Legend

by Unknown Six

Patrol: Moon

"An ancient instrument of war, battered and worn - but it still fires true. Perhaps it's been waiting for you."

- Khvostov 7G-02 Auto Rifle weapon description

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Earth's Moon

The Sea of Storms

What is a Warlock?

A Titan would tell you a Warlock is a person who likes to spout arcane nonsense and generally have a boring outlook on everything.

A Hunter would tell you a Warlock is an egghead who likes to wear dresses.

As a Warlock, I take mild offense to that. We wear robes, or if you want to get technical, trench coats. Not dresses!

The whole "boring outlook", though? Kind of true. Don't tell Ikora I said that.

As for a more serious answer...

Warlocks are the warrior-scholars of the Light. A foil to the trigger discipline of Hunters and the abundant physical strength of Titans, Warlocks are most attuned to the applications of pure Light, which includes the channeling and transmutation of Light into usable forms of energy during battle.

But that was only the half of it. While a Warlock's power is formidable on its own, much of their strength stems from mental acumen and intellect.

At their core, Warlocks are thinkers on and off the battlefield. It is not uncommon for one to be less focused on a battle with the Fallen and more focused on the quark-splitting properties of a new Warlock Bond. Warlocks, particularly Exo Warlocks, are known to and are expected to be methodical, even callous about their jobs. Despite myself, I am guilty of these things at times.

Moreover, it has been extensively purported by the Warlock Orders that anger is a wasted emotion. "Gaining control of your temper first and foremost is essential to gaining control of the battlefield," it is said.

If these things are anything to judge by, then I am not a very good Warlock. But damn it, if all my Legendary Engrams turn into Ascendant Energy on a regular basis when decrypted, I think I have a right to be angry!

"Just take the shot already."

And just like that, my mind returned to the Moon.

I nudged my thoughts out of the forefront of my mind while simultaneously ignoring the otherworldly thrum of my Ghost's voice, focusing solely on my target - a Fallen Dreg who had wandered away from its scouting party to pick at some half-buried helium coils. Crouching atop my sniping vantage point, I watched the creature of the Darkness with disdain as it began to loom over its discovery like a vulture, keeping my sniper rifle's crosshairs trained squarely on its back. The situation faintly alluded to past blunders...

And just like that, my train of thought powered up as quickly as I had shut it off. Images of my first patrol in the Russian Cosmodrome, as well as fumbling with my first weapon at my first enemy, permeated and flashed through my partly artificial synapses.

Now that I thought about it, at the exact moments the events transpired, it was hell; now, those situations just seemed like the good old times. Simpler times, without any eldritch machine abominations to worry about.

"You've been sitting there, crouched, aiming at the same target for five minutes. Just shoot it already," my Ghost said in exasperation as it hovered near me.

'Ghosts will never have an appreciation for sentimentality...' I thought to myself.

"..." I didn't outwardly reply, instead opting to leer at my target through the sniper scope. The abominable creature was still none the wiser. Once again, like the hopeless nostalgic that I was, my mind threatened to stray back into a solipsism-like state.

Fortunately for the hapless Dreg, it was saved from being the subject of my musings by a certain cyclopic Ghost, who moved into the way of my scope. Ponderations interrupted, I lowered my Amina-E7 sniper rifle and looked into the construct's eye with a hint of annoyance.

Come on now Guardian, don't act like you were actually going to shoot it before I intervened," Ghost said with its usual chipper tone, though there was an undeniable hint of concern and frustration in its voice.

'Oh, here we go again...' I thought resignedly, sensing the incoming rant.

"Ever since we made it out of the Black Garden and the Vault, you've been overly contemplative. More than usual. More than normal for a Warlock, actually. And you've been stopping your little Fallen killing sprees every now and then just to stare at random enemies as if you've found a long lost friend. Call me sappy if you want, but I worry about you.

Machines couldn't truly worry. I should know, now shouldn't I?

