AN: This story is set several years after the end of Halo 4 (and likely 5). To date, humanity and Sangheili have allied themselves (and the Grunts) into the Alliance, and the Kig-Yar are pirates that both sides, the Alliance and the Old Covenant, are trying to exterminate. The Old Covenant is made of the Brutes and Hunters. The engineers and bugs have disappeared – no one knows where, but they're gone gone gone. The Prophets are all either dead thanks to several targeted assassinations or under heavy guard on the Brute homeworld. For this story, though, that shouldn't matter. But now you know.

Chapter 1: The First War Game

Thel 'Vadam observed his chosen warriors, clicking his mandibles in satisfaction. Each had been tested in war before and looked forward to the upcoming contest.

There were three Sangheili facing him. Each was armored in the red and gold of the highest of Majors. Two had been his childhood friends, Kalam 'Vadamee and Dakur 'Vadamee. They could have been twins; the same height, with the same dusky brown leathery skin and slit-pupil yellow eyes that struck fear into humans. The only differences were in their jaw length – Dakur had the long, proud mandibles of a noble bloodline, while Kalam's mandibles were shorter and stockier, more crowded with teeth.

Thel had known the third only for half of their lives – they were roughly the same age, Thel guessed – but Ava 'Taham was well-known throughout the fleet. Half-brother to the infamous Usze 'Taham, son of Toha Sumai by another female Sangheili, Ava 'Taham was slightly smaller than his half-brother but more cunning and faster. He preferred the deep purple Assault Harness as his armor, though for this battle he had upgraded to the Major armor – they'd need it, against their opponents.

Across the stadium, Thel knew without looking, his human friend and ally was preparing his own forces. The Demon had agreed to this spectacle both to appease the tensions between Sangheili and humans and to keep everyone in fighting trim.

The scoreboards around the stadium had been specially refitted for the battle. They would display the score for each team. Every opponent removed from the battlefield would count as ten points; disabling hits were five; damaging hits were only one point.

Thel's warriors were armed with Sangheili-style plasma rifles and Carbines, but instead of live ammunition, they would fire a paint-filled substitute. Thel looked forward to seeing how accurate the "paint balls" would be.

Thel looked around the stadium. Most of the audience was human; there were few Sangheili yet on Earth. The seats were packed, however; the chance to see the Spartan-IIs, at least, had drawn a crowd. Humans moved between sections of seating, laughing, yelling, and screaming at each other. There was no hostility, however, and Thel turned around to survey the arena.

The ground was firmly-packed dirt under his hooves. He would have good traction. Several pillars had been erected between him and the opposition, varying widely in width and height. There were a few that he could stand behind; others would require that he crouch or even lie on his stomach. The pillars were spaced so that the crowd could watch everything, which meant it would be difficult to move between them without presenting an opportunity to be shot.

There was even a cave dug into the floor. The inside, Thel guessed, would be narrow and low. A good place to be ambushed. He decided they should avoid it.

The four green-armored Spartan IIs on the other end of the stadium sparkled slightly in the light of Earth's single yellow sun. A moderate example of a star, Sol produced just enough heat and light to keep everything on the planet alive, but would burn the thin skin of the humans if they remained too long outside in it. Thel had met several darker-skinned humans who didn't seem to have this problem, and it made him wonder how the paler skin came to dominate the race.

Across the stadium, the four green soldiers raised their rifles in salute; Thel and his team did the same. The match would start momentarily. Thel was looking forward to beginning.

~~HALO~~

John, receiving the reply salute with a slight grin, turned to his siblings. They were eager to get started; all had been feeling the pull of boredom and tranquility slowing their reflexes. Being back in a battle, even a mock-up like this, would be fun. And it would distract the world, for a few days at least, from the grim situation humanity faced.

"Let's kick ass," Kelly laughed, crouching at the edge of their starting square. Fred chuckled deeply over the radio; Linda, armed with a regular rifle instead of a sniper rifle because paint balls were anything but accurate at long distances, shifted and swiped a quick Spartan-smile across her faceplate. John returned it silently.

