Apologies to all of my Mass Emile fans, I know I promised you an update, though to be fair, this is another Emile fic. Why another Emile fic you may ask? Well the answer is quite simple. He's my favorite, and remarkably underappreciated (my own opinion of course).

If you are wondering on the status of the next chapter of Mass Emile, fear not, I'm nearly halfway through. I was nearly done then I took a look at the chapter and realized that nothing that I had written made any sense, so I had to start over. I hope you all understand and thank you for bearing with me.

Now, onto this story, as you can tell from the section it's under, this is a Skyrim/Halo crossover that will start from the very beginning of Skyrim because I have no imagination, whatsoever. I will, however, show you how Emile manages to get captured, rather than just start him off in a cart wondering how he got there. We've all seen those stories, they all suck.

One last thing before we start, for those of you familiar with Mass Emile, don't expect the same personality in this story. I plan on making him a little more drawn back, internalized, and observant.

And without further adieu, we can begin.

One ton of steel roared through the air at ludicrous speeds before boring a hole from bow to stern on a small purple ship. The pieces of the Type 52 Phantom dropship flew out in all directions as a small fireball erupted from within.

"That one was for Kat," a small, dark whisper emanated from behind a glaring skull.

The massive tower of steel and titanium swerved again and found another phantom. The skull's eyes reflected an LED screen in front of it as the mini series MAC canon spooled up the solenoids along each rail. As the energy began to build in each rail, so did the electrical discharge, casting an eerie blue light on the complex in lieu of the failing sunlight.

Emile let go of the triggers, watching the screen intently as the electrical discharge exploded into a fiery line, pointing straight towards the distant purple dot. Not even a quarter of a second later the thin yellow line ended in a brilliant purple and pink fireball.

"That was for Jorge," the Spartan said again, this time louder and filled with a certain amount of contempt, anger obviously building within this armored titan.

Noble Four twisted the joystick by his right knee, swinging the turret around again to face behind him, the pushed the left joystick to lower the barrel before pressing and holding the triggers and watching the energy build all over again.

BANG… BOOM!

"Carter!"

Again, the skull clad warrior spun the turret, this time finding a Spirit class dropship, and again, he pulled on the triggers, held them down, and released them.

"NOBLE!"

A slimmer, more feminine version of the Spartan in the Onager, ducked under the swing of a giant hammer before coming to her feet and slamming a knife into the brute chieftain's spine and twisting. As the giant simian slammed into the ground the female Spartan swung her gaze around the landing platform before turning her attention to the canon above her.

The MAC roared again and another miniature sun bloomed into existence as another phantom straying too close to the landing pad exploded.

"REACH!"

Emile angrily swung his gaze from side to side, as did Noble Six down on the landing pad, "COME ON YOU MOTHER FUCKERS!"

"I don't think they're coming, Four," Six said, attempting to soothe the volatile Spartan.

"Bunch a fucking pussies," Emile muttered back, much to the woman's amusement, "Keyes, the pad is clear."

In response, a loud, clear, and noble sounding voice flooded the comm. system in Spartans' helmets, "Copy that Spartan, we're on our way."

Emile kept his skulled gaze on the sky, watching for anymore Covenant ships that may want to make a pass at the landing pad, while Six kept her gaze firmly locked on the pelican dropship descending from the gargantuan Pillar of Autumn.

Emile kept an eye on the handoff below, Six and Keyes were talking about something, the captain was holding the package.

Suddenly, movement caught the male Spartan's attention, a phantom that had hugged the bottom of the canyon between the Autumn and the landing pad fired upon the second pelican, crippling the human dropship, before moving on the MAC canon itself.

Emile didn't bother turning the gun, but rather grabbed his shotgun, an M45 Tactical shotgun and raised the barrel up to the window, just in time to shoot an intruding zealot. The buckshot tore through the glass canopy and stripped most of the shields straight off the maroon colored alien.

Rather than reloading the weapon, Emile surged forward, wrapping the thousand pound saurian in a crushing bear hug around the waist as he pushed with all his might. The two crashed down onto the steel deck plating below.

