If you think you're in charge, you're not.
The Hunter trained his rifle's sights on the amalgamation of Vex approaching in the middle distance. He hesitated, brow suddenly furrowed, when he realized they were not coming for him. In fact, they didn't notice him at all.
He looked through his scope again and saw that a circle had formed around two Minotaurs, their fists raised. They strafed around, lunging for a weak spot but finding none. The first Minotaur feinted a punch and followed with a swift series of kicks, bringing the second fighter to its knees. It clutched its torso, bleeding radiolaria.
Another Vex charged in to challenge the victor. Circuits snapped and its head was ripped from its neck. The Minotaur slammed the body to the ground, over and over. With a roar, it turned on the remaining Vex, challenger head in hand, the jaw flopping loose as the Minotaur pummeled one Vex after another.
The Minotaur stood finally, surrounded by the crumpled remains of the crowd. Radiolaria pooled thick against the red dirt beneath its feet.
The Hunter approached, sniper rifle slung over his shoulder, hand cannon at the ready. The Minotaur paused for a moment to admire the Hunter's cloak before it let loose a scream—barbaric pleasure that pierced the air.