To honor the first game of the new War Games, Admiral Terrence Hood himself had come out of retirement to set off the starting cannon. The crowd hushed expectantly as he took to the stage in the pulpit overseeing the stadium; John turned with the silence and found the man. The Spartan, from this distance, could barely make out the grey of his hair, though up close he knew it was closer to white now.

The Admiral's wife and children were in the pulpit as well, John knew. He'd greeted them all when they had arrived; Terry, at least, would never had forgiven him if he hadn't. Little Jonathan – born the day after the original Human-Sangheili Alliance had been finalized – had, as per his usual, latched onto the Spartan's armor and refused to let go until the Chief agreed to come over and spend some time working with the boy on his martial arts. That, of course, meant that Lucy, two years older than the five-year-old clinging to John's armor, had to insist on another tea party with the Chief. Then Kade, with all the seriousness of his thirteen years, had asked if the Spartan would help him on a school project. Terry and his wife had laughed at the antics of their children but the weariness in their eyes made it clear to the Spartan that they could use the break, so he had agreed to take charge of all three younglings after the games and give the pair some time to themselves. Now he just needed to make sure it was alright with his siblings, with whom he still lived.

A lot had changed since the end of hostilities. After finally putting down the Covenant Loyalists, defeating the Didact – at the cost of Cortana's life, which still hurt John deeply – and chasing off the remnants of the Jackal and Brute nations, humanity was – finally – returning to peace. They were trying to, at least; snags like having too few bodies, too little space, and too long a wait to train the next generation meant that even super-soldiers like the Spartans found themselves working on crews clearing the debris from space battle-fields, escorting science ships on their quest for terraformable planets, and other small but vital jobs that never seemed to run out.

To add to the difficulties of trying to find homes for everyone who had been displaced during the war, the Sangheili had found out that extended close proximity with humans meant new and strange diseases were starting to cross the species boundary. Thel 'Vadam had caught a variant of the nearly-extinct chickenpox; John and Fred had fallen, in turn, to a Sangheili illness popularly called Scales for the hard, shiny patches of skin that were its main symptom. Kelly and Linda, so far, hadn't caught anything, and nothing had proven deadly. Everyone simply had to build up their immune systems. The humans were clearly faster at it than the Elites, the Spartans fastest of all. It had taken Fred and John a week to kick the illness which had hospitalized nearly half of the base they'd been in at the time, a month after the Sangheili had set up a permanent HQ just next door.

But the Arbiter's endurance had been tested as he willed himself not to itch at the spots along his neck and arms – and under his armor, for all John knew – and had made for several days of limited patience on behalf of the Sangheili leader. That, in turn, had led to a slowing of the rush to figure everything out, which had given everyone a well-deserved – and timely – break from the frantic rebuilding.

That had been two years ago, though; now Thel seemed immune to everything that humans could throw at him, unwittingly or not, though new arrivals from Sanghelios were being treated with vaccines. Few humans made the trip to Sanghelios; not only were they much busier on Earth and around it, but few were willing to visit the entirely alien planet. John was hoping to be sent as protection detail when Earth finally got around to sending over an embassy, though.

Admiral Hood stepped up to the pulpit's microphone and cleared his throat. The speakers boomed and everyone hushed to listen to the idolized man's words.

"Welcome to the very first War Games," Admiral Hood said, pacing his words so that the echo in the stadium didn't render his words insensible. "First of what we hope will be many such tests of prowess between the best of humanity and the best of Sangheili. Now that peace reigns in our galaxy, we turn to pastimes enjoyed by our ancestors like the Olympics and professional sports once again, and to the roster, we now add the War Games. For now, only two teams have agreed to entertain us all with their hard-won skills. The home team for this game is the Demons."

John smirked. The name had been chosen carefully. Since the Spartan-IVs were multiplying quickly, "Spartan" generally referred to the fourth-generation super soldiers now, instead of the IIs. However, "Demons" was a name that had put fear into many an alien species, and it only referred to the green-armored Spartan IIs.