The powerful sangheili warrior was still stunned when the Spartan reared back, slipping the kukri from his right shoulder paldron and slammed it down through the reptilian's skull.

A red dot flared on Emile's motion tracker, prompting the super soldier to roll to his left, keeping a grip on his knife as another zealot landed on top of the dead one, impaling it with its plasma sword. The saurian roared in anger as it looked down at the body of its former brother in arms. The sangheili never registered the silver flash of steel plunging into its eye.

A series of clangs sounded behind Emile as the rest of the phantom's crew dropped into the warehouse below, three zealots, twelve grunts, two pairs of jackals, and to top it off, a field marshal with a fuel rod canon.

"Gonna need some help up here!"

"Acknowledged, on route to assist, Four!"

Emile didn't acknowledge the lieutenant, instead he pulled his magnum from his thigh holster and opened fire on the zealots taking moving towards his position. A hail of high velocity plasma rounds responded, easily slicing through the thin steel railing which Noble Four was taking cover behind.

Moving quickly, Emile fired four more shots as he leapt from the platform down to the second level of the warehouse. More of the hot plasma followed him as he ducked behind a supply crate. The familiar staccato of an MA37 Assault Rifle joined the whine of the alien plasma rifles as Six finally entered the fray.

Swapping the clips inside his magnum, Emile cursed his foolishness in leaving his shotgun back in the cockpit of the MAC canon. He had used that particular shotgun since he had first been assigned to Noble team.

He slipped the pin from one of his numerous grenades slung across each side of his chest and tossed it towards the sound of a nearby zealot. The resounding boom and a shriek of rage was all he needed to pull out of cover and raise his pistol.

BANG!... THUD

Emile had no time to revel in his victory as his motion tracker blared in alarm. Instinct took over as the warrant officer ducked underneath a swoosh of plasma. Rather than rising, the Spartan lashed out with his foot, smashing into the knee cap of the zealot and making a rather satisfying crack.

The hulking saurian crashed to the ground next to Emile with an incapacitated leg, but still managed to lash out at him with its energy sword. The skull clad warrior rolled away from the strike, coming up with his pistol in his right hand, kukri in the left. Four shots finally put the alien out of its misery, but also drew the attention of the remaining two elites, one of which was carrying a very, very big gun.

"Sonnava-" Emile barely got out of the way in time as a green blast struck the steel where he once stood.

Taking cover yet again, the Spartan watched a red dot approach his cover, and readied himself for a close quarters confrontation when a yellow dot appeared with the steady barking of a DMR.

"I got your back, Four!"

"Jaysus, what were you doing down there?!"

"I'm engaging a zealot with a pair of plasma rifles, looks like the big guy is still focused on you," she replied.

"I see that," Emile said as he slipped another grenade from his chest and popped it towards the red dot that was standing alone.

Once it exploded, Emile rolled out of cover, firing his magnum. Unfortunately, the elite's shields were incredibly powerful, and the grenade had hardly been one of the Spartan's more accurate throws. Each fifty caliber slug simply bounced off the incredibly powerful shields and did nothing to deter the field marshal from swinging its shoulder mounted canon to bear.

Leaping from place to place, each leap punctuated by a green explosion, Emile finally landed behind cover again. Glancing to his left as he was facing back towards the MAC gun, he took notice that Six was finally done with her zealot, and was similarly taking cover.

"Emile we have a problem," she said, pointing up.

The male Spartan looked up into the sky, and immediately saw the problem. A CCS covenant battlecruiser was advancing upon their position, undoubtedly for the express purpose of destroying the Pillar of Autumn.

"We better get to work then, fast," Emile replied, looking back to Noble Six.

The lieutenant held up three fingers, and began to count them off. When she finally held up a fist, both Spartans lunged out of cover to face the field marshal, canon raised to meet the duo's weapons.

CLICK!

CLICK!

CLICK!

Emile and Six shot a look at each other, both of their weapons were empty. Both Spartans searched for more ammunition, hoping to find a spare clip, a few extra rounds buried in their armor's pouches, and came up empty. A quick look showed that the field marshal was not as unlucky as the two of them, having already grabbed a green rack of fuel rods.

