Chapter 1: The Raid
The gaze of the Grand Star lingered in the rusty sky, and all withered under its relentless heat. The wind choked and sputtered sand into her eyes. The decrepit buildings weren't any better off - many were filled with sand long ago. They were now just empty husks, oppressive obelisks dotting the landscape and breaking up the monotony of the never-ending dunes. The dunes themselves stretched on infinitely, and if it weren't for the grand star in the sky there would be no way to tell how far they had travelled, and for how long their pilgrimage had lasted.
The grand star, in its oppressive might, was beautiful in its own way. Were it not for its existence, this barren hunk of sand would have never felt footsteps across its dusty plains; the spires, now just husks of their former glory, might never have had those glory days in the first place. Once brimming with technology, it has long since been broken or looted, much like the room she lay in now.
A slight, almost undetectable nudge on her left shoulder perked her senses back to her original task. She rotated her neck to eye the Sniper beside her. With a smooth motion, he drew her attention with a point from his upper right arm, aiming it down into the clearing below their position, and returned to his scope. She rubbed the dusty sand off the rangefinder and cleared the lenses before closing two of her four eyes. The Wolves stirred below, thinking they were clever by using smaller numbers to avoid unwanted attention. That wasn't surprising. What was surprising was the heavy load of equipment they were hauling for such a small scouting crew.
"Numbers," the Sniper demanded with little more than a whisper.
"Twelve, maybe more," she reported, occasionally wiping the lenses to clear it of debris as she scanned around.
The Fallen crew below were on guard, heavily armed, and expertly trained, for Wolves at least.
Safe…
...or so they thought.
"Kinda odd, Sha'ka, to see so much guarded by so few," the Sniper commented on her assessment.
"You should know what kind of power that yields, Kirrev. We roam these wastes… do we not?"
The Sniper shrugged. "True… yet we are small, and have no room for error," the Sniper said, keeping his eyes locked through the sights.
"Exactly, and that is what they lack. Caution. Why else would they have positioned themselves so poorly, made themselves so vulnerable, at the bottom of these rusted buildings? It will be their undoing," she remarked quite smugly. The Sniper had a little snicker under his breather from the comment.
"So it would seem…. It is go on my signal, yes?" The Sniper sought the answer as he gazed intensely through his scope.
"You see the captain?" She looked over to the Sniper while he focused.
"I have a… better target," the Sniper whispered, a touch of excitement in his tone. "A tall, proud, Baron... enjoying the view," she couldn't see it, but the Sniper had a ripe, murderous, grin under the mask.
The Wolf Baron gazed around at the buildings while the Sniper eased onto the trigger, charging up the shot. The Baron's eyes lit up for a moment, catching the energy building in the Sniper's barrel. But it was already too late.
The bolt rang out across the sands. The Wolf Baron jerked, the Arc bolt landing in his shoulder instead of his head. He nearly went down from the force of the impact alone, and would have if he was anything lesser. Scrambling for cover, all the while nursing his now-unusable upper arm, he found a crate nearby in a sand dune. The Baron pulled his weapon up from behind his waist with his lower two arms, popping up to fire.
The Baron screeched, and all the dregs around him watched in horror as a blade split his spine, immobilized him with shocking pain while another sword wrapped its edge around his neck to slit it clean. He keeled over, desperately clinging to his neck. The dark sand-coloured stealth captain that had ended the noble Wolf's life quickly melded back into the shadows. Enveloped once again by the cloaking device it valued so highly.
The signal had been given.
The raid was on.
Before the Wolf crew knew what was coming, a screeching war cry was heard and small storm of ruthless dregs breached the outer layer of the minimal defenses the Wolves had set up, and began to work on their slaughter. They hacked and slashed at anything that wasn't the colour of the red sand below them, cutting the unprepared Wolf crew into shreds before they could mount a proper defense.
