Chapter 20
Bannerfall
Arla Nublier
7:17 pm
Arla waited quietly in the shadows of the twilight, jaw and gun clenched in stress, fury, and fear. She'd been alone since the landing, the pod malfunctioning and killing one of her squadmates on impact while the other two had died in a failed ambush, one that had nearly cost Arla her own life. Quickly, they had become just another tick in the death toll, names that would long be forgotten in the sands of time as the truth slowly dawned on Arla, a truth that made her rethink what she was doing and why she was doing it, but two things remained abundantly clear in her mind: this was doing the right thing, and this was how it had to be.
Arla peeled an eye out of the alleyway and looked back at the street she had been walking for the last hour or so, marveling at the sheer amount of distance she had covered alone. Towering above her, she saw the Traveler in its broken glory, struggling to contrast itself with the night. Now nearing Traveler Square, she tried to find the glowing flower bed at its heart, but found no such glow on the horizon save for the palace beyond the other side. Traversing the Square was going to be the most dangerous part of this by far, no cover or backup. Something could be lurking in the ash laden grass, and she wouldn't be able to tell until it was too late.
Arla pulled back into the alley and double checked she hadn't been followed. Confirming where she was in the right place, Arla flipped up a small panel on her wrist that pulled up various versions of the City's map and scrolled through it until she found herself. Once more, she scrolled to the west and found Maximus' ping, his dot now alone and proceeding rather swiftly towards the palace. Several times she had thought of thought of trying to radio him but told herself that she was better off alone for this, at least for the moment. She had an objective to complete before she could attempt to cross the Square and move to the rally point outside of the palace. Checking the outside once more, Arla pulled out her pistol, raised it to the sky, and flipped the trigger, quickly soaring into the air and hauling herself onto the roof of the building. Silently she crossed the roof, looking for the access that would lead her into the dusty building below. For something so close to a large chuck of the Tower, this block was surprisingly intact, intact relative to what Arla had seen thus far. Most of the buildings on this road Arla remembered vividly, her runs through this part of the City and the Square allowing her to familiarize herself over the years. If it wasn't for muscle memory and the faint reminders of what these building once were, she would have likely passed them by without a second glance.
After a small amount of searching, Arla found the access panel she'd been looking for, an ancient-looking metal panel mostly camouflaged against the ash. "Aha," she whispered to herself as she opened the panel and slid through.
Despite all the time she'd spent in Starway's Diner, she had never ventured to the third floor, believing that she meant more to Harold as a customer of the restaurant than a guest in his home. Though, she couldn't help but shake the paternal affection he'd shown to her, the unyielding support in her shortcomings and high praises in her victories. As she walked towards the door that bared Harold's name, she couldn't help but feel a tad bit of shame disturbing his final place of rest. Reverently, she holstered her gun and opened the door. "I came as quickly as I could," she declared in a hushed voice, proceeding through the ingress.
The apartment was small and cramped, but for someone that dumped every resource he had into maintaining his business, Arla couldn't help but feel that this wasn't Harold's home, merely the place he slept. Home is where the heart is, and Harold's heart belonged to the restaurant he had fostered two floors below.
"We know you did," a voice answered in the kitchenette. Out stepped a woman in burnt orange armor with messy hair and tired eyes. Arla's eyes immediately fixed to the mustached man lying on the couch with his hands clasped gently just above his hips.
"Am I too late?" Arla whispered, fighting back tears.
"Passed away just a few minutes ago in his sleep," Charli whispered, moving towards the coffee table as Arla crouched down at the side of where he lay.
"At least he got the rest he deserved." Arla placed a hand on his forehead and felt the striking cold that was quickly taking over his body. After a moment, Arla pulled back her hand and buried her head in her arms. Charli bowed her head in silent prayer for a moment before reaching behind her back and pulling out a sheathed blade with a slip of paper attached to it. She quietly tapped Arla's shoulder, saying, "Harold wanted you to have this."
Arla, tears soaking her face, turned around and accepted the gift, unwrapping the slip of paper and unfurling it.
My Dearest Arla,
I honestly want to apologize for what I have to tell you, but the fact that you're reading this means that the inevitable happened. As you are well aware, I hadn't been feeling well for quite some time and instead of doing what you thought was right, I did what I still believe was wrong: I lied. All those clean bills of health were just Martin scribbling nonsense on a datapad. Truth is, I never got better until today or whenever you wind up reading this note.
Between when I write this and the day of my actual passing, I have no clue how much time will pass, and I know you're a constant busybody, that bit never changed in these last seven or eight years, but I want to leave you with two things. The first is the knife. I had some friends around town help me make it for you, so I hope it suits you well. I'm just sorry that I won't get to see you use it. The second thing for you is a poem, one of my personal favorites from centuries ago. I hope you are able to take its wisdom with you in these trying times. I'm confident that you'll get through this even if I do not.