True, there were only four of them left. They were still the Demons, still the strongest, fastest, and meanest soldiers humanity could field. Even with their hair greying – or even going white, like Fred's - John knew his team could fight circles around almost all of the Spartan IVs. It wasn't a point of particular pride, to him; he was, in fact, faintly uncomfortable with the knowledge. When they died – and at this point, no one knew if he and his siblings would enjoy the hundred-odd more years their lifespans could account for or if a new enemy would do them in before then – it would be up the IVs to take their place at the forefront of humanity's defenses.

The four Spartans raised their right arms in salute as the stadium roared with cheers. Their trademark green armor shone in the sun. Out of deference for the soldiers who had sacrificed so much for humanity, no Spartan-IV chose the same green color or even anything close. So the green of the MJOLNIR, tinged with the gold sparkle of shielding, was purely Demon.

"And the visiting team, the Sangheili Phantoms," Hood continued when it had quieted. On their side of the stadium, the Sangheili raised their arms in tribute as well; though there was cheering for them as well, it was less enthusiastic than it had been for the Demons.

"The game will begin on the sound of the cannon," Hood said. Everyone present already had a pamphlet explaining the rules of the game – there weren't many. Medics were standing by in the tunnels leading into the stadium, ready to help anyone who was seriously injured in the battle, but unless the battle devolved into fist fights, it was unlikely that they would be needed.

John picked his target as Hood prepared to sound the cannon; the Spartan would sprint for a close-by half-wall and crouch behind it. Kelly was choosing a target further out into the field, but she was faster – she would probably get there safely. Fred and Linda were going to stick together, as they usually did in training nowadays, and take control of the cave in the middle of the stadium – hopefully.

The cannon boomed through the stadium and all four Demons shot forward. John saw Thel and his Sangheili do the same, though they were slightly slower; he didn't bother trying to hit them. The paintballs had an effective range of about ten meters; after that, they would be almost useless. It was an old technology, but no one wanted to play without their armor, and the usual numbing rounds wouldn't work without seriously tampering with everyone's armor, which no one was willing to do.

John slid to one knee behind the half-wall, peering over the top. Thel was the closest target, standing twenty meters away behind a tall pillar. Dakur and Kalam were apparently going to challenge Fred and Linda for the cave, while Ava was moving towards Kelly.

Thel peeked around his cover; John raised his rifle and fired, though the Elite's faceplate was barely showing. The paintball swung wide, but the Arbiter ducked back quickly. John took advantage of his friend's movement to advance, jigging to the right to keep from accidentally running into either Ava or Kelly. He could hear the sharp crack of Linda and Fred firing – they'd engaged for the cave, then.

John knelt behind another half-wall, near the side, and looked around it at the pillar. Thel shot off a pair of rounds; the Spartan pulled his head back in before the Arbiter could recalibrate his aim for the paint balls' spin.

Then, fluidly, John rose to his feet, turning shoulder-on to Thel and one-handing his rifle. It definitely looked cool, but his aim was terrible as a result, and the Arbiter quickly ducked back behind his pillar.

Despite knowing that nothing on the battlefield could truly hurt him, John felt adrenaline coursing through his veins. It was a heady drug; he laughed and jumped over his covering wall, dashing behind a full-height pillar.

"I'm out," Linda said over the radio. John glanced over; the Spartan was walking off the field with Dakur, both splashed liberally with paint balls, enough that they had judged themselves "killed."

"Kamikaze," Fred huffed over the radio. That told John that Linda had stormed the Sangheili position, sacrificing herself to remove at least one of their opponents. "Kalam's injured – not sure how, yet. He hasn't moved and I don't want to expose myself."

"Where are you?" Kelly asked. "Ava's playing chicken and I'm about done here."

"In the cave, on our side. He could flank me at this point. If you lure Ava down here, I can take him out."

"I've got Thel," John said into the radio. He rolled slightly, peeking around the pillar, but he couldn't see the Arbiter.

"We figured you would," Kelly laughed. "I'm coming your way, Fred. ETA ten seconds."

Fred pitched his voice low, silkily. "Come to me, Kelly," he purred. Kelly snorted into the radio – she would have words with the playful Spartan when this was over.

