Tatsuo Skritch ducked beneath the swing of a massive hammer wielded by one of the hairy-things and he weaved to the exposed side of his opponent where two enchanted katanas found their mark. The enchantments placed within his blades caused his target's wounds to immediately putrefy and in a blink of an eye, the beast crashed into the ground, organs rotting from within. The other hairy-things did not have time to register the death of their hammer-wielding compatriot for they were in the middle of fending off the other Gutter Runner.

Like a pack of Rat Wolves, the Eshin warriors darted in and out with blades seeking for any chink in the armour of their foes. Strange barriers of light protected some of the hairy-things but quite oddly, it seemed to be much weaker at the backs of the creatures. Like Ogre Leadbelchers, the hairy-things which wielded heavy cannon-like weapons were devastating from afar but up close, they were still dangerous due to their physical strength but aside from that, they were easier to deal with once in melee.

One Gutter Runner was crushed like a bug as a gilded cannon, the ones which fired bright green bolts slammed down upon the head of the Skaven. Another unlucky Eshin clansman was caught in a swinging strike which sent the unfortunate ratman flying into a teeming mass of Clanrats which tried to rush their prey. As mighty as the hairy-things were, they were no match for the sheer numbers of Skaven who leapt onto the brutish things with blades seeking flesh.

Explosions of bright energy detonated nearby, reducing dozens of Skaven into charred husks and sending survivors scurrying with the musk of fear which was now heavy in the air. The flying machines continued to deliver their deadly volleys of light bolts which scythed down dozens of Skaven warriors in mere seconds.

'Scatter-disperse! Scatter-disperse! shouted a Warlord riding upon the back of Great Pox Rat who waved around an ensorcelled glaive and soon, trumpeters began blowing into their instruments.

Skaven packs quickly obeyed as soon as they heard the peals and they began to make space to avoid being caught in further explosions or the hail of bolts from above. Amidst the din of battle a great boom rang out and the arcane charge within the air became stronger. Again, the boom sounded and Tatsuo Skritch grinned for he knew what it meant.

Spotting a group of silver armoured split-mouths carrying glowing blades, he tossed one of his Katanas back and expertly caught it by the hilt with his tail. Drawing a third enchanted katana from its sheath; the Assassin of Clan Eshin sprinted towards enemy, eager to test his blades against skilled warriors.

Biting down into a glowing chunk of Warpstone, Grey Seer Teekar of Skavenblight felt the hot rush of energy flow into his very being and he made sure to gulp down every last bit. Standing upon the arch of a Screaming Bell, he felt the potent sorceries placed within build up in resonance with his presence. The power of the Horned Rat itself flowed from the Bell, granting him a great deal of arcane protection against all forms of attack and he began to speak an incantation.

Teekar's red eyes began to burn with warpfire and he raised his staff which crackled with lightning, sending out arcs of lightning into the sky. In mere moments, a sudden gale began to surround the area around them. The lightning which coruscated his staff intensified and as his incantation reached its climax, a massive bolt of warp-lightning lanced up towards the dark clouds above.

The Banshee began to violently shake as it ran into sudden turbulence and the Sangheili pilot struggled to maintain his control over the aircraft. The sudden spike in wind speed caused the craft's hull to violently shake and over the communications channel, similar reports were coming in from the other pilots.

'We must break off!' announced one of the other Sangheili Banshee pilots.

'Belay that!' came the commanding voice of their Squadron's leader. 'Ride the storm and destroy all who oppose the Covenant!'

Their leader's Banshee sharply dipped towards the surface of the planet, plasma weapons blazing at full automatic and Fuel Rods roaring. Following the officer's example, the other Banshees made their attack runs upon the unknown enemy. The pilot felt it when he descended hard and fast to, his heart leapt with pride as many targets were cut down.

Gliding low, above the heads of the enemy, he continued to fire into the massed swarms of furry bodies. The pilot then began to feel a strange, tingling sensation at the back of his neck, an itch upon the palms and feeling in his gut which set off many alarms. A sudden bright flash of green lightning struck the Banshee next to his and it exploded, showering fuselage upon the enemy.

Another bright flash of lightning appeared, destroying a third Banshee and then a forth. The sensors on board his craft immediately picked up the source of these attacks and he saw that it was some bizarre arch like vehicle. The pilot did not have enough time to set course for this new threat as a bolt of green lightning struck the centre of his craft.

