Death.
For many, it is a concept to be feared, to be respected. It is the ender of relationships, of knowledge, of everything that you were and will have ever been. They see it as nothing but a monster, the blades ready at a moment's notice to cut clean through the fragile string you call your life.
For others, it is but the next great step in the journey of existence. When it is time for them to shed their physical bond with the world, they do so gladly and without hesitation. They know not what waits beyond, but hope that there is yet more to discover, to experience, to explore. They are happy to go on.
Some simply consider it an escape; a way to flee from the pain of living, the hurt that comes from simply being alive. When life becomes too much to bear, they welcome the embrace of death regardless of what may follow after. For them, they do not care about meeting it prematurely, or if there is more. They only desire for their suffering to cease.
The one thing that all agree upon is that death is a universal truth; just as every being has a beginning, there must also come an end. Everyone prepares for it in different ways, but the result is always the same. No matter the person, no matter the status, no matter your wealth, riches, family, friends, everyone finds themselves in the ground one day.
But that was before the Traveler.
With the Traveler came ways to extend your lifespan further than any had ever lived in history. But this wasn't enough, people wanted immortality. To be able to live on without fear of aging, sickness, and the trivial nuances that come with being human. Boundaries were pushed further than they ever should have been, and scientists worked themselves to the bone to find the secret of eternal life.
When the Exos were created, many believed them to be the next step of human evolution. They foresaw an opportunity to live forever, and they grasped onto that hope tightly.
They were the foolish ones.
One never considers the potential complications that arise from the inability to age. As the years pressed on, Exos went from being perceived as the ultimate accomplishment to being treated as inferior. The instinctive partiality that humans have towards their own organic bodies led to a complete impression overhaul of the metallic race. From hero to zero, Exos were shunned and cast out from society, nothing more than a people of second rate quality.
Humanity never once asked themselves, in the several centuries it took for Exos to reach this point, how the Exos perceptions of humanity had become. To see the world shape itself around them, and live on. To see humanity praise them, and live on. To watch their loved ones die, and live on. To be an outcast, and live on. To have to constantly rectify the memories in their mind that they had once been flesh and bone like the organics of hate they saw before them … and live on.
There must have been no greater torture than the one the Exos endured, as they watched the entirety of the rest of their species slowly turn against them, growing more and more dissatisfied with their inability to age or fall ill. To hold such a burden would surely destroy someone, and so they began to wipe their minds clean. They purged themselves of the good memories before, so that they would be unable to compare their miserable existences to anything better. It is impossible to miss something if you've never experienced it.
Unknown to all, there were few Exos who never wiped. Who never gave in to the pressures and prejudices against them. Who endured everything. Who forgot nothing.
There were four.
Three were brought back from their previous demise to serve the will of the Darkness, the entity that had destroyed their makers, their tormentors and tyrants. They did not forgive.
One never fell.
The one never wavered in their faith for humanity to become better than it had once been. They stayed true to their belief that all could redeem themselves. And though it took millennia, they were rewarded for their trust.
The Guardians saw to that.
At long last, the one witnessed the blossoming view of peace. Tranquility reigned throughout the system as humanity reclaimed their lost worlds, as they fought back the tendrils of Darkness that had ensnared them, pushing it back until light broke through the barrier of shadows that had plagued them for so long. Finally, the Light had won.
And in a single moment, it was all taken away.
Once more, instability tore through the ranks of humanity and the hope for a better future was cast deep into the depths of uncertainty. The faith that the one had in humanity was shattered, broken after seeing how far people can fall no matter how high they rise.
You must ask yourself; how long can one being go with nothing to sustain them but hope, only to have it shredded before their eyes?
And then consider this; what happens when an immortal being wishes to die?
—X—
The Spark, restored.
The Vault of Glass, shattered. Atheon destroyed, Kaine along with it.
Crota, thrust upon his own blade, and the Deathsingers scattered.
Oryx, eaten away as his own sword-logic was used against him.
No more.
With every obstacle, every figurehead of the Darkness, the Guardians and the Light grow stronger. Their arrogance grows as the Darkness is beaten back one minion at a time. That perspective must be corrected.
Humanity will see its doom in due time. But attention must be diverted from the long game, and focused upon those most likely to stand in the way of progress.
The Legends.
Those six who rise up to fight again and again, unyielding and undying. Their refusal to perish only encourages its hatred further, and it decides that they have persisted long enough.
The Fallen's greed has revealed a new contender for humanity's extinction. The red diamonds shine bright as their tendrils and flowers blossom and spread across the winter landscape. It allows them this, for the Darkness has one last service to require of them.
A soul persists long after death either one of two ways; either their Light will illuminate their resting place for years to come, or the Darkness within will stain their death point with their final mark upon the world. And either, with the right manipulation, can be brought back.
The metal human shrieks and cries for help. He screams for a lifeline, to be saved from his destiny. Does he not know how magnificent his fate is? How honored he should feel to be a part of the Darkness' vengeance?
O', he bucks and kicks as though he has a choice. He does not yet know how pure he will be made, how the ending of his life will make room for another.
A thick cloud of shadow pierces his body, and he gives his most piercing scream yet. It gives the Darkness satisfaction to know the agony he must feel as his very soul is purged from existence, ripped away from his own body and cast into the void. Do not worry, o' metal insect. Your body will be house to my most treasured instrument.
The body lies still, no more than a shell now. This time, the cloud that pierces it a swarm, not black but red with a weapon of the humans' own making. They insert themselves, bury themselves deep in the framework and breathe life back into the construct.
With such a vacant home available, a new soul enters its place. The eyes of amethyst flash for a moment to blue, and then are quickly overtaken by red. They glare at the crowd around them, looking for understanding. They see once more.
Red.
Red.
Everything is red.