John refocused on his task. He couldn't spot the Arbiter when looking out from his pillar. The audience wasn't giving him any help; they were probably shouting something he could use, at least a few of them, but the noise devolved into a near-constant roar.

"Ah! Son of a bitch!" Kelly cursed, drawing John's attention. "I'm out." She huffed. "Kalam was waiting in an ambush. He knew I would lure Ava in to Fred."

"They know us well," John reminded his team. "You're dead, Kelly, so technically we shouldn't know about Kalam ambushing you." He and Fred were left against three Elites, one of them the Arbiter. He glanced over; Kelly was scrubbing at her faceplate clear as she tried to clear the battlefield and walked right into a pillar.

"Son of a bitch."

John chuckled, shaking his head. They were all having far too much fun – they'd forgotten that this was actually a mock-battle, and that there were people watching. They were behaving like children.

"Well, since we're just making fools out of ourselves, John, care to go out with a bang?" Fred drawled. "And, Kelly, darling, you're about to run into another pillar. To the left." Kelly moved to her left and hit the pillar. Fred sniggered. "My left, dear."

"I'll show you left when you get out of there," Kelly growled. Linda hurried back onto the battlefield and escorted her sister out of the maze of pillars, using a cloth to clear Kelly's faceplate.

John cleared his throat. "What did you have in mind?" he asked Fred, already moving towards his brother's position. He darted quickly between pillars. Now the Spartans were outnumbered, and his blood was singing in anticipation.

Someone shot at him a few times, but nothing impacted; John slid into the cave and Fred grabbed his wrist, pulling him down behind a concrete boulder. They hunkered, hip to hip, each facing one of the entrances of the cave.

"Now we're trapped," John noted calmly.

"And they can either come in after us – which would be suicide – or they can wait for us to come out."

"Which would be suicide for us."

"Have some faith, brother mine," Fred scolded. "They don't know which side we'll come out. Where would you be, knowing that?"

"On top of the system so I could watch both ends. But Thel's got three Sangheili to work with."

Fred nodded. "One at each end, and one in the middle to go help whoever ends up catching the rabbit." John tilted his head – it would make sense.

"So what's your plan?" he asked suspiciously.

"Collapse the cave."

"That's nice. Do you have a grenade? Or were you planning on pulling it down on top of us?"

"You're getting sarcastic, John."

"You're being mysterious, Fred. We're running out of time."

"This ceiling isn't all that thick. I figure we can bring it down by weakening a few key pillars." He pointed to the rock pillars that were holding up the cave. "Then we'll have to break the last one from the lip of the cave and get the hell outta Dodge before it all comes crashing down."

"Alright. I'll take the left."

"Just be careful. I don't want it all coming down on us, 'cause then they'd win, and we're not supposed to lose here."

John snorted and slung his rifle. He lifted a rock and crossed the cave. A few well-placed blows brought down the first pillar; he moved on to the second. When he had cleared five, the ceiling started buckling.

"I think that's it!" Fred yelled, already darting towards the western opening. John followed him – if nothing else, they could surprise the Sangheili waiting on that side – and side-armed his rock back into the cave, bouncing it off of an already-stressed pillar. The rock column broke and the entire cave collapsed.

Fred laughed, sprinting out of the chaos. John was on his heels and they barely cleared the destruction.

Out of the corner of his eye, John saw a flash of red armor and turned, firing automatically. He caught the Sangheili – it had to be Kalam – in the chest, and felt the impact of a paint ball on his right arm. The armor had been tinkered with so they could at least feel the impact. He switched gun hands – his right arm was "disabled" now – and turned, protecting Fred's back.

Kalam submitted to his defeat, though, and raised his rifle in salute. The Sangheili thrashing in the ruins of the cave system was Thel. That left only Ava on the field, facing two Demons. The odds had turned.

Kalam helped the Arbiter extract himself from waist-deep dirt and they trooped off the battlefield. John couldn't spot Ava and crouched behind a half-wall with Fred, peering over the top.

"Alright, that was my shining moment. Time for you to shine, Demon." Fred smacked John on the shoulder, a grin in his voice.

"You're way too cheerful," John scolded. "This is supposed to be a mock battle."

