like your fights, mostly because I can really picture it. Might have something to do with how brutal they can get. So good job, but keep in mind such brutality isn't always needed. Ultimately it's up to your judgement because you're the one writing.

I have the same criticisms as John about Autumn. Also... I get that in videos music and fights can link up well. However, it comes across as a little forced in writing, but for what it's worth this scene was ok in that regard. You had people signing/ saying the lyrics so it meant the music was actually "there" in the scene. It's also a better way to show the lyrics you want to show. In general though... I'm not sure how to incorporate music in writing.

Vale: I like your fight scenes for the same reasons I like Morgan's. One thing I didn't understand was how the Elite cheated. Was Vance whining for no reason (which would be out of place for a Spartan), or was something missing? Alternatively, I may have missed something if no one else has brought this up.

John: Overall, it's pretty good. It's straight and to the point. It's a little hard to critique. Compared to other fight scenes you've written... this one didn't really feel special. It might be due to lack of plot (not your fault, this isn't supposed to be part of a larger story).

It might also be like I felt the Promethean and John were actually equals. Most times Brutes and Elites have some sort of physical advantage, so you feel that if John messes up it could have dire consequences. When the Promethean used slipspace, John himself didn't really seem all that fazed and dealt with it like it was no big deal.

That might have been a result of John's previous experience... which would have made more sense in the context of a larger story. Again, not really your fault.

There's nothing totally wrong with it, but I feel like it's missing something. What that is, I'm unsure but I tried to pinpoint it.

Manuel looked down at the shattered city below him, the only sources of light being flashes of white, flying streaks of blue, and the flames of burning buildings. The rain pounded hard against the Pelican's window, making it even harder to see.

"Visibility is too low to land, and our boys aren't close enough to the base to light up an LZ. The ground right beneath us is too small for this bird to land, but big enough for you to drop!" The pilot turned to face Manuel. The armoured soldier merely nodded; understanding what the pilot was suggesting. He turned back to his squad, motioning for another black armoured soldier to open the Pelican's door. The soldier gave him a thumbs up before doing so, the howling wind causing the Spartan to instinctively raise his arm.

Manuel motioned for his squad to follow his lead, before jumping out of the Pelican and onto the ground with a thud. Behind him he could hear pavement cracking four times and guns loading. Manuel saluted the Pelican as it flew off, before speaking to his squad.

"Our mission is simple. Infiltrate the ONI base, delete navigation data to enforce the Cole Protocol, and link up with UNSC forces. The Marines are keeping the Covenant busy out elsewhere," Manuel said before receiving four green lights of acknowledgement in his helmet. He motioned for the group to move forward, everybody falling into their designated positions.

Nothing was said among the group, each member on alert for hidden enemies. The combination of night and rain would make any enemy hard to see, even more so if they were using active camouflage. It was hard to hear anything as well, the sound of gunfire in the distance and the howling wind drowning out sounds even a Marine would hear easily.

Once the base was in view, Manuel gave the signal for his squad to split up and continue individually. If one of them was caught, the rest would still be hidden.

“If you find yourself in trouble, set a waypoint at your location immediately,” Manuel said over his shoulder before moving out. As Manuel made his way along a side street, he took note of the sound of rain against shielding. During his walk he had become accustomed to it, and the fact that it sounded like there were two sets of shielding meant he was not alone. Manuel whirled to his right towards the source of the sound. Gazing up he saw the outline of an Elite leaping off a collapsed building and lunging towards him. Manuel planted his feet before firing his assault rifle.

In Spartan time Manuel saw the Elite’s arm reach towards his throat, the outline of it’s energy dagger making it clear what the Elite intended to do. The Spartan side stepped the lunge, before elbowing the Elite in the back and into the ground. The force of the impact caused its shield to flare, giving Manuel a clear target. The Elite was aware of its shield strength, so instead of dodging it got back up and swung its sword at Manuel, leaving a gash in the pavement as it did.

The swing forced Manuel to back up, having grazed his own shielding. Manuel briefly looked down at his armor to ensure its integrity. Looking back up at his adversary, Manuel saw the active camouflage fail and took note of the Elite’s golden armor; it was a Zealot.

The Elite roared as it swung again, prompting Manuel to duck under its arm and reach for its sword. The Elite growled in disgust, seemingly offended by the action. Manuel brought his assault rifle up and into the Elite’s face, weakening it’s shields and grip on the sword. As the Spartan pulled the sword away, the Elite fell back into a crumbling wall. As the rest of the wall fell on it Manuel put away the sword and opened fire with his assault rifle. He’d rather use a weapon he was more familiar with, as the chances of survival would be higher.

A brick unexpectedly flew at his head, prompting the Spartan to dodge it. In the moment the Spartan took to dodge the brick, the Elite rose from the pile of debris and tackled the Spartan to the ground with a roar. The Elite’s hand was wrapped around Manuel’s visor, driving his head into the pavement. In his moment of pain, Manuel heard a crunch and a foot stomp onto the hand holding his assault rifle. Manuel punched the Elite in the knee, causing it to stumble and take its foot off. Once it did, Manuel saw that his assault rifle had been crushed before he received a kick to the head.

The Spartan rolled over, using his momentum to get away before standing back up. The Elite roared in defiance before activating both energy daggers. Manuel drew the energy sword he had picked up and activated it as lightning lit up the city. His night vision blinded him in that instant and when darkness returned Manuel saw the Elite was in front him and about to plunge its dagger in Manuel’s throat. The Spartan reacted by swinging the sword at the Elite, its longer range causing the Zealot to reconsider closing the gap between them.

The two circled each other for a few moments before Manuel drew his pistol with his other hand and fired. The Zealot dove out of the way before leaping off the ground and leaping at the Spartan. Manuel raised the sword and swung but the Elite caught his arm in mid air and pulled the Spartan closer to its energy daggers. Manuel’s eyes widened as he saw the dagger aimed at his throat. He reacted by instinctively punching the Elite in the face.

The Elite tumbled to the ground and before it could back up Manuel swung the sword onto its neck, slicing through both shielding and flesh. The Elite’s head rolled away, the blood spilling into a nearby puddle of water. It was so dark outside that the previous lack of reflection in the water made it look the same with the blood as it had without…  but at least it made cleanup easier.

Manuel dragged the body and into a nearby dumpster, the larger splashing noise followed by a smaller one. As he put the lid on it, he began to reflect on the battle. He came to the conclusion that if he had he not been a Spartan, his reflexes would have been too slow to punch the Elite. The Elite had outsmarted him by getting him to do what it wanted. It wanted him to swing so it could use arm to close the gap. It was by sheer instinct he had swung his fist, and sheer luck he had hit it so hard it fell to the ground.

The Elite had bested him, and Manuel intended to make sure it didn’t happen again. Not for the rest of this mission, not for the rest of this war, not ever again. He continued on with renewed purpose, meeting his squad members that had responded to his signal, before heading into the base.

So I'll throw a suggestion out there for a writing prompt. If you guys like it, we can roll with it.

How does your character adapt to a brand new combat scenario? You may have to travel back into the Great War, but point is to depict your character dealing with a new threat. It could be a new enemy (Covenant for the first time, Flood, Promethean, etc) or using a new vehicle/weapon.

How did your character go about adapting to a new situation?

I accept that prompt!