All things considered, I understood my Ghost's concern. Somewhat. After the Black Garden, me and a friend of mine were invited to a mission by a team of four able-looking Guardians around our skill level. The two of us usually don't team up with others, as more than two or three in a fireteam complicates things, but this was different.

They were going to raid the legendary Vault of Glass.

Naturally, being the adventure-seekers that we are, we couldn't in the right mind turn down an invitation like that. Together with our new, expanded fireteam, we descended down into the Vault, fought for our lives, grabbed what we could, took down Vex of tremendous power, and subsequently escaped. We wouldn't even have come close to surviving if not for a powerful Relic of Light we found and used to our advantage. It was because of that Relic that we did not end up like the The Legionless Titan, Kabr, and his Fireteam.

I did not come out of the Vault completely unscathed, however. Since the raid, I was prone to experiencing constant, volatile flashbacks of sorts. Of past missions, of times I died, of my patrols...of the Vault...

I was not the only one having problems, I soon discovered. My five fellow raiders, consisting of Awoken and humans, complained (well, not complained, per se. Guardians are often too prideful to admit there's something wrong with them) of headaches and strange dreams. One of my former comrades even confessed of waking up feeling his heart beating to an unknown pattern; another felt like her helmet was compelling her to do certain less-than-altruistic things. It was as if all of us were marked for life, and what was in the Vault scarred us forever.

But back to reality.

My Ghost's eye trailed to the gun I wielded, which I now held loosely at my side. "And what's up with you and that sniper rifle, anyway? You unceremoniously picked it up off the ground a little while ago, dusted it off, and now you're treating it like a gift from the Traveler."

Disregarding the irony from that particular statement, I finally graced my Ghost with an answer. "It's rare," I replied stiffly.

My Ghost blinked its single eye once, then replied, "You've literally got an arsenal to choose from; the most fabled and exotic weapons, and you're using an old sniper rifle you found in a dingy cave?"

I shrugged. Truth was, I frankly enjoyed finding and using "rare" weapons at times because there was always an element of unpredictability about them. So many variations and modifications to be used... It was like using a completely different weapon each time. I mean, sure, I would never use a rare during anything but patrols, but all Guardians had to start from somewhere. The Amina-E7 reminded me of such times...

Exos hate to forget, you see. The fact that most Exos, exceptions being Banshee-44 and a few others, are physically incapable of unwillingly forgetting anything, yet we cannot remember the details of our lives before we became Guardians, is enough to drive one mad. Most eventually deign to not think about it.

I think about it, all the time. Who I was before I was resurrected, I always question. I suppose I would be elsewhere, like helping the Last City rebuild or the Traveler recover or some other productive use of my abilities, if I wasn't so existential.

One would think I would spend a supercomputer's worth of processing power on something actually lucrative, no?

I gently brushed my Ghost out of the way. The floating polygonal construct went on to voice its indignation, but I shushed it and pointed at the Dreg, even though I knew full well that the Fallen minion could not hear either of us due to the distance gap. My Ghost gave up trying to make me see its backward reasoning and vanished into the pocket dimension in which Ghosts most often sulk in when their Guardians get annoyed with them. With distractions minimized, I retrained my crosshairs back onto my target, hoping that it had not moved in the few moments I lowered my weapon.

...And said Dreg was still in the same spot, struggling with both hands to pull at one of the glowing yellow helium coils protruding out from the gray expanse, utterly oblivious to everything else in the corporeal world.

I shook my head and felt something akin to disappointment, but not quite as sympathetic. Inattentiveness spelt a death sentence in these parts, considering this was territory disputed by Fallen, Hive, and Guardians all at once. A Hive Ogre could have been running rampant while firing its eye lasers at a full Guardian Fireteam, for all the Dreg knew.

The Fallen minion finally succeeded in yanking the coil out from the earth, only to topple onto its back from the unbalanced exerted force. The Dreg looked at the coil, apparently in disbelief that its effort actually paid off, before committing to twist it open in order to get at the precious helium filaments therein. The scene was reminiscent of a five-year old human child attempting to open a stubborn jar.