Just to their rear, a large Fallen warrior wielding two razor-sharp sabres led the second charge, running alongside a small trio of vandals not even half his size, followed by an Archon almost equal in height. He was their Kell. Prideful, as Kells ought to be, and very dangerous. He slashed into a captain who had tried to rally the remaining crew to a defense, his metallic blade cutting deep into the shoulder of his foe. The remaining vandals tried to flee behind the dregs that were being torn to shreds by their equally blood thirsty counterparts. One of the Wolf's vandals was caught and dragged away by a few of the dregs.
He didn't last long.
Two of the raiding dregs were not as zealous as their brethren. They took cover behind some of the supply crates, shots ringing over their heads as the remaining Wolves tried to return fire. They waited till they heard the Wolf energy rifles fall silent, then charged head on into their flimsy defense. One dreg launched a barrage of explosives from his modified shrapnel launcher. The other, killing whatever was left after the smoke settled. It seemed to take particular satisfaction in watching the Wolves squirm before he pounced.
"Hey Sha'ka," one of the vandals started on their comm channel, "Remember that time you almost lost your head doing this back on-"
"Get off the comms!" The Sniper growled harshly, interrupting the friendly vandal.
The vandal was about to snarl back, but she was interrupted by the brawl that had erupted behind her. A Wolf stealth vandal had tried to sneak behind their lines. He had been intercepted, and dealt with thoroughly. The taller vandal that had saved his comrade turned to her and patted her on the shoulder before looking out for more unwanted guests.
Another vandal charged his way up past the dregs, unloading his shrapnel launcher into the wolves. The fragments shredded the armor and tore into the flesh beneath. The scorched skin smoked from the burning wounds as the Reaver lined up his next shot.
The Sniper above noticed a lonely dreg making his way back to camp, frozen in fear while of adjusting its pants. The Sniper ended its life with a precise bolt of energy piecing its unprotected skull.
"Nice shot," Sha'ka complimented as she watched the brawling below through her rangefinder. The Sniper gave a slight nod, then continued to pick off any strays he saw.
At last, there was only one who remained. The Wolf vandal, even though grizzled, shook with twitching fear of those who surrounded him. Dregs, nearly lost in a crazed blood lust, flanked his left. Deadly, yet restrained, vandals to his right. They broke apart and let their Kell approach from the middle, menacing with his staggeringly tall form and bloodstained sabers. His formidable size forced the Wolf to back up. As the Wolf was halted by a minor thud, his spine stiffened. The desert captain behind him took a whiff of his scent.
It could smell his fear.
Before the Wolf could make a break, he was caught and pinned by the captain's strong arms while the blade of a shock sword was slashed across his neck. He died when he hit the floor. Blue blood spilling in a massive pool on the melting sand at their feet.
Up in their perch, the Sniper glanced at Sha'ka. They both nodded wordlessly at each other, and set their course to join the others below. A roar of victory could be heard echoing across the martian sands….
They were greeted by cheerful roars at the bottom. Their comrades claiming the loot before them. Dregs scrambling for Ether while the vandals stocked up on any ammo they could find.
"Look at all this gear!" Brax counted at least twenty shock rifles, a wide array of sabres, shock pistols, a couple shrapnel launchers, and even a fabled Scorch cannon.
"We will be stocked on ammo for weeks!" Keesa chirped happily.
"With any luck, it will stay that way," Monix declared while watching the dregs bash each other for any free Ether seeds and pods they could scrounge off the corpses.
As they passed by their fellow Vandal comrades, Sha'ka noticed the heads of the House in a heated conversation with one another. She walked a little closer, a little slower, managing to overhear parts of it.
"Krystan, this whole ordeal is a foolish endeavor! We can scavenge Ether elsewhere, like we have done so before!" One of the Archons shouted. This one was covered in a dark coat of fur, and proudly bore a chain of ghost shells around his mask. He was known as Dressix, the High Priest of House Glass.