They only had two options, take cover and find some more ammunition, which would give time for the cruiser overhead to glass the Autumn while it was still in dry dock, or Emile, as the fastest sprinter of Noble Team could rush the elite while it was still reloading.

"SIX GET THE GUN!"

"EMILE!" Six was too late. At nearly thirty miles per hour, Emile was on top of the alien even as it slammed the rack into the fuel rod canon. Wrapping the bigger combatant up similarly to how he had tackled the zealot on the MAC gun, both Spartan and sangheili were flung from the building, missed the small ledge, and began falling the near two thousand feet to the bottom of the canyon…

…

"HEY!"

Emile looked up at the voice, the memory he had been replaying coming to a halt as he regarded the dozen humanoids in front of him. They were tall, no where near his six foot ten, but probably an average height of six foot four, the tallest standing around six foot six. Of the twelve he was now facing, eight of them were on foot, wearing some sort of gold colored alloy for armor that seemed to have been made by an artist. The other four were on horseback, and were each wearing some sort of black cloak, the gaudy gold accents marking their clothing led Emile to believe that these were the commanders of the small force assembled here.

Of all the oddities striking the Spartan then and there, such as the lively green forest he stood in, the strange metals the soldiers wore, even the horses the commanders rode or the swords and shields they wielded, what really made Emile think twice, were the people themselves.

The foot soldiers wore helmets that left their faces bare, allowing Emile to see their golden skin and yellow eyes, but the woman who was obviously in charge was the most revealing. The other commanders all wore hoods but she sat with her hood down, allowing the Spartan's enhanced eyes to see two very long, very pointy ears sticking out from behind her blonde hair.

As the giant human was taking in all of this, the soldier addressing him was moving forward, "I'm talking to you, human."

The disdain marking the word human brought the Spartan's icy emerald eyes back to the lead soldier.

"I asked you a question! How did you get out here?"

…

Emile and the sangheili were falling…

…

Noble Four squashed the memory before it could begin, he needed to stay focused. The situation was obviously hostile. Each soldier was holding a sword, seemingly made of the same metal as their armor, some where holding shields, others seemed to have their hands open for some reason, and the one who asked the question was advancing on him, albeit, rather slowly.

Emile subtly shifted his weight forward, ready to intercept the leader when another soldier asked a question.

"What happened to your clothes, Redguard?"

Emile tilted his head slightly at the question till a gentle breeze reminded him why someone might ask that question, he wasn't wearing a shirt. In his escape from Reach his MJOLNIR had rapidly deteriorated, so there he stood, in front of a small party of humanoid aliens in a pair of size eighteen combat boots, padded grey Kevlar battle pants, and no shirt.

But even then, the question made him halt somewhat, they had called him a Redguard, the aliens speak English, it was entirely possible that they had encountered humans before, though it was entirely possible that these people weren't friendly with humans.

Finally, the woman in charge spoke up from her horse, "Enough of this; detain this… human…" again with the distaste, "and we shall execute him with the others."

Others? A slight shift of movement ninety degrees to the Spartan's left caught his attention. Three wagons, one had four people in it, the two facing him definitely human, the second one had five humans in it, and the third was filled with human corpses. Guarding the convoy were more humanoids in leather armor, though they had different skin color and may actually be human.

More questions sprang up in Noble Four's mind, why were the guards on the convoy different than the soldiers still standing around him? Why were they dressed like ancient Roman Legionnaires? Why were humans helping aliens execute humans?

A hand reached for Emile's right arm, cutting off his musings and switching his mind from passively observant, to destructively active.

Twisting the offending arm with his right hand, a sickening snap was heard as the arm was pulled out of its socket and the forearm bones crushed under the Spartan's iron grip. Before the soldier could cry out, Emile's left fist met his right jaw, crushing the light, pliable metal and the wiry alien's jaw. Another snap was heard as the head jerked back fast enough to actually separate the skull from the spine, causing the head to roll loosely as the Spartan allowed the body to fall to the ground.

A split second passed as the events sank in to the audience before the seven alien soldiers still alive sprang into action. The lead soldier approached from the super soldier's left, shield raised and sword drawn back ready to plunge into waiting flesh.