'If all Fallen are this mind-numbingly stupid,' I mused, 'I wonder how they nearly wiped out humans following the Collapse.' Clearly, Fallen do not comprehend the complexities involved in the opening of a helium coil. The process doesn't merely consist of twisting and scratching!

Somewhat mollified that I can correct such a blight on sapient life with a measly pull of the trigger, I tightened my grip on the rifle and prepared to do so. Alas, to my dismay, the Dreg's scouting party finally realized one of their own was missing and backtracked. They arrived at the scene and witnessed the Dreg's admittedly pitiful display of salvaging. Briefly lamenting the coming and going of an easy opportunity to rid the galaxy of one exceptionally unintelligent Fallen minion, I took it upon myself to evaluate the new arrivals' collective threat potential, as the scouting group had not noticed my presence atop my improvised vantage point. Utilizing my scope once more, I scanned the group, taking in every little detail and nuance in my enemies' movements.

Two Fallen Vandals. I recognized one as a sniper, judging by the distinctive Wire Rifle that it toted in two of its four arms. Another appeared to be a Stealth Vandal as indicated by my heads-up display, its twin blades illuminated in the reflective light of Earth. I took note of its inactive camouflage; it was an uncommon sight to see a Vandal capable of invisibility not using the ability, barring the situations in which they break cloak, like when they attack or get shot.

Three Fallen Dregs. They looked virtually identical to their less intelligent Dreg comrade over by the coils. They were mediocrely armed, only wielding Shock Pistols, and likely would only serve as fodder in a direct confrontation.

Three Fallen Shanks. Noble Shanks, by the looks of it, which meant the hovering machines possessed medium shielding and moderately powerful swivel turrets. For an novice Guardian, Noble Shanks may pose a problem. Fortunately, I was far from ill-equipped or inexperienced.

And finally, sticking out like a sore thumb, was a Reaver Captain. Carrying itself around with an aura of authority and rightful arrogance, this breed of Fallen towered above its lesser brethren in both rank and stature, with intricately designed, intimidating armor and a large Shrapnel Launcher to complement the whole 'huge and imposing' package. A worn but regal-looking cape depicting the Fallen House it served swayed aimlessly from its back, and served as an indication of superior status in the Fallen hierarchy. Captains' armor is usually fortified by heavy shielding, so I did not expect this one to be any less protected. I subconsciously marked the Captain as a priority target, as it was the most capable of dishing out substantial damage to my own Light shields and armor.

All in all, not a difficult fight in the slightest, provided I be careful. I didn't fight my way out of the Black Garden and the Vault of Glass so I could be bested by some random Fallen scavengers.

As I finished my evaluation of the enemy forces, I noticed an interesting spectacle unfolding between the Captain and the Dreg who got separated from the group. The Captain stomped over to the Dreg and looked down on the creature, who craned its neck up to look at its superior and began trembling as it acknowledged the gargantuan size difference. The Captain began to brutally reprimand the Dreg in the form of yelling right in its face. I imagined the Captain was furious that a grunt would abandon the group for the sake of petty salvage.

Well, not that I could tell it was yelling. The only thing I could hear in the airtight atmosphere of my helmet was my steady pseudo-breathing and the ever-so-slight creak of synthetic joints as I calibrated my scope for optimal spying.

"Ghost, you getting this?"

My Ghost appeared from thin air above my right shoulder. "Yeah. There isn't much visual intel of how the Fallen interact with one another. Maybe the Cryptarchs would appreciate it if we documented this ourselves on camera." The floating construct's shell tilted outward slightly. "Er, on Ghost," it corrected itself.

"You think they might find this useful?" I asked, unsure of the tactical viability of the intel.

The Ghost blinked once, then replied, "Really? These are the Cryptarchs we're talking about. You know, the ones that send us on missions to scan obsolete technology in exchange for decrypting engrams?"

