Disclaimer: I do not own Halo or the Inheritance Cycle

A/N: Thanks for being so patient and Happy New Year! I was busy this break, too much homework from my classes. However, I finally managed to finish this chapter, and even get past a slight bit of writers' block. Hope you enjoy this chapter and hope that you can forgive me for the time it took to upload! Anyways, please review and Happy New Years!

Chapter 27: Under Cover of Night

2330, two miles north of Belatona, Master Chief Petty Officer, John 117.

John looked up at the sky, studying the unfamiliar stars above him as he absentmindedly ran a rag across the inside of his assault rifle's barrel. The silence of the night comforted him, yet unnerved him at the same time. While logic told him that the chances of hostile action were unlikely this late after the capture of Belatona, his instincts told a different story. After years of fighting, all Spartans had an instinctive knowledge when conflict was about to take place. His told him that bullets would be flying within the hour. Uneasily, he glanced at the distant walls of the newly conquered city. His augmented vision could easily pick out the torchlight of the Varden's patrols, as well as the more focused flashlights carried under the barrels of UNSC personnel. After the battle had ended, it had been decided to move the troops outside of the city, to make it easier to organize their men, and assess losses. The only military presence in the city would be the patrols roaming the streets to keep the peace.

Releasing a pent up sigh, John swiftly reassembled his rifle and stood up, holstering the weapon onto his back as he did so. Despite the reassuring lack of enemy presence, John felt that he was being constantly watched. Usually, John would be the one watching his enemies and waiting for the perfect time to strike. For him to be on the receiving end was extremely unsettling. With a wordless command, John activated his promethean vision, fully expecting red silhouettes of hidden assassins to be revealed. Nothing. Nothing showed up, making John even more paranoid. Why were his senses going haywire, when there was clearly nothing around him? It was infuriating, and more than a little maddening, to be honest. Growling softly to himself, John continued on his walk, casually dropping his hand to the holster containing his sidearm. No matter how skilled the hidden assassins were, John doubted they could surprise an augmented super soldier who was fully alert and ready to fight.

2330, Belatona, Roran.

Roran sighed, listening to his two companions chattering behind him. They were on patrol through the streets of Belatona, making sure everything was where it was supposed to be, and nothing was going to blow up the moment they walked past it. He suppoused it was a necessary evil, considering the state of disorganization the city was left in after their attack. The burned out husks of buildings lay shattered around them, piles of crumbling bricks swept to the sides to make walking easier. The blackened timber frames of the less well built homes stood drunkenly, and the smell of wood smoke and burning flesh was unavoidable. Such an environment was perfect breeding grounds for lawlessness, and thus it was determined necessary to enforce order in the city, or risk a rebellion. That was why he was patrolling the darkened streets, instead of in his tent, beside Katrina like he should have been.

He was walking along, with one of the great hulking aliens called Elites by their more humanoid allies, the UNSC. Beside the massive bulk of the alien, two members of the Varden walked at a leisurely stroll, chatting about everything and anything, swapping war stories and laughing at whatever misfortune the other had been in during their short years in the Varden. Evidently deciding their two companions were too quiet, they asked the elite about misfortunes that he had doubtlessly encountered. The elite didn't respond, preferring to walk alone, with his rifle pointed forward, ready for anything that might pop out suddenly. On his thigh, the hilt of an energy sword was attached through magnetic clamps, and a massive hammer was strapped onto his back, with a curious blade curving around the back of the head. Lights glowed softly along its length, blinking occasionally.

Undeterred by the elite's silence, the two continued, "Well? What have you gotten yourself into during your career?" one asked.

The elite finally turned around, annoyance evident. "Shut up, we have a job to do." He growled.

Privately, Roran agreed, the faster they finished, the sooner he got to get back into his tent, back to his wife. However, the two men didn't seem to think so, as one of them voiced very loudly.

"Come on, what are we doing here anyway? We conquered this city, and it's been quiet here ever since. Loosen up big guy, there's nothing that can possibly happen he-uuurggk!"

His sentence was cut of abruptly, as an arrow buried itself into his neck, punching straight through, and leaving a spray of blood as it flew out the exit wound, its fletching saturated with the man's blood. The man's friend also died at the same time, just as a shrill whistle rang out into the air. Sensing danger, Roran immediately rolled to the right, just in time to see a crossbow bolt slam into the ground he had been standing on. Simultaneously, another bolt glanced off the elite's shield, skidding off to the side, before landing in a pile of rubble. Roran didn't even have time to think about the two unfortunate men. He simply grabbed the handle of his hammer and charged the two cloaked figures he could just make out hidden behind a pile of rock. Seeing one man's arm go up, Roran dove to the right, hearing the bolt whiz past his cheek, and disregarding the brief flash of pain that he registered as the tip grazing his skin. Behind him, the whirring of the elite's two plasma rifles was all the warning Roran had, before the air heated up, as supercharged blue bolts of plasma smashed into one of the assassins. The brief flash from the glowing orbs briefly illuminated the face of Roran's adversary, before Roran brought his hammer down, reducing the other assassin into a puddle of meat and crushed bone. Panting from the adrenaline that was shooting through his veins, Roran turned around to check on the other two members of his group. Instead, he found himself face to face with one of the Imperials' improvised armor vehicles.

