With Darkness’s permission, the Ninja penned a bit of that story. Here you go.

They kept coming. Little decaying balls of love, not much unlike the Ninja’s mother’s cooking, wanting to suck the life from his veins and make him like them. Not much unlike the conformists at his Ninja High School.. Ack. Now was not the time to get distracted. The Ninja had yet to figure how the worlds of Maple and Halo got combined, but the new Plasma Sword kept him from complaining. It glowed, for Heaven’s sake!

Crash, slash, snicker snack went the Ninja’s vorpral blade. A scythe of death amid the masses of first stage Flood forms, it’d be a while before the Ninja was able to work his way outta this one. No matter. He sang a ditty as he slew the creatures. Life as a Ninja could be so fun sometimes.

What-ho? The Ninja spied a glint of metallic green; reminded him an awful much of the Master Chief from his favorite video game series. Dashing over to get a better look, the Ninja leaped from tree to tree until he had a better perspective.

The large metal suit. The orange face plate. The little armor caps on his boots! There was no mistaking it, it was the Master Chief. A Ninja of sorts of the future, the Chief was busy spraying away at a secondary Flood form. The thing was a Mapler, genetically corrupted by one of those little balls of stuff, writhing and twisting as it came. Its arm snapped as a tendril shot out, and smacked the good Chief 4 feet back. The over shield the Chief was wearing crackled and quit. Things were going to get a bit ugly if the Ninja did not intervene.

A sigh, shrug, and stab later, the Flood being was impaled on the Ninja’s glowy blade. IT GLOWED. How friggin awesome is that, pondered the Ninja.

Meanwhile, the Chief was not idle. He regarded the Ninja with a monolithic expression; it was hard to see through that aforementioned faceplate.

The Ninja, however, was not one to stand about. A flash of light, he has his autograph book out and a pen in the Chief’s face. Such autographs could fetch nice prices on eBay. The Chief, somewhat confused, signed the book and the Ninja pocketed it. Score.

“How do you know who I am?” asked the Master Chief.

“How could anyone not? You’re Master Chief Petty Officer SPARTAN-117 (alternatively known as Master Chief, Spartan-117, or John-117; and to the Covenant as the Demon)!” replied, quite awesomely, the Ninja.

“B-” The Chief was cut off with a crash. Before the two epic heroes stood a rather large, rather irritated Flood form, about 20 feet tall and 30 feet wide; a Balrog amid the other stages.

Yippee, the Ninja thought. Things are gonna get fun.