"Point taken." I said. To be honest, I was a bit glad that my Ghost had adopted my wry sense of humor to help spice up otherwise bland patrol missions.

I wasn't going to tell it that, of course. The admission would go straight to its head...shell...whatever Ghosts use to think. Though I was pretty certain that Ghosts' minds are housed in incredibly complex Light processing matrices, which in turn are encapsulated in their central shell, but that was too long and cumbersome to say, much less metaphorize.

My Ghost and I tuned back in to the scene with the Fallen Captain and Dreg. The argument, if it could be called that at all, was incredibly one-sided. The Captain howled (silently, from my perspective) in fury while the diminutive Dreg occasionally took the chance to mewl out a response. The scene had progressed to the point where it almost comically looked like one of those archaic silent movies from long before the Golden Age, complete with exaggerated hand gestures and arm flailing.

Any humor I may have garnered from the impromptu shouting match evaporated as the Captain brandished an outlandishly large shock blade and proceeded to gut the struggling Dreg on the the spot. The Dreg immediately ceased its futile kicking and squirming as its innards spilled onto the lunar ground, painting the moon dust a reddish hue. Having seen much worse, I didn't wince at the macabre sight. That didn't make it any less despicable, though.

"Looks like Fallen don't take insubordination lightly. Shall I send this footage to the Cryptarchs?"

"Go ahead."

My Ghost "nodded" once before disappearing, effectively telling me it's my call on what to do next.

'Well, if you insist...'

I refocused on on the Fallen Captain. The Captain was occupied with scraping its former subordinate's ichor off its blade. The other Fallen formed a perimeter around the leader while being sure to give the foul-tempered Captain a wide berth, and stood sentinel as the ringleader brooded over its sullied weapon.

I lined up the shot, directly at the Captain's noggin. Little air resistance, no distractions, nothing to save my target from its imminent cranial perforation. I was in a state of limbo, and all that existed was me, my rifle, and my quarry. If this was how Hunters felt before performing an assassination, I envied them.

Only a little.

I crouched stock-still as I pulled the trigger...

'Incoming transmission!' My Ghost exclaimed from inside my head.

My aim jerked slightly out of reflex from the sudden interruption. The bullet soundlessly sped about a meter left of my target's head. The Captain didn't seem to notice, but a few its subordinates did, and promptly alerted the whole scouting group. I dove for cover behind a large moon rock just a second before they opened fire on my previous position.

"And this is why I don't snipe." I said.

'Because you get distracted easily?' The insufferable Ghost asked smugly.

A trio of arc rounds whizzed past my rocky cover. I synthesized a grunt. Can't do a simple damned thing without shit going down around me or someone interrupting me.

'Well, regardless of whether you get moody or not,' my Ghost said, gauging my emotions, "we've got an urgent message from the Tower. They're calling us back."

I nonchalantly dismissed the notion. The "urgent" message most likely was from some City faction eager to use a Guardian for doing their dirty work. I realized the biting irony of that notion, as I was currently on a mission on behalf of the Future War Cult, one of the core City factions. Which was, incidentally, the one I found myself aligned with.

"Can it wait for a bit? I'm in the middle of some-"

'Hold on.' The disembodied voice paused. I tried my best to wait patiently as my cover was pelted by energy projectiles. I took a quick glance at my radar, finding out that my Fallen adversaries were not advancing on my position. Yet. 'Mission parameters just got updated.'

The Ghost left the safety of its pocket dimension, reappearing in front of me. "It's from the Speaker... He said to come back as quickly as possible, and that it's about the Traveler!"

Even with my helmet on, my surprise was palpable. Nobody, even the Speaker in his perpetual aura of mysticism, has heard much of anything from the Traveler ever since the Collapse, so this could mean only one thing: that the Traveler was on the road to recovery, or was about to die off completely. I sincerely hoped it was not the latter, because that would spell a horrible fate for humanity, the Exos, and maybe the Awoken. I didn't know about the Awoken. A good amount of them (sans those who are Guardians and/or earth-born, such as Commander Zavala and a certain friend of mine) didn't seem concerned about the other races' well-beings. The Queen of the Reef's brother certainly seemed like he wouldn't be perturbed in the slightest if all humans, even the Exos and earth-born Awoken, just spontaneously died off. Just as I wouldn't be bothered if he randomly exploded or something...