"It is just like you Dressix, to undermine the Kell's leadership when he needs the support of the House the most! Backup your tongue with your blade, or I will cut it off!" This one was the other Archon of the house, with deep charcoal skin proudly bearing white war paint. Faxiss, the Head-hunter.
"You two squabble like children while standing over the remains of our enemies? If you want a unified House, Faxiss, perhaps you should act like it! Join the celebration, go see to it that no one was injured in the fighting." This one was known as Krystan, Kell of House Glass. Dual swords hung at his hip, but they were not the shock swords many other Kell favor. These were from a time long ago, and the signs of painstaking care shows through in their elegantly curved blades.
"As you wish, my Kell, but do not let this minor treachery get under your skin. I remain loyal as ever, my Kell." Faxiss started to back away, before Krystan grasped his shoulder and brought him close. Krystan whispered something in Faxiss' ear. Faxiss nodded, and bowed his head down to his waist before he left Krystan and Dressix alone.
"Krystan, my stance has not changed. I stand by this being a foolish endeavor that can only overthrow the tenuous balance of the house. What if they do not accept our offer? What if we do not receive enough? We have burned much of our precious little Ether supply on this raid instead of focusing on establishing a home for ourselves! What if we end up-"
"I will not have it!" Krystan growled angrily at the Archon, who made no attempt to back down willingly. Instead, he leaned closer to his Kell, challenging him. The tension was almost palatable. Dressix glared daggers into Krystan, almost gazing into his very soul. "I am Kell of this house, you are merely an Archon. You may enforce the will of the servitors, but I enforce the will of the god of old, and I will not accept dissent in this House!" Krystan pushed further, standing nearly a head over Dressix and overshadowing him.
Dressix did not hide the disagreeing twitches he felt one bit, but he could tell he was beat. The Archon nearly bit his tongue to control himself from pressing the matter further. Eventually, he backed down. "House Glass must stand united if we are to survive," he dipped his head slightly, a slight sign of respect, but refused to bow completely.
Krystan never let his gaze leave Dressix as the Archon marched off to convene with the few servitors they had. Dressix occasionally glared towards Krystan, but quickly shifted his gaze when he noticed others watching. His Kell watched him grumble to the servitors, no doubt filling them in on their failed attempt to divert their course. Only then did Krystan let his gaze rest on something else.
The Kell's towering gaze caught a whiff of a vandal to his right. Sha'ka knew she'd been seen, and didn't try to hide it. She and The Sniper slowly approached their Kell, stopping a couple meters before him, and slowly eased themselves into a respecting bow. Krystan returned a blank stare at the Sniper when they reared back up.
"Good work," he began with little emotion in his voice. A sharp nod was returned by the vandals below. Then he turned to Sha'ka. "Thanks to your bravery today, the raid was undoubtedly a massive success! Without someone up there to support us, they might have taken a life or two," he directed his praise to Sha'ka for her plan. Sha'ka made no attempt to correct him, as one does not point out a Kell's flaws while the whole House was watching. She'd tell him later though, she didn't deserve the credit after all, she wasn't the one pulling the trigger. Behind her though, Kirrev made a silent grin under his mask. He raised his head a little higher after hearing the Kell's words of praise.
"My Kell, what are we to do with all the supplies?" Sha'ka asked, the question undoubtedly on everyone's minds.
"We shall gather what we can and hope it is enough for those Ether-hoarding bastards." Krystan grumbled. He gazed over his small house, less than twenty in number, all hanging on his word like a pack of starved animals.
"Do you think they will give us enough to make it?" Sha'ka questioned, clicking worry filling her voice.
"We must hope they will be generous." Krystan's answer was less than promising. "The Cabal have no use for their Ether hoard, so they'll relish the opportunity to exchange weapons for it. We cannot let this opportunity pass, and bargaining is the only course. The might of the Cabal armada is too strong, and if they pursued us throughout the wastes our pilgrimage would be nearly impossible. We must strike a deal," He perked his head high and started again. "We have an excess of munitions anyway. Can you imagine what would happen if the dregs got a hold of something bigger then a shock pistol?" The House gave a small chuckle at that, especially Tasus, a Reaver dreg who wields his blood-soaked Shrapnel launcher. Even Dressix chuckled, interrupting his conversation with the servitor.