"This is supposed to give people something to concentrate on other than rebuilding their homes, families, and lives," Fred replied seriously. "Really, John, did you think they'd come here if it was just to see a battle? They've seen battles. Most of them have probably been in one – or got displaced by one. They came here to see us play around with the Sangheili."

John glanced at his brother, quietly shocked. "It's still a mock battle."

"John, if we could have convinced the Sangheili to play soccer or football or even rugby, that's what we'd be doing right now, instead of a mock battle."

John suddenly had a flash-vision of the Arbiter trying to kick a soccer ball with his hooves. "Maybe we still can…" he mused quietly.

"What?"

"Nothing, Fred. Let's get Ava."

"Alright. Remember, we're not here to dominate, we're here to be actors."

"They're looking for a play, not a battle," John agreed, looking up into the stands. "Then why not give them both?"

"Whatcha got in mind, Chief?"

John frowned. He wasn't exactly creative – he could tactically analyze a situation with the best of his commanders, but he wasn't one for inventing historical attacks. If anyone could have heard his thoughts, though, they would have laughed themselves sick. The Spartan Jump, the Bomb Planter, the Frisbee of Death, the Thrown Shield – those were all common-use names for some of the maneuvers that had been used by the Chief himself that few could replicate.

"I'm down an arm," the Chief mused, wiggling his right hand. Fred nodded. "I can lure him into the open, you can take him down."

"An ambush on the ambusher? I like it. Not your most creative plan, but I think it'll work."

"Well, if I'd known I was supposed to be creative…" John bumped shoulders with Fred and then stood, leaving his rifle with his brother. He sprinted between pillars, looking for a flash of gold and red armor.

He found Ava on the other side of the arena. The Sangheili was untouched, his armor only slightly dusty from the collapse of the cave. John slid into the pillar the Sangheili was hiding behind. He heard Ava roar on the other side.

Time to run, John thought to himself. He took off, jigging right and left as he ran. He could hear Ava following and turned several tight corners. When he was sure the Sangheili couldn't see him, the Chief ducked behind a wall, crouching on one knee. The dust of his arrival formed a thin screen; Ava pounded past, not even glancing into the swirling dust to his left.

John leapt back up and the audience's roaring audibly increased in pitch and volume both. It alerted Ava to a change, and the Sangheili ducked back into cover. John quickly climbed a tall pillar, knowing the Sangheili would not think to look up; he looked down on Ava's helmet and then clicked his radio signal.

Fred's voice, over the radio, sounded amused. "You look like a giant, green robotic monkey, John," he commented. "Then again, so do I…"

John looked across the battlefield and found that Fred had had the same idea. They were nearly eye-level but fifty meters apart. Fred had hunkered down so that only his helmet peeked over the top of his pillar.

Below John, Ava was on the move again. He knew that staying still would mean "death" and was unconsciously moving towards Fred.

"I wish you'd taken your rifle," Fred murmured as they waited patiently for Ava to step into the clearing between the pair. "Then we could ambush him from both sides."

"When he's in position, throw it to me," John suggested.

"You are enjoying this."

"Very much so." John checked Ava's progress. "He's going the wrong way."

"Herding him back in." Fred ducked further behind his pillar and then fired; the bullets hit the dirt in front of the Sangheili, who turned – thinking the attack had come from someone behind a pillar in front of him, clearly – back towards the clearing the Spartans waited above.

"Coming in hot," Fred chuckled. "Ready?"

"Green," John replied, gathering himself. Ava didn't cross into the clearing, at least not immediately, but the pair of green-armored Demons were more than patient enough to wait. Like a deer testing the security of a meadow, Ava looked warily around, walking carefully and keeping his rifle to his shoulder.

"Now?" Fred asked lazily.

"Now," John confirmed. He jumped into clear space, pushing off of the pillar with his legs; Fred did the same and, mid-motion, hurled a rifle at his brother. John caught it in his left hand and both Spartans landed with identical thumps on either side of Ava. In perfect unison, they dropped to one knee and opened fire. The Sangheili roared in surprise as the paint immediately turned him a light green.