The pilot was already dead before he even knew it.

Watching the battle from his precarious position, Noble Six witnessed the destruction of a Banshee squadron and the bizarre weaponry of the rat aliens. Arcs of green lightning lanced out across the night sky, destroying Covenant aircraft as what was clearly a great bell, ominously tolled. There was a strange charge in the air, one that caused the hairs on the back of his neck to stand and with each great boom from the bell, his unease grew.

Struggling with his bindings which proved surprisingly resilient, even for one with his enhanced strength, the Spartan was unsuccessful in trying to get himself free. A loud boom, the kind which Six was recognized as of coming from a Gravity Hammer, rang out not far from him and he glanced up to see several rat-aliens soaring through the air. A broken corpse landed near him, the rat-alien's body was completely mulched by the impact of the deadly Brute weapon.

An idea quickly came into the Spartan's mind and he began squirm like a worm towards the body. His movements were slow and the pain of the plasma burns only worsened, the adrenaline which coursed anew within his body was what kept him going. Bodies fell around him as the rat aliens fought the Covenant, despite their seemingly primitive technology, it sounded like the vermin were winning in the close quarters engagement. Roars from Elites or Brutes were mixed with the chittering and the screeching of the rat aliens and thankfully, the Spartan was able to make it to the corpse.

The dead rat alien was completely covered in rusted armor, the plates that were not severely damaged looked rather mismatched as if scavenged from different pieces. Its helmet sported a great, blade like ornament which did not seem even the slightest bit practical to the Spartan but it served his current need. Rolling around so that he lay upon his back, he extended his arms as long as he could and he raised his legs high.

Concentrating on his own movements, he was soon able to the hard part of sliding his hands past his buttocks and was quickly able move over his feet and to the front of him. A plasma grenade exploded nearby and Six hissed a curse as he got up and knee crawled towards the corpse. Placing the leather straps of his binding to the blade of the helmet, he began to cut away at the material which took him several seconds before finally, his hands were free!

He then grabbed on to the side of the helmet and he yanked it out from the dead rat alien while doing his best to ignore the gristly remains of what was left of it along. Using the helmet's blade again, he cut at the leather around his ankles and as he did so, a familiar alien warcry was heard. Looking up he, saw the blood spattered form of an Elite in blood smeared silver armor and sporting an impressive helmet.

A glowing plasma sword was held by the alien warrior who stared down the Spartan and it quickly began running towards him. Cursing again, he looked about for a weapon which he could use and on the side of the corpse, he saw what looked to be the handle of... something protruding from the belt. Without giving it another thought, the Spartan tossed away the bladed helmet and he swiftly grabbed the object which much to his surprise, was a gun, yet was more unusual was that it greatly resembled a 17th century flintlock pistol.

Better than nothing he thought, the Spartan raised with both hands, the archaic gun with strange looking mechanisms added to it and he aimed at the oncoming Elite's head. Pressing on the trigger of the gun, he felt the fairly light recoil as greenish grey smoke puffed out from the barrel along with a single bullet which left a green contrail of energy which moved fast as one would expect from a bullet. The round smashed into the energy shield which must have already been weakened by the battle for it bypassed the field and struck the helmet of the alien, killing it instantly.

Disbelief was etched upon the Spartan's face as he looked at the gun again. Certain that it was already spent, he flipped his hold of it, using his left was now tightly wrapped around the barrel and he rushed towards the dead Elite. Weaving between the fighting forms of the rat aliens and the Covenant, he was able to make it to his fallen enemy and retrieve the Plasma Sword's unpowered hilt.

Pressing the activation button, the weapon thrummed to life with a hiss of energy. Now holding both the spent flintlock and the Plasma Sword, the Spartan held no illusions that he might survive this.

'Lets dance' grimly muttered Noble Six as he charged into the ensuing fray with a wordless warcry upon his lips. Perhaps this time, he could drag as many of the aliens down with him to the grave.

Pressing on the firing mechanism of his Doomwheel, Skittak Fang felt the build up of arcane energy as the warpstone weapons activated. The Warlock Engineer felt the satisfying crunch of bone and gristle as his vehicle crushed the bodies of the small things which wore the breathing masks, ahead of him was one of the heavy war machines which launched massive white blue fire balls that screamed on their way down.