Roran had laughed with some marines about the large beasts, mainly because the inferior armor plate was absolutely useless against the HESH and APFSDS rounds used by the UNSC's tanks, or even some of the larger infantry weapons. However, the armored machine seemed much more menacing and deadly when Roran had no armor of his own to counter with. Hell, he didn't even have a pistol, preferring his hammer over the confusing array of buttons and levers he had to memorize to even fire a round. Then there was the procedure when not in combat, and the procedure for maintaining the weapon, and the procedure for aiming, and the procedure for clearing jams, and the procedure of reloading. Then there was the method of counting his shots so he could keep track of the bullets left in his magazine. Roran never understood how the UNSC marines managed to keep track of how much bullets had been fired, when he couldn't even count that fast in his head. He preferred his hammer over the multitude of moving parts of a gun. However, that meant he was essentially helpless against the armored box in front of him. While an antitank round would easily tear a hole past even the upper plate, his hammer would not even be able to dent it. Slowly, Roran began to realize just how terrifying armor could be to lightly armed infantrymen.

Standing before the metal monster, Roran's only warning were several metallic clicks, before a hole opened in the front of the turret armor, and a hidden crossbow fired it's projectile at him. Rolling out of the way, Roran glimpsed a flash of movement as the archer brought another crossbow to the port and fired again. Luckily, Roran just managed to get away, the bolt missing him by inches. Then, the hole shut itself, and a much larger hole opened up, revealing a massive crossbow, evidently the "main gun" of the vehicle, much like the scorpion's high velocity cannon. However, despite the primitive it was compared to the UNSC's equipment, Roran realized that it wasn't primitive at all compared to what he carried with him. The bolt was easily as tall as him, the shaft as thick around as his wrist. The sharpened metal point glinted in the torchlight, glowing green as a barely visible magician began to cast a spell, no doubt explosive in nature, on the tip. However, the tank never managed to fire, as a hail of plasma took advantage of the exposed hole, and entered the interior. The screams of the men in the turret were evident, as the metal plate protecting the hole snapped shut. Roran glanced behind him to see the elite holding both of his plasma rifles, still glowing hot from the rounds it had fired seconds ago.

The elite grunted grudgingly, before speaking to Roran, "You fight well human, and your bravery is to be commended, but no matter how great of a warrior you are, you cannot kill if your blade is not sharp."

Roran was about to point out that his weapon wasn't sharp, and he'd killed just as easily, if not easier than any blade the Varden had available. Then he realized that the elite hadn't meant it in a literal sense, He might have been the best hammer-wielding soldier on the battlefield, it still wouldn't have mattered against the tank, not with its copious amounts of armor plate. Sighing, Roran nodded in defeat, before saying, "I'll pick up a more effective weapon from the armory later, right now, we still have to meet up with reinforcements, and find out how the imperials managed to hide such a massive box in the city.

The elite shook his head grimly, "They didn't hide it, we've just discovered a large tunnel in the center of the city, and they cast some form of magic to prevent reinforcements from arriving." He said.

Roran followed the elite's gaze, only to stop short when he looked up at the ceiling. For instead of the sky, a translucent, poisonous green dome could be seen blocking them from the outside world. Roran froze, despair settling into the deepest pits of his stomach, he realized that soon, he would be facing a numerically superior foe in a very short time, without the backup of their greatest soldiers.

The Spartans and the elves were outside of the city, along with Eragon and Saphira. The UNSC troops in the city were few, and spread far apart, with the bulk of the forces in the city from the Varden. As he watched, several tracers streaked out from the direction of the UNSC camp, exploding on contact with the barrier.

"So we're alone here, without help." Roran stated, glancing behind himself.

In a situation like the one he was in, it was suicide to remain looking in one direction for too long.

The elite nodded, "we won't be able to bring in reinforcements until the dome is brought down. Since the dome appears to be impervious to smaller caliber artillery fire, we're going to have to take out the source of the shield. Command isn't willing to utilize the energy projectors or orbital ordinance in order to prevent friendly fire."

Roran nodded, "Where would the source of this shield be?" he asked.

"In the tunnel, they wouldn't expose such a crucial piece of their plan so readily." Came the elite's prompt reply.

Roran nodded, readying his hammer. "Any other patrols that we can group up with?"

"Well glad you asked, you're lucky we're on the same side, I could have dropped the both of you before you realized the other was dead."