John slung his rifle and stood; Ava was clearly "dead" as almost his full torso was painted. Fred did the same, grinning. The crowd cheered wildly.

"Nice moves, boys," Kelly laughed, coming back onto the field. The other combatants followed her and they all traded handshakes; the Arbiter handed Ava an already-stained rag, which he used to clean up the worst of the paint mess.

"Well played, Demon," Thel said, chuckling deep in his throat and shaking John's hand.

"And you, Arbiter," John replied, grinning. "I look forward to another match."

"As do I."

They lined back up into their teams as Lord Hood stood back up to end the ceremony. He congratulated the winners and praised the athleticism and teamwork – carefully, John noted, the former admiral did not mention traits that were solely used in war, like handling rifles and confusing the enemy – of both groups. There would be more War Games, he assured the audience, who were slightly disheartened by the speed with which the match had concluded, and larger teams next time, and a larger arena. This had been a prototype.

"Where next, O Mighty Chief?" Kelly asked when the former admiral had finished speaking and dismissed the Spartans and Sangheili. She slung an arm around her brother's shoulders, having to stretch upward slightly to do it.

"I have to see Terry and the kids," John replied, handing a field aide his modified rifle.

"Another tea party?" Kelly guessed, sniggering.

"Lucy can't wait to show you her makeup skills," John replied blandly.

"Touché," Kelly laughed.

"They'll be coming over tonight."

"Does that mean I have to clean up the house?"

"At least," John told her, mock-sternly.

The Spartan's house, situated on a base though it was, was the most civilian thing they owned, but it still fit the Spartan lifestyle. They had each had a private room, originally, but years of separation and the need to be close meant they all bunked together in one of the bedrooms.

Their beds were clean, soldier-like cots, which they were most comfortable on. Each had a dresser filled with fatigues, though each was also required to keep their dress uniform and at least one change of civilian clothing on hand at all times. They hung their dress uniforms in the room's closet.

One of the other rooms had been devoted to studying and leisurely activities such as reading. It was filled with terminals and holoscreens and comfortable chairs. Another room was filled with training equipment, and the basement had been converted to a half-length rifle range. They tested a lot of weapons down there, including ones they technically weren't supposed to have.

Another room was devoted to "public space" – in most homes, it would be a living room, but the Spartans referred to it as the parlor. It was where they entertained their rare guest, playing games amongst themselves or with visitors, and watched nightly news casts of the rebuilding process.

The living room abutted the kitchen, which was small but decently stocked. Linda had found a new hobby in cooking and would spend hours every day trying out new recipes. She enjoyed, especially, making fresh foods into delicious foods, which her siblings teased were even starting to look edible after months of tinkering and practice. She did all the cooking for them, and John knew that, without their vigorous daily training routines, they would have all gained fat weight within the last few years of leisure, especially the past couple of months after Linda discovered the wonder of cakes and pastries.

Fred, on the other hand, had found a secret passion in writing – poetry, stories, memoirs, diary entries, it didn't matter what it was so long as he could write it. Several of his works had been published under a pseudonym, F. K. Smith, to news sites and even several magazines. His subjects ranged from light-hearted contemplation of household chores to serious tactical evaluations of battles he'd been in. No one in the world except the trio of Spartans and Sylvia, the AI who encrypted Fred's works so that he could publish them anonymously, knew that F. K. Smith had actually fought in most of the battle he discussed.

Kelly was still convinced that she could improve her speed and enjoyed learning about and then tinkering with their armor. She was becoming quite the engineer; they could all repair their armor to a certain extent, but she could now practically build it from scratch. She often tested her newest innovation in the basement rifle range so no one could be injured by a malfunction. Most of her inventions didn't work out, but she never grew tired of failure.

John himself spent his down time now reading science fiction and fantasy novels, mostly written before the war – once the war started, after all, few people were paying attention to fantasy worlds because the call of their own was so overwhelming – or visiting various friends. Terry Hood and his family, especially, had become used to seeing the Spartan once a week, and John had unwittingly taken on the status of "babysitter" years ago. Jonathan, Lucy, and Kade had adopted the Spartan as a big brother, which suited everyone.