When Destiny Burns, Ep. 1: A Halo and Inheritance Cycle Crossover

Chapter 2. 3 Odds

"P-please! Oh by the gods d-don't kill me! Oh god p-please!"

"Who are you?"

"I...I...I...am a swords-man in the i-imperial a-a-army...serving y-your majesty t-the King G-Galbatorix"

They served a king? "Where are we? What is this place?"

"T-the B-Broddring Empire of A-A-Alagaesia, our land. P-please d-demon, s-spare me!"

An empire ruled by a king. The UNSC had been attacked by an empire...and he was stuck in the middle of it. "Where are we now?"

"S-south of U-Uru'baen..."

The Spartan sighed. This was a mess; if he had just robbed the capital of an empire, before slaughtering the force that had been sent to deal with him, it would be worse than being stuck behind rebel lines.

And then there was the case of those strange, superpowered humans. "Who were those cloaked men?" He asked the captured soldier, gesturing to the mangled form of the black-garbed hostile.

"I-Imperial s-spellcasters s-sir!" The man told him. "P-please s-spare me sir!"

Spellcasters...right.

The Spartan lowered the body of the imperial soldier, grabbed him with both hands and snapped his neck. The lifeless body slammed to the floor and he sighed in frustration.

Spellcasters? Seriously? Magic? Not likely.

He let his gaze run over the many dozens of bodies and he concluded that it would be better to avoid these patrols altogether. If he left a trail of destruction everywhere he went, what was the point in trying to get away?

The Spartan oriented himself towards the south and kept moving, still ignoring the faint trembling in his pouch. The miles faded away underneath his steady march and the hours crept by, signaled only by his steady breathing and the rhythmic pounding of his heavy boots against the ground. The sun slowly descended, shrouding the land in more and more darkness until it finally disappeared altogether.

By that time, the Spartan reaches something resembling cover; a forest.

He didn't know how much distance he had covered since moving away from the capital. For eight hours he had moved and the average Spartan could easily reach more than fifty miles in eight hours...so he had crossed about fifty miles in that day alone.

During those movements, he had run into enemy patrols at least six times. He had evaded those soldiers on all but one occasion, during which he had ambushed a group of eight horse riders. He had left one soldier alive for a while, interrogating him to learn more.

Apparently, the continent where the UNSC had landed was called Alagaesia. He had learnt of the King, Galbatorix, fighting a war against a group of rebels called the Varden. But once the soldier had started to talk about elves in the forest of Du Weldenvarden and dwarves in the Beor Mountains, he had killed him.

But it was curious...very much so. This was a medieval setting and the soldiers couldn't have been communicating with each other over such distances. No radios, for starters. The men hadn't been looking for him when he ambushed them, so they couldn't have known about him. And when a heavily armoured, blood-smeared figure asked you for details, you didn't answer him with a sarcastic joke. No, both soldiers he had interrogated had been terrified, yet both of them had given him a similar answer. Magic.

Which didn't exist. But he had seen the methods those strange men had used when trying to kill him –the almost invisible strikes that had hit him and drained his shielding. There was someone behind all of this; someone who had brainwashed these people into thinking they were medieval, while at the same time messing with their bodies to allow for superhuman abilities. And if he were to guess, that person was named "Galbatorix", as that man was the king.