Halo: A Feast of Demons

Chieftain Bartandalus lay down to rest in his cot, resting after a long day of fulfilling battle. His Clan had camped outside the human settlement, riding in to ransack and burn as they pleased. The humans could hardly defend themselves, making it a soft target for them. However, three of their so-called Demons arrived. They’d wiped out fully half his force, sure enough, but they were hardly enough to halt his warriors. He discovered that Demon flesh is gamey that night. He kept their identifier tags strapped to his chest as trophies, marking him as a warrior of renown. Such glory would see him elevated to the ranks of the Bloodstars. He would present their bones and armour at Atriox’s feet then ascend to glory. As he idly dreamed of his future victories, his shelter rattled with a series of explosions, the walls flexing under the strain of the concussive blasts. Leaping from his cot, immediately began donning his armour.
‘Human survivors sought retribution!’ he thought to himself, ‘then I will be the one to devour their hope.’. He could hear the sounds of a firefight outside. It sounded like an entire human army was descending on them. Finally, a fight worthy of his talents! As he mounted his headdress, the clattering din of battle reached its loudest crescendo and suddenly stopped, leaving only the sound of a ravaging inferno. Bartandalus kicked down his door, dragging his hammer out behind him to let out a might roar of challenge that guttered in his throat as he saw the scene.
 
The shelters were burning, with heaps of smouldering flesh indicating many of his warriors only made it a few steps out before succumbing to their wounds. The armoury was still exploding as ammunition supplies ignited and detonated, sending lances of lights into the heaven that cast his camp in flickering shadows. The gate that held firm against any counter attack was open, and choked with the dead. His dead. Methane hissed from dead Unggoy, blood pooled from dead Kig-Yar, and his Jiralhanae warriors lay defeated. In front of him was his second in command, Javarus. He was his milk-brother, a loyal and dependable warrior who followed him from Doisac, to Reach, and beyond. He was on his knees, dazed and bleeding. Behind him stood the black-clad form of a Demon. With a flick of its wrist it withdrew its blade from Javarus’s neck, causing an arc of burgundy blood to erupt from his neck. Collapsing, Javarus mewled as his life force ebbed away.
 
Bartandalus howled in rage at this, his blood set alight in anger. This Demon, clad in black armour, had slaughtered his clan, his comrades, his legacy. Such failure a failure would end his ambitions. Even if he slew it, he knew the Bloodstars lay beyond his reach now. He howled in a frothing madness. He hefted his hammer into both hands and charged at the lone human. In his fervour, he could see his maddened countenance in its red visor, as crimson as a Doisac sunrise. Battle experience dictated the human would try to dodge to the side, or back, but he was wholly unprepared for the Demon to leap forward, grab Bartandalus’s Warhammer, then suddenly rock back, dragging both of them to the ground. The Demon planted a boot to Bartandalus’s chest and rolled back so Bartandalus was upside down, and finally gave him a mighty shove, launching him into a stack of crates. Such injuries barely slowed the Chieftain. The Demon immediately righted itself and waited until Bartandalus had risen, and tossed aside the hammer, signalling that it wished to continue battling hand to hand.
‘Foolish!’ Bartandalus chortled, as he used his dominant right hand to grab the club on his hip and draw it. He stepped forward, raised the club over his head and brought it down on the Demon in a wide vertical arc. He last used it on that gamey Demon whelp, and he heard her bones crack. He expected the same. The Demon raised its left arm over his head and the club impacted, and… it shattered. Black iron, from the heart of mother Doisac, that cracked armour and ruptured flesh, shattered like morning ice. He barely had time to process that before the Demon’s left hand snatched his wrist, twisting it and crushing his bones and armour like a vice. The Demon brought its right hand to his elbow in an open palm strike, and he immediately felt his bones and ligaments snap. Searing pain shot up the entirety of his arm, causing him to balk as he saw his arm hanging limply at an unnatural angle. He attempted to process this, but the Demon would not wait. A blow hit the outside of his knee as the Demon’s sledgehammer like punch splintered bone. He gasped for a moment before another of these blows hit his faced, shattering his jaw and knocking teeth free. He tasted the bitter copper of his own blood, and his vision blurred. The Demon clamped his hands onto the Chieftains head and swiftly twisted in a fluid motion. The last thing he heard was a loud cracking, as his head violently shifted to the right in forced movement. The battle was over in seconds.
 
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The Chieftain slumped onto his back, dead, like the rest of his pack. The spartan spied the dog tags hanging from his chest, like trophies. He pulled them free and quickly determined their original owners. Three Spartans from Gamma class. Zhou, Sasha, and Ayodele. They trained under him at Arcturus. There was a pained sigh as he pocketed the dog tags, before turning to walk away from the scene of carnage. The lone Spartan walked from the burning camp into the darkness.
 
“This is 013. Team Sagaris confirmed KIA, bringing their dog tags home.” He whispered into the radio
 
“And the Banished?” replied his ONI attaché
 
“No longer a problem.”
 
The Spartan disappeared into the night as suddenly as he had arrived.