The voice caused both of them to spin around, seeking their hidden observer. The elite was the first to spot the man, crouching behind the remains of a burnt out window, the distinctive long barrel of a sniper rifle blended in with the piles of masonry flawlessly.

Roran sighed, he never understood why the UNSC and the elites always seemed to threaten to kill each other so casually. It was really unnerving, as he was never sure when the two sides were joking, and when they really were about to kill each other.

Pushing his thoughts to the back of his mind, Roran raised his arm in a wave, motioning the man to come down from his perch. Roran saw the man shrug, before grabbing his rifle and motioning for his squad to follow. Roran watched as about twenty men walked up, a hastily formed assault team, consisting of 5 marines, and 14 Varden foot soldiers.

Smiling, Roran and the elite stepped forward to join the team.

0030, Belatona, Roran.

They had been walking for half an hour towards the tunnel's location, gathering more survivors of the initial ambush. Their group now numbered 47 men, with about 14 UNSC marines, and an elite. They were now hiding a few feet from what had been a small park. Now, it seemed to be a parade ground for tanks, judging by the twenty massive iron hulls that were neatly aligned in a row. Campfires were strewn around the hulking beasts, and the crews of the iron monsters congregated amongst themselves, chatting and laughing about what they thought would doubtless be their first victory since the appearance of the UNSC. Roran gripped his hammer tightly, as he watched the UNSC marines gather together, discussing tactics, and checking their equipment.

After a few minutes, one of the marines scrambled back, hissing commands to the Varden foot soldiers, and occasionally pressing a round object into their hands.

"Everyone!" hissed one of the marines, "get ready to charge, the signal is when the sarge drops the first imp. Those with grenades lob them at the fires!"

After seeing everyone nod, he scrambled back up to the vantage point picked out by "sarge". They waited in silence, tensely waiting for the distinctive crack of the sniper rifle. They didn't have to wait long, as half a minute after, the sharp retort of the gun sent the bullet flying through the chest of an imperial officer, disintegrating flesh, bone, and organs alike. Before the smoke of the spent round even dissipated from the muzzle break, a great yell rose from the throats of every soldier, as fragmentation and plasma grenades rained down on the surprised imperial troops. From several vantage points, the clatter of machinegun fire came to life, tracers flew off into the night, and several men fell, riddled with .50 caliber bullet holes.

As one, the Varden rushed the imperial positions, even as their semi-trained enemy scrambled for the cover of their tanks. One group was faster than the Varden, and an arrow sliced the air beside Roran, before embedding itself into the knee of a screaming foot soldier. Roran winced at the screams, the man would not be able to fight again, and he would probably soon find himself on guard duty, if he recovered at all.

Behind him, Roran heard a thump, and a bright flare of light, as a 105mm unguided HEAT rocket flew over their heads, exploding in a ball of fire against the upper plating of one of the tanks. The jagged hole left in the armor left plenty of evidence to the state of the crew inside. The second rocket hit the tank behind them, exploding against the mantlet, and fusing the turret to the hull.

After that, Roran lost track, as he crashed into the panicked imperials, his hammer rising and falling rhythmically, monotonously. The light form the fires and explosions only allowed him to see the faces of his victims, burning each face into his mind forever. Roran grimaced, as he finished off the last imperial not inside a tank, and turned to see that the Varden had surrounded the last tank, futilely stabbing at it with spears and swords. The UNSC marienes, were shouting at them to get clear, but their cries fell on deaf ears, forcing them to hold their fire for fear of hitting one of their own. Roran growled, frustrated at the stupidity of his allies. Rushing forwards, he ran forwards, smashing his hammer into the upper metal plate, striking sparks, but causing no other harm to the armor plate. Without looking at the results, he soved his way through several allies, knocking them down. Ignoring their indignant cries, he gestured forcefully with his thumb, pointing at the marines, who were clearly frustrated with their inability to fire, given the proximity of their allies.

"Fall back!" he snarled, before rushing to the other side, and repeating the process.

With everyone a safe distance away, Roran saw the marine holding the launcher stand up and depress the trigger. Roran shut his eyes, and pressed himself behind a crumbling wall to shield himself from the blast. Nothing.

The shout of "Misfire!" and the clunk of the launcher hitting the ground as the marine hurriedly threw the live missile away from friendly troops stunned Roran. This was the first time Roran had seen anything used by the UNSC fail. And he realized just how dangerous it was if something like their current situation were to happen. The missile could have decimated half of their force, had it simply blown up instead of remaining inert.

Then, there was a flash, and the rocket detonated, thankfully far away from allied forces. However, Roran realized that there was no longer any weapons designed to deal with heavy armor. He could hear the triumphant and relieved shouts of the imperial crew where he lay, and a glance over his cover showed the armored box moving forward at a crawl, as the imperial troops decided to attack at close range.