Oh, right, the Traveler.

If the Speaker needed help again, then I had a job again; a purpose, aside from destroying minions of the Darkness. That was simply an added benefit of being a Guardian, and those Fallen mooks seemed to spawn infinitely, anyway.

"Let me just finish some stuff off before we go back to orbit, okay?"

"You'd better make this quick. I doubt you want to miss this any less than I do," the Ghost said before disappearing.

"That, I don't," I succinctly affirmed.

But as much as I looked forward to finding out what the Speaker had in store for me, I had an obligation to fulfill first. Namely, I still had to dispatch the enemies that were beginning to close in on my poor excuse for cover, and scavenge what the Cult needed from their corpses. On my heads-up display, a large red blip on my radar confirmed the imminent presence of encroaching hostiles. Most likely scenario: the Captain sent the Dregs to investigate if I was dead. If I was not, then their orders were shoot to kill.

Foolish. Death was a temporary inconvenience. And that was if they managed to put me down.

I dematerialized the Amina-E7 sniper I held in my hands and stored it in my Ghost's portable pocket dimension, replacing the weapon with a Proxima Centauri II scout rifle. Eying the approaching enemies from my radar, I laid in ambush, waiting for the enemies to come closer.

Closer.

Closer, even.

Practically on the opposite side of the rock I was taking cover behind.

Time to strike.

Swiftly, I vaulted out of cover and immediately conjured a Vortex Grenade in my left hand. I tossed it at the trio of Dregs about a meter away, who leapt back in surprise at the abrupt attack. Upon hitting the ground where the group stood, the grenade transmogrified into a miniature singularity.

Like the slightly sadistic bastard that I am, I briefly reveled in the Fallens' anguished howls as they were sucked into the diminutive (but still deadly) black hole and compacted into atoms. A mere second after the three Dregs were completely atomized, the miniature black hole imploded unceremoniously.

Vaporization via singularity was, without a doubt, one of the most beautiful aspects of being a Warlock.

I was not allowed a second of admiration for the carnage the grenade caused, however. In the corner of my eyesight I spotted the easily distinguishable Wire Rifle powering up from afar. With a practiced motion borne of experience, I sidestepped the incoming energy-based sniper round, the shot careening past my side. I brandished my scout rifle, and speedily aligned the sniping Vandal, who was perched on a small elevated platform, with the mid-range scope of my rifle. The Proxima Centauri II's mantra echoed in my mind.

'Just one...gentle...tap.'

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

The first bullet impacted the Vandal in the chest, staggering it. The second perforated its skull, the headshot instantly killing the Vandal. The third hit it in the shoulder as its corpse fell.

The third shot was completely unnecessary, I admit, but since I'd killed so many things that so steadfastly refused to die in my career as a Guardian, I liked to make sure to add a bit of incentive.

A barrage of energy projectiles impacted me from the side and made a moderate dent in my shields, making me turn my attention to the three Noble Shanks closing in from a few meters away. Out in the open and with no decent cover in the immediate vicinity, I opted to face the threat with a vendetta and a loaded gun.

It was fundamental strategy that was in practice long before I was even created, but it still worked like a charm in the 28th century.

I atomized my scout rifle and unslung my trusty Invective automatic shotgun from my back. Since the weapon's rounds were infused with Solar energy, Invective's shells were effective against enemies with that particular weakness; Noble Shanks, in this case.

With Invective in grasp, I sprinted towards the Shanks as my shields began to falter, all three of their swivel turrets fixated upon me. I leapt high into the air above the Fallen machines and made a ritualistic hand gesture.

And I was gone.