'Die-die!' roared the Warlock Engineer and a pair of Warp Lightning bolts lanced forth with great accuracy. A great explosions followed as his shot struck, the shiny purple hull of the screamer war machine was left blackened and damaged but still, it remained afloat.

The screamer machine belched forth another ball of flame, this one travelling swiftly towards Skittak Fang. Quickly pressing on the button which controlled the shock prods, he sent jolts of lightning to the running swarms of rats which gave the Doomwheel its primary source of locomotion, "encouraging" them to move faster. In less than a heartbeat, the Doomwheel accelerated forward, in time to avoid the screaming fireball that nearly struck him.

As powerful and durable as these war machines of the unknown enemy things were, their light weapons were highly visible and significantly easier to evade in comparison to the bullets of the Man or Dwarf-things. Powering up the Doomwheel's weaponry, Skittak fired another pair of Warp Lightning bolts and this time, the enemy machine exploded. Roaring in triumph, the Warlock Engineer smashed aside the wreckage of his kill.

Around Skittak, Clan Skryer war machines crashed into the ranks of enemy soldiery. The light shields of the bird things and the split mouths proved useless against the whirling blades of the Doom Balls and Deathwheels. More than a few of the Skryer Engines were outright destroyed by the destructive green bolts of light which exploded upon contact with any surface and some went out of control as pilots were killed by lucky shots.

Crushing more bodies beneath his wheel, Skittak suddenly felt his Doomwheel violently shake. A bright flash of searing cyan energy scorched the outer part of the wheel and the running rats collectively began squeaking in terror and the cursed little vermin tried escaping the conveyor system. Shocking the swarm again, he had no success in keeping the things in line.

The next thing he knew, Skittak Fang was sent tumbling as his Doomwheel went out of control. His entire world became a chaotic confusion of motion as the centrifuge went out of alignment and the runner rats continued to make terrified noises until finally, he crashed hard. Blacking in and out of consciousness, Skittak could still hear the sound of fighting but it was muffled and it seemed to be so very far away.

Flitting between being in and out of consciousness, the Warlock Engineer hardly registered the heavy, cautious steps approaching his ruined Doomwheel, nor did he feel the strong hands which pulled him out of the wreckage. By the time he regained his senses, it was far too late.

Roaring in exultation and praising the names of both the gods and the prophets which guided their glorious Covenant, a Grunt Ultra in charge of heavy weapons team rained death upon the enemy. Tri-pod mounted Plasma Cannons and Fuel Rods were unloaded with predictably deadly results. Enemy infantry were cut down while their vehicles and the more monstrous things were felled by concentrated plasma fire.

Zeal and righteous fury guided their shots, each kill made gave them glory in the eyes of the gods.

'For the Covenant!' cheered a Grunt Ultra operating a mounted Plasma Cannon as one of the massive, Hunter-sized creature was laid low by concentrated plasma fire. The rest of the heavy weapons team cheered, their morale soaring thanks in no small part as of being assigned such powerful weapons which allowed them to engage the enemy from afar.

Not far away from them, a squad of Jackal marksmen armed with either Needle or Beam Rifles were reaping their own terrible tally. Refusing to be outdone by the feather-heads, the Grunts began firing at a greater rate, bringing their guns to the brink of over-heating.

In the distance, the Grunts could some even larger and more terrifying looking things wreak havoc among their assault forces. Glad once more to be assigned to operating long ranged weapons, they rendered what assistance they could. Eventually, their guns became silenced as the power cells ran dry and the Grunts signalled to Command of their situation.

Shortly after making the call, a floating duo of Engineers arrived and their tentacles began reaching for the heavy guns. The distinct roar of a drop pod was then heard and the Grunts looked up to see the machine's descent. Landing with a light tremor close to the a heavy weapons team, the hatches opened up to reveal the neatly stacked crates of ammunition within.

Gleefully, the Grunts went towards it and began helping themselves to Plasma Grenades, Fuel Rod Cells and other munitions which they could trade with the other squads. After a few moments, one of the other Grunts yelped in terror and all eyes fearfully turned towards their squad mate who pointed at something ahead.

Looking in that direction, the Grunts soon felt a collective sense of relief for it was just a large group of Elites and Brutes.