Thinking desperately, Roran tried to find a way to immobilize their attacker. Then, an idea came to him. Pushing himself out of cover, Roran sprinted forwards as two arrows flew by him. Raising his hammer, he swerved to the side of the armored box at the last second, before raising his hammer and swinging it against the side turret, as hard as he possibly could.

He didn't hear the bell-like peal of metal striking metal, his shocked mind shut all extraneous noise, out. The only thing he could hear was the sickening crunch. The only thing his arms felt was a jarring shudder, before the tip of his hammer flew off its handle, the heavy iron head missing his face by a mere fraction of an inch. Dimly, Roran registered the pain as dozens of splinters embedded themselves in his hands, felt the tiny, warm rivulets of blood from the wounds. He stared at his hands, shocked that the one object that had never failed him disintegrated in a single strike.

He dimly saw a man peek out from underneath the metal skirt, a shorts word in his hands, as he grinned maliciously up at him, preparing to drive his weapon into Roran's gut. A crack put any thought of that out of his head. In fact, it even caused his brains to fall out of his head, leaking from a massive hole that had appeared right between his eyes. The fin-stabilized bullet continued on its way, striking sparks and tearing a deep gouge through armor plate, before it was deflected away from the iron box.

Still, Roran kneeled beside the vehicle, staring at his hands in shock. In the distance, Roran heard a deep voice shouting his name. He raised his head in a detached manner, disinterestedly wondering why someone was calling him. The only warning he got was the rapidly growing shadow, as a long pole adorned with blinking lights landed on its handle, sticking wedging itself in a pile of soft rubble. Roran looked at it, before recognizing what the marines called a gravity hammer. Then instinct took over, and he pushed off the road, lunging for the hammer, just as another arrow embedded itself where he had been moments before.

Roran grabbed the handle, grunting at the weight of the weapon, before ducking behind the remains of a statue to avoid yet another arrow. Utilizing the time it took for the archer to get another arrow ready, Roran rushed to the side, easily circling the heavy and cumbersome metal box. Futilely, the turret tried to track him, as the captain desperately instructed the bearers to turn with Roran, to help the turret line up a fair shot. Instead, the confused men inside began to turn, but in different directions since they couldn't see which direction they were supposed to turn in. Roran utilized the confusion, rushing up to the side, and striking another blow at the side of the tank. The force of the hammer sent Roran flying backwards, as he hadn't braced himself for such an impressive force. However, the crew of the tank had a much more miserable experience, as it tumbled through the air, crushing the heads of several bearers, before landing on its side. Judging by the general tangle of limbs and cursing from inside the now exposed box, the crew was not happy about the sudden crash course on how to fly a two ton metal box.

The rattle of MG fire at the now exposed bottom soon ended any complaints from the doomed crew.

Panting Roran walked up to meet the rest of his allies. Turning towards the elite, he said "Thanks, I would never had made it out without your weapon." He raised his hands, presenting the elite with the gravity hammer.

The elite shook his head, "You have earned that weapon human, your courage on the battlefield is commendable, despite your… messy way of dealing with your enemies. That weapon now belongs to you."

Roran looked down at the weapon in his hands, shocked. "Why would you let me have this? Such a weapon would be invaluable should you need to deal with heavy armor again."

The elite's rumbling chuckle stopped his protests. "That weapon is yours now, because you can use it to greater effect. After all, a weapon is made to be used, is it not?"

Nodding mutely, Roran withdrew his hand, cradling the heavy hammer in his hands with almost a religious reverence.

Around him, the remaining Varden began to cheer at their latest victory, while the marines tried to get everyone quiet and organized.

"Alright boys! We have a target to take down! So shut up and ready up! We're going to give everyone five minutes rest, before we move into the tunnels to take down whatever is maintaining this damn shield!" shouted the man known as "sarge".

With a collective sigh, the men flopped down where they were standing, resting as much as they could before they entered the now unguarded tunnel entrance. All too soon, the rest period was over, and the clatter of weaponry and armor was heard as the men picked up their weapons and stood at the entrance, ready to enter and destroy whatever it was that had sealed the city from their main force.

In the rear, the Marines counted their remaining ammunition, and readied grenades of all types, preferring a support role to maximize the effect of their small strike force. At the command of their leader, flashlights clicked on, lighting up the earthen walls, and uneven flooring of the hastily constructed tunnel. The small group tensed, readying their weapons as they stepped down into the darkness, possibly for the last time in their lives.

A/N: I tried to change up my writing style a bit in this chapter, including the use of more frequent paragraphs, to prevent the wall of text syndrome. Anyway, I was wondering if anyone would be willing to help me review and beta read this story, as I feel really bad about my grammar and simple spelling mistakes. Spell check helps somewhat, but it never is enough, so if you are willing to help out, send me a PM, and many thanks in advance! Anyway, hope you all enjoyed and please review!