Sha'ka tried to lighten everyone's spirits a little more, "We have been through worse, I am certain that-," when she was interrupted by Dressix's thundering steps.
"My Kell, there is-"
"What is it the issue, Dressix," Krystan hissed at the Archon, who was in no mood for arguing. The Archon stopped, growling low, but remained centered.
"My Kell, there is another problem… with the servitors," he regretfully informed. There was worry in his tone. Worry that Krystan could not ignore.
Krystan nodded solemnly, turning back to the two Vandals before him. "Kirrev, go find Hassaka. She'll want someone to keep her company while we clean this up," he ordered. Kirrev's eyes flared, and he opened his mouth to protest, but Krystan growled. Kirrev knelt acquiescently before standing and leaving to pursue his task. Krystan then gave a gentle release of Sha'ka's presence and bid her a farewell before seeing to their servitor problem.
"What is the issue, Archon," Krystan followed Dressix around a corner, the shadow of the building hiding them from the intense sunlight. Dressix called forth one of the servitors. The floating metal orb was rusted and worn, lumbering as it approached. Its shell bore hundreds of small modifications, yet it still was barely enough to keep the thing floating.
"This one is having… difficulties producing Ether for the House. I believe that it can be fixed, but we will need more parts from the Cabal to repair its Ether replicator," He explained. Krystan was displeased with this revelation, and about to speak, but Dressix had not yet finished. He sent the servitor back and called forth the second. This one carried less carnage, but was equally worn.
"This one's sensor unit is damaged. It has lost its radar completely, and will soon lose its sight," He growled his grunts heavily, then sent the servitor back.
"And what of the Prime?" Krystan clicked curiously with worry.
Dressix failed to make eye contact with his Kell as he summoned forth the Prime, Kleenix. It was slightly larger than the others, but bore the most damage. Dents and scratches clearly visible on its outer shell. Some of the outer shell had rusted away in it's entirety, revealing the interior mechanisms. Half of it seemed to be held together by whatever they had on hand, and the other half appeared to be looted from a car somewhere on the road. It could barely scrape enough strength to present itself before the Kell. When it was just a few meters away, it began to falter. The massive frame nearly came smashing onto the soft sand below, had it not been for Dressix who caught it and helped stabilize the Prime.
Krystan's spirits sank at the sight of their distressed Prime. He would not ask for a diagnostics report. He already knew the problem. "How long do we have?" Krystan gripped his hands tightly into fists.
"According to my calculations, my systems will only have 50 percent reliability by the end of the next star rise. My stabilizer units are failing more often, and my core is prone to overheating," Kleenix's robotic servitor voice gave him the rundown. Krystan's thoughts swirled around him, taunting. He broke away for a moment to think, turning his back to Archon and Prime. He trusted neither, but knew that if the House was to survive, so would they.
"We need those parts, Krystan!" Kleenix advised forcefully, almost as if he were still an insignificant pup, demanding milk from his mother.
Krystan shot his gaze back to the Prime, annoyance and hatred in his eyes. He wanted to gut the machine where it stood, but alas he could not. Not if it meant sacrificing the survival of his House.
"We shall see about the parts Kleenix, but do not forget," Krystan leaned over the failing servitor. "I am the Kell. This House will not need a Prime Servitor for much longer," he growled and walked away in disgust of the disrespect the machine had shown. "And Dressix," he stopped and turned half-way to speak, "If that thing's stabilizers fail again, you are carrying it the whole way," He turned away once more, his mind flooded with new problems that would need to be resolved.
Quickly.