More specifically, I appeared to disappear from existence right then and there, as clearly evidenced by the Shanks rotating their swivel turrets wildly in an effort to reacquire their target.

Blink is as useful as evasive abilities get, be it against the Darkness or against other Guardians in the Crucible. A skilled enough Warlock Voidwalker or Hunter Bladedancer can eventually be taught the ability, which allows one to open a rift in space and travel through it, effectively teleporting from point to point. Blink isn't a long range ability by any means, as long range teleportation would require tremendous amounts of skill and energy (that brings the Vex into question), but it confounded the average linear-minded machine or lowly organic.

Like right now.

I reappeared behind the trio of Noble Shanks and unloaded three shells of Invective into the floating machines in quick succession, silently priding myself as all three lost control of their flight mechanisms and promptly crashed to the ground, creating small, negligible explosions. Their shields were indeed formidable, but were paper if the right weapon was utilized.

'That leaves one left... The Captain.'

'Guardian! Watch out-'

Faster than I could react (which was pretty fast, for a synthetic), a small red blot on my radar made itself known...

Right behind me.

I turned around at a speed that would've given a human or Awoken whiplash, only to receive the sharp end of an energy blade. The charged blade shattered my Light shields, since my Light had not finished repairing the damage done by the Shanks, and carved a diagonal slash along my Warlock robes. I recoiled back a few steps - not in pain, mind you - but in genuine surprise that an enemy actually came close to hurting me. It was then I saw my abrupt attacker: a Stealth Vandal. I chided myself internally for missing an enemy. The Vandal waved one of its blades at me tauntingly, seemingly confident that it will triumph.

Challenge accepted. "Alright. Let's dance."

The Vandal, now visible, had no problem rapidly closing the short gap I had made, and immediately performed a high horizontal slash.

'Aiming for a decapitation. Leave it to the Fallen to forego dramatic entrances,' I mused.

I easily ducked under the slash and extended my palm outward, sending out a burst of energy that knocked the Vandal a few meters back. The Vandal, not out for the count just yet, quickly picked itself up from the ground and engaged its active camouflage.

'Cute. It thinks it's invisible.'

In reality, Stealth Vandals' invisibility was quite harrowing and made them difficult to track, as they were technically invisible from sight and the radar. However, if one were actively searching for a cloaked Vandal, the refracted light shimmering around the Vandal would give it away. That, and I saw it as it activated cloaking, so I just needed to follow its outline.

The Vandal slowly circled around me, tentatively awaiting a window of opportunity to attack. Taking my eyes off the Vandal's silhouette for a split second, I glanced at my shotgun in my left hand, then back to the Vandal.

I used three shells out of Invective's four-shell magazine. One in the chamber. Perfect for the job.

The Stealth Vandal decided to make its move, dashing forward and slashing its blade in a wide arc. I Blinked out of the way of the strike, reappearing to its left. The Vandal purportedly saw how I dealt with the Noble Shanks, and adjusted its focus, performing a powerful stab with its blade in my direction. I sidestepped the attack and sent another pulse of energy from my hand directly into its face.

The Vandal, surprisingly, held its ground, and only slid back slightly. Its tremendous will to kill me was admirable but not appreciated.

After this attack, the Vandal seemed to fly into a frenzy, launching a flurry of vicious swipes and stabs. After I dodged, blocked, and Blinked out the way of all its efforts, it reared back its Shock Blade and launched an overhead attack with all its strength, likely with the intention of vertically cleaving me in two.

I thought it was trying a bit too hard...

I met its brazen attack with the glowing yellow-orange essence of my left Sunbreaker, the nigh impenetrable exotic gauntlet unerringly absorbing the blow. My forearm and the Vandal's weapon locked, with me standing firm with a raised fist, and the Fallen creature trembling as it struggled with all its might and four arms to cut through the gauntlet. For a fleeting moment, it may have appeared to be an impasse, with both sides offering everything they had with tremendous stakes at hand.