'By the prophets, you all scared us!' called one of the other heavy gunners.

There was no reply from the Brutes and the Elites who continued to silently move towards them. An awkward silence followed as the one who just spoke looked to the rest of them and gave a shrug before looking back to the silent ones.

Something seemed off though, thought the Grunt Ultra. The Elites and Brutes normally disliked one another yet this group was moving in an uncharacteristically disciplined and organized fashion. The newcomers continued to silently march towards the Grunts and after a few steps, the eyes of every Unggoy widened in horror.

Each of the newcomers bore mortal wounds which any should have survived, deep gashes, missing limbs, missing mandibles and other such horrific injuries were plentiful and yet, they still kept on moving.

'S-stay back!' stuttered the Grunt Ultra who did not have time to reposition his Plasma Cannon and instead, he switched to the more common pistols. Again, the larger warriors did not heed the Grunt who instinctively felt a sense of dread from the silent ones.

At a closer look, they saw the green lights filling the eyes of the newcomers and after a moment, that fire flared up in its baleful intensity. With a sudden burst of motion, the Brutes and Elites sprinted towards them and the larger warriors with their longer legs were quickly upon them. Unggoy screamed in terror and soon, agony as guns were used like cudgels.

Skulls were split open, heads cracked and bones broken as the Grunts died. In a matter of seconds, it was over, those Grunts who did not run were killed to the last, the Ultra who led them had been ignominiously crushed by the Gravity Hammer of a Brute Chieftain. The Brutes and the Elites silently then watched the ensuing battle, their eyes as dead as their victims and not far away, a quiet decision was being made.

Observing the battle between the Skaven and these Covenant beings, the Countess could see that it was not boding well for the vermin. The weapons which fired searing bolts of light reaped a bloody harvest among the ratmen, hundreds died in seconds as the artillery machines bombarded them and the smaller weapons fired bolt after bolt at an astounding rate. These weapons which these Covenant creatures used were far greater than any Steam Tank of the Empire or the flying Gyro-machines of the Dwarfs.

Yet, the foul techno-sorcery of the Skaven was not outdone for here and there, she could see the ratmen holding the line. Mutant Abominations, nightmarish things of flesh and meat from the depths of dreaded Hell Pit brought ruin to the lines of Covenant infantry whose weapons, the ones which fired small, non-exploding bolts, proved ineffective against the fiends. Warpstone powered technology clashed with those of the Covenant in a dazzling display of lights, some bright green and others cyan blue.

The death of so many was... pleasing, to the Countess who could feel the abundance of Warpstone from the Skaven. In this realm, devoid of magic, the many small pieces of raw, solidified chaos energy were like many candles in the darkness, candles which began to spread their flames. The void of magic was slowly being filled due to all the warpstone being spent but it was like trying to fill an ocean with a trickle.

Quickly did the Countess decide to take part in the battle for this was her best chance in acquiring the Warpstone which she needed. The Countess did not fancy the idea of letting these Covenant beasts win and take all of the Warpstone for themselves, nor did she enjoy the idea of being stranded in this place where the only living human she had seen was one with polluted blood. It was now or never she thought and damn the consequences!

With a background field of magic now growing, the Countess was able to harness and it use it to fuel a spell. Arcane words in the tongue of High Nehekaran flowed from her lips, the Grave Guard under her command were infused with more power, granting them an even greater degree of power. The little ones which had been slain soon rose from the eternal slumber to join her but the Countess only infused them with the slightest portions of magic.

Touching the minds of her thralls, the Countess learned a bit of these Covenant and all she really cared for was how to best deal with the things. The little ones carried with them, small blue bombs which would light up with fire and explode. She had also learned that some of the little ones would even choose to blow themselves up on their enemies, an act of faith and martyrdom for their gods.

Having little qualms with sending more souls to whatever deities they worshipped, the Countess endeavoured to send some their way. In the distance, she spotted the tank-like machines of the Covenant, the ones which fired bright flames like the Hell Cannons of the Dawi Zharr. These contraptions needed to be destroyed as soon as possible and the Countess had an idea of how best to eliminate them.

Giving a mental command to her Grave Guard, the larger undead minions carefully removed any of the blue bombs which they carried and all were given to the little ones. She then focused on the minds of the little ones and imprinted the images of the tanks.