With a battle cry, the alien charged forward, only to be stopped dead in his tracks by Emile's palm flat against the shield. The alien thrust his sword forward towards the towering human, but was deflected as his dead comrade's sword swept it to the side before coming across, slashing the yellow skin of the throat.

Emile deflected another soldier's sword and ran him through in one swift, fluid motion, and left the sword buried in the alien's body as he ran forward.

Another alien raised her shield and brought her sword in a sweeping undercut, an undercut that the Spartan merely leapt over, as well as the soldier herself. Twisting in midair, Emile landed behind the soldier, grabbed both sides of her head, and twisted.

An imperceptible *twang* filled Noble Four's ears. Using immeasurably fast reaction times, the Spartan twisted his upper body, caught the broad arrow, and spun back to jam the arrowhead into the neck of another charging alien.

Grabbing the sword out of the falling soldier's sheath, Emile spun, deflected another arrow, reared his arm back, and flung the sword forward. Spinning end over end, the golden blade buried itself in the archer's chest.

The soldiers backed off of him now, keeping their distance as one of their commanders raised his arm. Emile barely saw the action, but he definitely heard the fire building in the alien's hands and he contorted his body to avoid the ball of fire.

Righting himself, he made eye contact with the alien on horseback, meeting the commander's orange eyes with his own icy emeralds before leaping into action, literally, leaping. The alien's eyes nearly bugged out of their sockets when he saw the impossibly huge human leap the twelve foot gap with ease, but Emile's fist helped push the eyes back into their sockets, and into the frontal lobe, and all the way through the back of the skull.

Emile turned to attack another nearby soldier when something struck him from behind. There was no warning, no sound, just a sudden stiffness in his muscles. The Spartan resisted, slapping the sword of a charging soldier away and breaking the alien's nose.

Before he could turn to see what struck him, Emile was hit again, his muscles going completely taught. He fell to the ground; face first, completely unable to even move his fingers. It was a miracle he could still breathe.

"Quickly, before he snaps out of it!" he heard the lead alien shout.

As soon as the order was given, he felt something solid connect with the back of his head. If he had to guess, the alien must have meant the blow to kill, but thanks to an unbreakable skull, the blow only managed to knock him out.

…

Ralof watched, stunned, as the elves stood over the massive Redguard. The Nord made eye contact with his commander and personal hero Ulfric Stormcloak, and could see the same stunned expression that must be plastered all over his own face. What kind of man could kill six Thalmor soldiers, resist a paralysis spell then knock out a seventh, before succumbing to two paralysis spells at once?

The speed at which the huge man moved was incredible. Like liquid lightning the dark skinned man moved from elf to elf with a grace that made the Thalmor look like they were horkers attempting to fight off the Heroes of Sovengarde, but rather than multiple heroes, they were only fighting one man. One impossibly huge man.

Too bad he's dead, Ralof thought. After the Redguard had gone down, an elf moved in with a mace and swung.

"Auri-El's grace, he's still alive!"

Ralof looked back up at the noise. How? How could he have survived that? This man was absolutely ridiculous, completely impossible. Capable of leaping great distances, killing man or mer with a single strike, and snatching an arrow out of midair, this Redguard was obviously no mere man, he was something more.

That bitch, Elenwen, spoke up, "He won't be for long. Tullius, have your men load him onto a cart."

"I don't take orders from you, Ambassador," General Tullius responded.

Ralof blinked at the response, he had always assumed that the Military Governor was used to bending over backwards for the damn Aldmeri Dominion, but here he was, essentially telling Elenwen to fuck off.

"All of my men are dead, General. Which reminds me, where were your soldiers during all of this?"

"Making sure the rebels didn't make run for it," Tullius retorted, "and not all of your men are dead."

With that final remark, the General turned his horse and moved to the front of the wagon line. Ralof looked at the Imperial with a new level of respect as he passed the wagon, even Ulfric's eyes didn't hold the same level of hate they normally did for the smaller man.

Elenwen sneered at the General's back before snapping at her subordinates. The two elves atop the horses scrambled down to help the soldiers move him, casting telekinesis to lighten the load for the two soldiers not killed, after they woke the unconscious one back up, of course.