...Except for my right hand, which held a semi-loaded shotgun.

I pulled Invective's trigger, the Solar round burrowing into my adversary's midsection. The Vandal released its grip on its blade and clutched the scorched hole in its stomach.

"Consider us even," I quipped as the Vandal fell, thereby joining the ranks of its fellow fallen Fallen.

I reloaded Invective and inspected my robes, of which my Light was already working on mending the superficial gashes the Vandal had made. My shields were back up and I had not sustained any real wounds in the skirmish. I was good to go.

'Now, about that Captain...'

'I marked the last enemy for you,' my Ghost said. An objective indicator became visible on my HUD. 'Just...no theatrics this time, alright? We have someplace to be.'

"Does that mean-" I began.

'Yes, that means not to allow enemies to engage in a swordfight with you,' my Ghost droned as if it were addressing a troublesome infant.

"Damn."

And so began the short journey to the Captain marked on my HUD, who, strangely, had not moved from where it was when I was "sniping." I summoned my Sparrow vehicle from nothingness and started to zip toward the objective. In the meantime, I decided to point out a flaw in my Ghost's logic.

"Technically," I piped up, "it wasn't a swordfight."

'Oh?' my Ghost asked.

"I was using gauntlets, a gun, and my abilities. The Vandal was using a Shock Blade and cloaking. In no shape or form was anybody using a sword."

My Ghost sighed heavily. How it did so without a mouth or lungs was beyond me. 'Eyes up, Guardian. We're here.'

Indeed we were. I took in the sight analytically.

The lone Fallen Captain stood erect, with a large menacing Shrapnel Launcher slung on its shoulder. The huge blade it used to eviscerate the wayward Dreg was sheathed on its back. The Captain's cape draped down passively due to the stillness of the thin air. There were no obstacles or arbitrary detritus littering the landscape like on the rest of the Moon. It was as if the Captain was choosing an ideal arena for us to fight in...

What's more, is that the Captain had its gaze focused on me even as I arrived and got off my Sparrow. The Fallen leader didn't appear concerned of my presence in the slightest, and still idly held its weapon.

'Looks like he was expecting you,' observed my Ghost.

"Creepy." I stepped forward and drew my shotgun, just a couple of meters away from the Captain. "Well, let's get this over with."

'Remember: quick and clean.'

'There goes a fair battle,' I thought. Regardless, I obliged.

During the time the Captain spent readying its weapon to fire, I propelled myself up into the air. I concentrated as I delved into my internal reservoir of Void Light.

And for a brief moment, I ascended, physically vulnerable but mentally and spiritually enlightened. Time began to slow to a halt in the physical realm, but I became more or less unaware of it altogether.

I dove deeper into my own essence.

In the furthest recesses of my mind, I saw the darkness. No, not the Darkness that facilitated the Collapse. It was the darkness, the Void, that the Traveler emerged from. If the Traveler was full of power, then so must be the Void, scholars of the Light reasoned. And they were correct in their assumptions. Voidwalkers are taught to be able to harness this dark energy for use in combat. Ignoramuses compare our powers to those of the abominable Wizards of the Hive, but Void Light is still Light.

I stared into the Void without fear. It was an endlessly stretching sea of blackness, reminiscent of the oceans of Earth in the pitch-dark of night. I steered my consciousness toward the sea, and scooped up a handful of the "water." My mind faltered momentarily from the immense influx of power, despite the seemingly minuscule amount of dark energy I had grasped in comparison to the infinite vast expanse, and I threatened to lose my mind and essence in the Void. My physical body's armor rooted me down, preventing such a thing from happening.

A Warlock's armor is not merely manufactured for protection; most of the plating on a Warlock's equipment serves as an anchor and energy sink. After all, something must anchor the Warlock's mind as it soars.

The literal loss of my mind averted, I exited the ethereal confines of my subconscious with small compacted destruction in hand. Time in the corporeal world resumed. I was still at the zenith of my jump and the Captain was still preparing to fire. I concentrated the energy in my right hand and coalesced it into a vaguely spherical shape. I felt a roaring surge of energy course through my being, the ball of Void Light becoming unstable and erratic in my hold.