'Destroy' commanded the Countess and the little ones, now simply mere extensions of her own will, obeyed without hesitation and they ran towards the tanks with bombs held in both hands. A feral smile of anticipation appeared upon the lips of the Vampire who then turned her attention to the great battle.

The Beast Within demanded that she directly participate in it, to feel bones break, flesh torn asunder and fresh blood spilled. Chaining the Beast through iron will, the Countess knew that she must first, bide her time before striking and she ordered for her Grave Guard to form a defensive ring around her. Drawing upon the now growing background magic field, the Vampire knew of a certain, deadly spell which would do wonders further enhancing her own power.

Hissing a new series of arcane syllables, a nimbus of gloaming light began to surround the Countess. The gloaming light soon turned into a blaze of amethyst hewed fire and upon the palm of her gauntleted left hand, a small purple sphere of energy appeared and slowly, it began to grow.

Feeling the crunch of cartilage and bone as the butt of his pistol smashed into the face of a rat alien, Six swung his Plasma Sword to the side and he decapitated another of the foul things. The screeches and chittering of the verminous aliens, the warcries and roars of Brute and Elites, the smell of blood was all around him and he cared not one bit. He fought with a maddened desperation which imbued his enhanced strength and reflexes.

His world was now just the battle, no desperate war against the Covenant, no UNSC to fight for; no lives which counted on him, just the brutal simplicity of kill or be killed and quite strangely, it was very liberating for him. Alien gore covered the body of the Spartan as he smashed the skull of another rat alien and he slashed a Spiker armed Brute across the back, the bestial thing fell with a cry of pain which brought a feeling of grim satisfaction. Quickly tossing away his pistol which had served him well as a bludgeon, he quickly made for the dead Brute's gun and was able to catch it before it even touched the ground.

The clip on the heavy alien gun felt light and the Spartan cursed his luck as another Brute turned its ugly face towards him. Snarling with hate, the Spartan swiped at the alien with the twin bayonets of his newly acquired Spiker, the blades neatly sliced into flesh and fur before the killing stroke from the Plasma Sword ended its life along with the weapon's own. Discarding the Plasma Sword as well, he fired the remainder of the Spiker's clip into a charging rat alien before picking up a second one and wielding both in his hands.

In the past, he had once fought in a campaign alongside another Spartan III who like Noble Six himself, had a strong personal preference for close quarters combat. The other Spartan unit had on one occasion, appropriated from the Covenant a pair of Brute pistols which were quite similar to shotguns and the fellow III used the bladed guns with deadly effect on a boarding mission against a Covenant ship. Following the example of that former comrade, he hacked and slashed his way through the throng of aliens with two Spikers.

All of the hate he felt for the Covenant, mixed with his newfound loathing for the rat aliens, blossomed into a rage he had never before felt in all of his battles. A rat alien lunged at him with a spear and the Spartan brought one Spiker down hard upon the weapon, breaking the spear head and throwing off the aim of his attacker before plunging the bayonets of his other gun into the side of its head. Everything became a red haze for the Spartan who killed every alien that came within his reach, he no longer cared nor did he feel the pain of his earlier wounds and all that mattered was that he slaughtered the enemy.

He killed and killed without pity, without remorse and without pause. He did not know when he lost his two Spikers and switched to a Gravity Hammer, its power already used up and instead, he simply bashed the aliens until they stopped moving. Leaving a trail of broken corpses in his wake, the Spartan soon came upon a group of Elites fighting in a tight formation; the dead of the rat aliens lay heavy around them.

Lifting up his blood matted hammer towards them, the Spartan saw something he had never thought he would see in the eyes of an Elite, and that was fear. A wordless roar, one that sounded more like it belonged to a wild beast, escaped the lips of Noble Six who swiftly charged headlong into the band of Elites. In his mind, he desired nothing more than to spill the blood of the hated aliens, to break their bodies and sever their heads.

He imagined an image of himself, standing triumphant in his MJOLNIR, upon the skulls of countless Covenant dead, a river of gore poured from the decapitated body of the aliens as their ships and cities burned to cinders. As plasma bolts either flew past him or struck his unprotected body, the Spartan felt nothing but unending the rage. There would be only blood this night and he cared not from whence it flowed; only that it flowed...