Seraph 27 Zero

by Jir0

He didn't want to go beyond the Walls. Never again. Yet here he was. Very far out of his comfort zone. Seraph 27 Zero is a thrilling Destiny story, a legend of blood, fear, and redemption. When a mysterious stranger contacts an elite Hunter fireteam and a solitary Titan, the adventure of a lifetime ensues when the opposing parties embark on risky mission to save a fallen Guardian.

1. Chapter 1 --- Prelude

Prelude

Silence. No wind. No motion. No life. Just… silence. The desert of gray was empty, even the stars seeming dim. The other side of the hill was a different story, but on the side facing away from Earth… nothing. Just silence.

The warrior sat, legs crossed, gun in hand but with their finger off the trigger. Their gray cloak wrapped around them so entirely that even the eight glowing eyes of their mask were barely discernable. Otherwise, to the wandering eye, the warrior was merely another lump on the already uneven lunar surface.

Then they stood, slung the rifle onto their back, and walked up to the crest of the rocky hill. Upon reaching the peak they could see for miles. It was a once glorious sight now degraded, consumed by the Darkness.

Skeletons of mighty structures stood, wavering at times, unsure of whether to keep standing or fall and let it be over with. One slim tower in particular was adamant about staying upright, refusing to crumble despite the ages of rust wearing at it. A sea of rocks and gray dust stretched out to the horizon, rippling as water might, disturbed only by the foundations of concrete and metal that seemed inconveniently placed. On the horizon a mountain range grew, though not spectacular in many ways. There were, however, two peaks that reached to one another across a colossal gap in which the Hellmouth sat.

Looking at that place from the parallax which the warrior did made the moon appear empty, void of life and nearly all signs of it. There were the rusting warehouses and towers, sure, but those could have been built by the aliens for it mattered. The only true sign that anyone had been to the moon these past few centuries were the footprints, indentations made and preserved with such perfection that it was hard to tell the difference between one made a week or an eon ago.

But one particular set of prints were fresh, made just hours before by the warrior that stood over them now. The warrior turned their eyes from the view of the mountains to the prints at their feet. They reached up under their hood and pressed two fingers to the side of their helmet, to their communications device.

"Preparations are in order. Sending the message now."