When they finally managed to get the massive man over to the wagon line they approached Ralof's, obviously intent on putting him on. Both Ralof and Ulfric moved to the side, to allow them to put the prisoner deeper in the cart, but the thief sitting next to Ralof had an objection.

"You can't put him in here! He'll kill us all when he wakes up, you haven't even restrained him. He- OOF!"

The thief was silenced by Ralof, "Silence you fool, do you want them to kill us?"

The two soldiers hauling the huge man sneered at the thief before dumping the Redguard at the front of the cart, opposite Ralof and right next to the fourth passenger of the wagon, a girl. She was a high elf, obviously not Thalmor though, if the tattered rags she was wearing was any indication.

She was also young, at least young looking. With elves, who knew, but she was certainly a sight to behold. Her eyes were still closed, due to her being unconscious, so Ralof had no idea what color those were, but if red hair meant the same for mer as it did for men, then her eyes were either blue or green. Her skin was more of a pleasant golden tan, rather than the typical sickly yellow most Altmer displayed.

As soon as the newcomer was set down, the elf immediately shifted towards him in her slumber, so far as to rest her head on the bigger man's shoulder, making Ralof smirk.

The convoy kicked off again, and the wagon lurched forward, and soon they were feeling the stones beneath the wagon as they moved on towards their final fate. The elf's face as she continued sleeping relaxed; obviously she wasn't suffering from nightmares, but the Redguard's face contracted, into an expression of exertion. Whatever he was dreaming wasn't very nice.

…

Emile and the field marshal were falling, the elite was already doomed and the Spartan didn't have a very high chance of survival either, not unless he could separate himself from the alien.

Bringing his knees to his chest, the super soldier kicked the sangheili away from him, or at least he tried to. The massive covenant warrior was holding on, intent on taking the accursed 'Demon' with him.

Still holding his kukri in his left hand, Emile jammed the twelve inch titanium blade deep into the unarmored midsection of the alien, bringing forth a waterfall of blue tinted blood, and loosening its death grip enough for the Spartan to kick again, this time with a measure of success.

While he had managed to put some distance between himself and the field marshal, two four fingered hands desperately clung to the super soldier. Noble Four wrenched the knife from the alien's gut and picked a new target, its head.

Lashing out with all of his strength, the Merciless Wrath of Noble lodged the blade deep into the alien's brain, causing the alien to let go, but also causing the kukri to slip out of Emile's grip. He didn't have any time to attempt to retrieve the blade as both he and his dead adversary slammed into a deep pool of water.

The elite hit first, back first, then Emile hit the water just where the alien had gone in, slamming into the water like a ton of bricks. The MJOLNIR's shields blew out from the impact and the gel layer was ripped away in pieces between the super dense titanium plates. If he had had time to lock his armor, overload his shields, the fall damage would have been minimal, even without water, but as it stood now, the twenty foot deep pool was the only thing that saved him.

Water was beginning to leak into his helmet from the tears in his gel layer as Emile stood on bottom of the deep pond. Kicking the body of the dead field marshal out of the way, the Spartan began moving through the murky waters. Three hundred feet later, Emile could see light from the surface, but his helmet was also half full of water.

Bursting from the pond at its shores, the super soldier ripped his helmet off, spewing water from his mouth onto the rocky beach he found himself on. A surprised warble alerted him to the fact he was not alone.

The Spartan looked up from his knees and found three sangheili warriors that must have been trying to cut off inbound convoys from reaching the Autumn. The lead alien was one of the biggest Emile had ever seen, nearly nine feet tall, and was clad in the golden armor of a general, energy sword in its right hand. The other two were far less impressive, merely the standard eight feet tall of their species and wearing white ranger armor.

Emile was the first one to jump into action, throwing his skull engraved helmet at the ranger to the general's left then charging the golden elite. The general brought the sword upwards in a diagonal slash, but was too slow as Emile grabbed the arm, spun with it, and buried the sword in the ranger to the general's right. Using the big elite's momentary loss in focus, the Spartan slipped his second combat knife from his left shoulder pad, this one underneath the titanium plate, and bringing it up through the massive aliens mandibles and through the brain.