…
Moments after Sha'ka had been dismissed, she was quickly drawn to the commotion over by the more heavily supplied portion of the small encampment. The dregs of her House were all lugging heavy crates around, under orders from Faxiss. The sight made her spirit fade a little, remembering what it's like to be the lowest of the low.
One of the dregs collapsed from the weight, just a few meters in front of her. The weight of the haul was too much for a shamed dreg to bear. The contents of the crate spilled out onto the red sand at his feet. The dreg quickly scrambled to grab all the components and fit them back into the crate. He froze when another arm joined into the mix. Sha'ka, lending a friendly claw, scooped up just a couple handfuls of the components that had fallen out, and helped the dreg put the rest inside, using her under arms. The dreg bowed to her and said a quick prayer for such a sympathetic act.
She gave the dreg a firm pat on the shoulder to get him going again. He did so with new vigor. Sha'ka grabbed a few crates off the ground, carrying them in her four arms next to the rest of the dregs. Her actions received much attention among them. All gave slight nods, appreciating the help of another, especially one of a higher rank. All of them were grateful, except for one. Sha'ka ignored the dreg behind her, her gaze sweeping over his glare like it did not exist. His three eyes stared at her in disapproval. His fourth was gashed with a nasty scar, rendered unusable. He spat at the ground and lumped his crates forward.
Once more, their house began its unyielding march, the blood-stained sands shifting below their feet. The wind whistled above them, carrying with it the echoes of struggles fought long ago. Yet even the wind seemed fearful, for it scampered quickly and quietly, hoping to avoid the gaze of the celestial predator in the sky above: The Grand Star, which had given life to many, could take it away just as easily. Yet Sha'ka knew, and she would not give hers up so easily. Neither would her brothers and sisters. House Glass had survived for years, on many worlds, under the withering gaze of the Grand Star, and she knew that her House would never rest until the blood-curdling heat was but a memory.
Author's Note:
So, here it is, House of Glass. This is a little project me and my friend, Arbiter, concocted during a 7-hour call during the winter, and the first story I'm publishing here *Inaudible cheering*. We've got a hell of a story planned for you and we hope you enjoy! All reviews are welcome, you can even PM me if you'd like. I enjoy answer questions and conversing with others. The only thing I disapprove of is pure hatred… and spoilers in later chapters. We try our do our best to edit every fine detail we can without going overboard and ruining the scene. Update times will be a bit hazy at the moment as both of us have a shit ton of stuff to do, but I have already gone through another good portion of chapter 2; so essentially, you're waiting on the editor more than me... Sorry Arbiter. Once again, we're all gonna get ready for a wild ride, but don't brace yourself too quickly, we're just getting started! Until next time, this is ODSK.
Editor's Note:
What up guys, Arbiter here. I'm ODSK's friend, editor, and general rubber ducky for bouncing ideas off of. We've got a freakin amazing story here for ya, that we're excited to finally reveal (gtfo haters). You have no clue how long we've been waiting for this moment. If you somehow do you're a creep and I'm calling the police. Next chapter will be uploaded in due time as soon as ODSK gets off his lazy- I mean as soon as we get it nice and polished for you guys. See ya next time!
Disclaimer:
Arbiter: Hey, this is fanfiction! It's basically implied that I don't own this. Why do people always have to stick a disclaimer in their story! We get it! It's fanfiction! I just don't-
ODSK: and now Arbiter's lost his disclaimer privileges…
REAL DISCLAIMER:
We do not own Destiny - that's owned by Bungie and Activision - but we are taking full claim over our characters! We love them!
Special thanks:
To my friend Max, who helped with one of the Characters (I'll let you guess, I ain't saying squat!)
To Arbiter my friend, and amazing editor!
To my friend, who I will refer to as, R.R. who made the cover! You can find him as Simplyachair at DeviantArt.
UPDATE MAY 28 2017
To Rythox, a general Grammar Nazi who no one knows about.
P.S. This Story, for specific reasons we do not tell, is set after House of Wolves, but before the Taken King.