So I threw it.

The sphere of dark energy, known colloquially as a Nova Bomb, lanced out from my arm and made a beeline toward the Captain, who futilely braced itself as it saw the rapidly incoming projectile. The Nova Bomb collided with the Captain head-on and exploded brilliantly with the force of a collapsing star, in a huge flash of purple Void Light. The enemy's shields and armor were formidable, but ultimately useless.

I activated Glide to slow my descent, landing on my feet gently and replaced Invective onto my back. I inspected the impact site, seeing no trace of the Fallen leader, a large crater being the only testament to where the Captain once stood proudly.

Well, as anticlimactic as it was, that was the end of that scouting party. All I needed to do was recover those Shock Cores from their corpses for the Future War Cult. I knew that Shock Cores are what the Fallen use to charge their energy weapons. What the FWC hoped to do with the apparatuses wasn't my business; I was only concerned with their acquisition and delivery.

To that end, I set out to scavenge from the enemies I killed.

My Ghost appeared in front of me. "No need. While you were off doing your thing, I took the liberty of gathering the Shock Cores."

I raised an eyeplate. "Why do that when I could've just gathered them myself?"

"Nothing is that simple. Knowing you, you'll get sidetracked by more enemies, or you'll start daydreaming again," the construct teased jovially.

I harrumphed. It was most certainly not daydreaming. "Just take us to orbit already."

My Ghost closed its eye. "Preparing the ship for transmat."

While my Ghost arranged for us to be teleported to my ship in orbit, complete and utter silence reigned dominant. I preferred this comfortable stagnancy, to be honest. As a rule, machines hate chaos.

I suppose machines like being asses even more, as the Ghost sensed my contentment and decided to break the silence.

"So... You took two minutes and thirteen seconds to deal with an entire scouting party? You're getting slow."

"Shut it... little light."

I tended to borrow that nickname from a certain Stranger whenever my Ghost annoyed me. About every five minutes, as it were.

"Sometimes I wonder why I repair you when you die, as opposed to leaving you as a floating mass of particles and Light," sighed the floating mass of machinery and Light.

After the touching moment illustrating our truly unbreakable friendship was finished, we disappeared from the face of Earth's moon, off to find out what destiny had in store for us.

Comments

[Paddle Steamer]

You finally did it, you finally wrote the bloody thing. Took ya long enough. *Adds to read later* Good on ya mate.

Now... back to Classy rage.

[Unknown Six]

5336576

Actually, it's the sixth one I've planned, and the newest...

But yeah. I'm surprised, too.

[WarpPony]

I like it, more please.

[Unknown Six]

5336981

Thank you, kind sir! Coming up soon, the Tower!

[Sirflysalot]

destiny crossovers.. megusta

[Thrro Pones]

Technically speaking, in Destiny the moon does have an atmosphere. You can see clouds floating in the sky, why the sky is black I do not know. It defies planetary science.

[Bronzer]

5387079

How does the Moon's sky being black defy planetary science? The Lunar surface is too reflective for the stars to be visible. I think an earlier commenter said the same. The clouds are easily explained by *gasp* terraforming.

[Lord Shaxx]

The third shot was completely unnecessary, I admit, but since I'd killed so many things that so steadfastly refused to die in my career as a Guardian, I liked to make sure to add a bit of incentive.

How fucking true.

[Lord Shaxx]

5387079 The flag at spawn even waves. I mean, what the hell? IT'S THE FUCKING MOON MAN! I'M HERE TO KILL GUYS, NOT HAVE FLAGS WAVE!
The one good thing about the flag is that it's American. ^_^

[Lord Shaxx]

Good story. Looking forward to the other chapters.

[Shellsh0cker]

"Can it wait for a bit? I'm in the middle of some-"

*snicker* I see what you did there, mate.