Letting both aliens drop to the rocky beach, Emile ducked underneath a massive two toed hoof headed straight for his helmetless head. Rising underneath the outstretched appendage, the Spartan flipped the alien on to its back before rearing back and finishing it off with another fatal stab to the brain.

The super soldier snatched his helmet back up from the ground, ignoring the screaming in his muscles as he slid the very expensive technological marvel back onto his head. Only then did he allow himself to feel the aching throughout his body. Weeks of constant fighting capped off with falling two thousand feet left Emile weak, tired, and slow.

Gritting his teeth, Noble Four stood up, ignoring any pain, any feeling of weariness, and began moving. The giant figure of the Autumn next to him lit up with activity, the launch thrusters were beginning to ignite. Emile had to get out of there fast if he wanted to avoid being roasted alive by the massive retro-rockets.

Before he got far, however, a loud blast was heard, echoing throughout the canyon and beyond, followed by a massive boom as the covenant cruiser above them absorbed a hypersonic round directly through the main plasma coils. Secondary explosions rocked the vessel and it veered away from the Pillar of Autumn, managing to make it nearly a kilometer before falling into the bay after a particularly large explosion.

"Good work Six," Emile spoke, hoping to get a reaction out of the female spartan, but to his surprise, only silence answered.

"Six? SIX!" Emile grabbed at the right side of his helmet, where the radio transceiver was stored, but only found a pack of wires attached to nothing, "Wonderful."

Emile began hoofing it up a dirt slope in the side of the canyon, hoping to meet up with Six, maybe even find a way off of Reach before the Covenant could glass it.

The light behind him intensified, the Autumn was taking off, a roar bellowed throughout shipyards as the massive retro-rockets lifted the multi-million ton vessel out of its dock and into the air. Smoke followed the Spartan as Emile sprinted the last hundred yards up the trail to avoid being annihilated by the rocket burn. He made it to the top of the artificial canyon when the rockets dropped off the bottom of the ship, allowing the Autumn's powerful engines to take over, smashing through the sound barrier and blasting through the upper atmosphere.

The Spartan turned away from the canyon, not even vibrating under the massive shockwave following the sonic boom, despite the fact the environment was not as stable. Like the Specter of Death, Emile walked.

He followed Noble Six's trail of dead bodies, picking off the stragglers, even decimating scores of Covenant hunters attempting to track down the Lone Wolf. Of the hundreds of bodies on the trail behind him, Emile left at least half of them. Elites, brutes, hunters, jackals, and grunts, anything the Covenant could throw at him in the open terrain, Emile struck down with impunity.

Even without his shotgun, or his kukri, Noble Four was an absolute weapons expert. Perfection was the name of his game, absolute perfection with every weapon type he could get his hands on. Assault rifles, battle rifles, pistols, obviously shotguns, in fact, the only human made weapon he wasn't absolutely perfect with was the sniper rifle. He was a master by marine standards, even an expert amongst ODST's, but among his fellow Spartans? He was merely… average.

Perfection didn't end with chemically propelled weapons. Emile was an expert at handling plasma powered weaponry, finding plasma repeaters was always an excellent compliment to his devastating shotgun, and an energy sword was always a perfect prize. This was his weaponry as he moved forward, finding bodies with still bleeding wounds, and moving towards the sound of gunfire.

It was coming from a base, a small garrison was placed here; many of whom were slumped over at their posts, plasma burns cutting all the way through their dead flesh. Another phantom was making a pass at the base, dropping off four elite ultras and a field marshal directly on top of the gunfire.

"Hang on Six, don't die yet," Emile muttered as he began moving towards the small outpost.

On the perimeter of the outpost patrols of sangheili minors and their squads of grunts faced inwards, attempting to get a view of the battle within, of course this left them open to attack from behind. Emile kept the plasma repeater on his back and energy sword on his thigh, he couldn't risk being detected early.

An eight inch carbon steel knife plunged through the spinal column of one blue armored elite, dropping it to the ground in silence. The Spartan then moved with speed that anyone watching would have been unable to follow, flowing from one unaware alien to the next as his knife moved through the air leaving a thin trail of blue blood. The last alien, an elite major, turned to face the Spartan, evidently hearing the last grunt collapse to the ground, but was too late. A slash to the throat ended the alien's life without any resistance, spilling a waterfall of metallic blue blood onto the cement.

The gunfire was growing in intensity; the frantic warbles of high ranking sangheili were also growing more aggressive. Six was in a bad way, more high ranking sword wielders were inbound, and Emile was still a full minute out.

Noble Four intercepted three ultras on their way towards the fight, using his energy sword to split the first one across the waist, the second one lost a head, and the third one took a slash across the back, severing the spine.

The skull clad warrior bolted between two concrete buildings on his way towards the sounds of fighting. The gunfire had stopped, but the aggressive warbling was still going on. Emile intercepted another elite, this time a zealot, and tackled the alien to the ground. He reared back and delivered a powerful punch to the alien's right eye, snapping the head back and snapping its neck.

The Spartan leapt to his feet, sprinting off again, hoping to get to Six before she was killed. He was too late.

He burst into the courtyard to a field of corpses, and the death of a fellow Spartan. Noble Six was being held down by an ultra. A field marshal stood above the woman, energy dagger on his gauntlet engaged. Emile was already running before the dagger was moving but even then, he was too late.

The dagger plunged into the female Spartan's heart, burning it away and most of the other internal organs. There was no chance of survival, Six never stood a chance.

…

Emile awoke to the feeling of something nestled up against his right shoulder. Looking down, he found another one of those aliens from before leaning on him. The female alien was unconscious, undoubtedly a blow to the back of the head, if the welt back there was anything to go by.

This alien was different from the others, and not just because of the darker skin tone, or the unusual hair color. It was the fact she was clothed in what had to have been a potato sack not fifteen minutes before she put it on, not to mention the fact her hands were bound.

Speaking of being bound, Emile noticed a rather heavy pair of iron chains binding his hands. At least a foot of the grey metal was wrapped around his wrists, while the other prisoners in the cart were only bound with cloth.

A small moan sounded to the Spartan's right, the alien was waking up. She opened up a pair of ocean blue eyes to find dark skin. Blinking she looked up, making eye contact with Emile's frosty gaze. Here eyes widened at the situation she was in and she sat upright as fast as she could, blushing furiously. She reached up with her bound hands and brushed away a little bit of drool from the Spartan's shoulder.

"Sorry," she mumbled, catching the attention of the blonde human sitting across from them.

"Hey," he said, sounding amused, "you two are finally awake!"

The alien smiled back, but Emile just stared, "You were trying to cross the border, right?"

The female nodded back "Got caught in the Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there."

Both Emile and the girl turned to look at a skinny, darker man, "Damn you Stormcloaks, Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy. If I hadn't got caught in that ambush I could have stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell!"

"We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief," the blonde man replied softly.

Emile listened to every word as astutely as possible. Categorizing information and saving it for later. He didn't recognize any of the names, Skyrim, Stormcloak, Hammerfell, but whatever this Empire was, he was guessing that they were the ones leading this wagon train.

"What about you, eh?" the thief asked the bound and gagged man on Emile's side, "What do they got you for?"

"Watch your tongue!" the blonde man reprimanded hotly, "You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King!"

This put an expression of worry on the thief's face, "Ulfric Stormcloak? The Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion! But that means, if they've captured you. Oh gods, where are they taking us?!"

"I don't know where we're going," the blonde man said with a trace of melancholy, "but Sovengarde awaits."

"You mean?" the woman asked, speaking up for the first time.

"Aye, lass, the headsman is sharpening his axe."

Emile was already thinking up a means of escape. Judging by the ancient weaponry and technology the guards were running around with, he wouldn't have any trouble getting away through the forest. Even without his armor, the Spartan was faster than a horse. Of course there was still that unknown power he had encountered earlier. The firebolt that he narrowly avoided, and whatever paralyzed him earlier wasn't a toxin. If he had to guess, he'd say the two were related.

Noble Four looked towards the end of the wagon train, spotting those aliens from the forest. Though they wore different uniforms than the humans around him, the two were definitely aligned in their intention to kill him.

Emile continued to consider other ways out. If they were with the leader of a rebellion, it was likely the leader of this unit of soldiers wanted the spectacle to be public, probably a populated city. It would be easier to avoid those… unknown powers if there was a crowd to go through, buildings to take cover behind.

A sharp jolt on the wagon broke the Spartan's thoughts, causing him to look forward to where they were headed. A large wall stood at either side of the road, a gate in between each wall that opened up to reveal a small, medieval town. Houses made from wood fit snugly inside the stone walls surrounding the town and a faint trail of smoke could be seen coming from each chimney.

A voice called out, "Everything is read, General."

"Good, let's get this over with!" the general replied with a weary voice. He was a smaller man, wearing armor that was incredibly reminiscent of the Roman Legion and riding a horse that was obviously bred for war.

His horse trotted to the side to allow the wagon train to pass as the aliens rode up to him. It was here that the blonde man decided to speak again.

"General Tullius, the Military Governor!" he spat, "and it looks like the Thalmor are with him, damn elves!" he looked at the female sitting next to Emile, "uh, no offense."

"They're no friends of mine," she replied.

Emile furrowed his brow. Elves? Like, Lord of the Rings elves? Where the hell was he?

Suddenly the line stopped, causing the thief to speak up again, "W-why are we stopping!"

"Why do you think? End of the line."

The elf next to Emile closed her eyes, a pained expression crossing her face. The Spartan had no idea what possessed him to do this, but he nudged her as the wagon made its final stop. When she looked up at him, the super soldier gave her a nod of encouragement. She nodded back, used the cloth binding her hands to wipe her eyes, then stood up with the rest of the wagon's occupants.

She was definitely a tall woman, the top of her head coming even with Emile's chin, meaning she stood at least half a head taller than the rest of the prisoners. The potato sack acting as her shirt was a little short for her, providing the Spartan behind her with a perfect view of her lower back, stoking a primal desire that Emile crushed with impunity.

Her skin was smooth; she had no scars and probably had never seen much in the way of battle. Emile wondered briefly if she came from money, especially considering her hands and feet showed no calluses, but considering she wasn't human, the Spartan really couldn't say for sure if that meant anything.

There was a human with a book and a quill, crossing off names as he called them out. Every name coincided with a prisoner walking towards a chopping block, forming a crowd around it. A burly man with an axe stood next to the block, sharpening his tool.

The thief, Lokir, as it turned out, tried to run, and was cut down by a vigilante troop of archers. Emile realized that if he was going to escape, it would have to be near the chopping block, so as to not provide the archers with a clear line of sight.

The man was crossing off Lokir's name when he came to the last two, Emile and the female elf, "Wait, you there, elf, step forward."

She looked back at the Spartan, who just closed his eyes and nodded his head, and stepped forward. The man seemed to look at her closely, "Who, are you?"

There it is, Chapter One! I've had this idea brewing in my head for a while, I hope you don't mind me publishing just one itsy witsy chapter. I really enjoyed writing this one, I feel as though I have the action sequences for Emile down perfectly.

Now I know there are some questions you guys will have. No, Emile will not be the Dragonborn, he will not use magic, and he will most likely not see another Halo character until this story is pretty much over!

I don't want him to use magic for the same reason he won't be the Dragonborn, he's not from Tamriel! He won't have those abilities, plus he's already way overpowered compared to everyone else! It's why I took away his MJOLNIR! Could you imagine how stupidly unfair that would be!?

Not to mention that his warrior spirit is the perfect compliment to the character I will have as the Dragonborn. I haven't figured her name yet but I do know her skill set. She was on her way to the College of Winterhold to learn more about magic away from the politics of Cyrodiil and the Aldmeri Dominion and is incredibly skilled in all schools. That said, she has no ability with the sword, whatsoever. It's atrocious, and will be relying on Emile to be the muscle.

Her personality will compliment Emile's as well. being more carefree and generally happy compared to the Spartan.

Any other questions stick them in the reviews.