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light. (1)
Always by your side, even in parting,
Harold Starway
Arla read the note over and over again, tears flowing like rivers while she did, guilt for not being able to save him welling inside her. Despite the brave face she'd plastered on herself since confronting Maximus, Dea, and the rest of them in that odd room, Arla couldn't help but feel it eating away at her, softening the thick skin she'd built up over the years, an unseen armor that had been exploited increasingly so as of late. She felt older, especially now that she was mortal. She knew that at one point or another it'd be her time to go, to ebb into that final good night and become one with the sky and stars, touch eternity as she once had and enter it with the knowledge that it wouldn't leave again. Arla's hand gripped the knife harder. Until that time though, she knew she had to fight, fight until that last breath left her cold, dead corpse. Fight until either she was conquerer or among the conquered. Push these invaders back, so that they never would obtain that title, obtain the Great Machine they had sought all these years.
Arla sat up and pulled the knife out of the holster, a shining silver blade glinting the dim sunlight in the room back at her, the blade sharp enough to plunge itself into the observer merely by the eye catching its light. "Rage before the Night" was etched into each side of the blade, the red in each letter looking like dried blood. As Arla twisted the knife, flipping it in her hand she realized the blade was not actually silver, rather silver with a red tint, lighter than that of the letters. The lettering seemed to melt back into the blade at that angle, appearing as one, almost heated blade. Reverently impressed with the handiwork and subtle touches, Arla pushed it back into the sheath and attached the sheath on the right side of her belt. She felt its warmth, its rage, against her side, almost as if it were yearning to spill blood and forever stain itself. In due time, Arla thought, standing up.
"You ready?" Charli asked with a light hand on Arla's shoulder. Arla looked over her shoulder at the now-helmed Titan and silently nodded, feeling the reassurance and promise in the solemn hand. She opened the wrist map and found Maximus' location, the dot unmoving for the moment. Zooming out, she found a total of about 36 active signals, much less than half of what Dea had launched. Before Charli saw, Arla flipped it back. "Let's get moving then," the Titan suggested, pulling her weapon off her back with one hand and tossing Arla's helmet with the other.
As they left, Arla couldn't help but notice the warzone that was the restaurant. Bodies of Fallen, humans, Exos, and Awoken, even a couple Guardians littered the floor in an absolute slaughter. "When the Tower fell, all hell broke loose," Charli started mournfully. "Brother against brother. Guardian versus Rogue. It was more of a free for all than anything. This was the only choice we had."
Arla drew her own rifle as they exited the now-missing front door and headed towards the square. "Harold decided to fight too?"
Arla could sense Charli's smile even beneath the helmet. "Probably one of the bravest men I've met. He kept them suppressed from the kitchen while I did most of the dirty work. For a lack of experience, he was a pretty good shot when he needed to be." The pair paused outside of the square, night firmly placing itself on the sky. "Where's the rally point?" Charli asked as Arla searched for the lights of the flowers once again.
"They didn't really talk about it," Arla realized after a moment of thought.
"That's not good."
"Maybe they were hoping Maximus would get some kind of revelation or something?" Arla posed with a shrug.
"Revelation? Like a prophet?"
Arla continued to scan the grass with the various visor settings. "Maximus is the new Speaker. According to Dea, he has been for at least a few weeks, but for some reason he either couldn't feel it or denied it."
"So something was different," Charli whispered. Behind them, an explosion roared, a building very close to where Harold was had just been obliterated. The Titan tossed a glance at Arla. "Funeral rites. Harold told me he wanted to go out in a blaze of glory while we fought. I figured I'd grant him that last wish. We probably should get going." Arla smiled to herself. He always did have a flare for the dramatic.
Charli pushed a button on the side of her helmet. "Hey Roald, are they all ready?" She laughed to herself. "Yeah, I've got her. We're at the edge of Traveler Square just like you asked...side?" Charli looked around. "Uh...the side closest to that resta...there's a fresh pillar of smoke, maybe a few Fallen patrols."
Arla heard voices crackle into her comms and stopped adjusting the settings on her helmet. She held a hand on the dial on the side of her helmet as she listened. "...id you do Charli?" Roald Hendricks, an old friend snapped.
"I gave Arla's friend a proper send off. If Mars taught me something, it's that life is too short not to show some human decency," Charli argued.
Roald sighed. "No wonder you were a pilot," he muttered quietly. "Fine, whatever. Just get yourselves hidden until we arrive."
Using her fingers, Arla marked where the dials had been and pushed it back to the ever-silent comms channel for the Nine. "What're you listening to?" Charli asked, Arla feigning a startle.
She recovered her posture and said, "Nothing but the silent Nine comms. Haven't heard a peep out of them since I landed."
"That's a shame. We'll worry about that later. For now, we need to keep hidden until Roald gets here." Nearly dragging Arla, Charli hustled over to one of the buildings on a street adjacent to the new column of smoke, one that Arla could have sworn smelled like sizzling bacon as it drifted over.
"How many other Guardians are alive?" Arla asked, referring to Roald.
"As far as we have found? Twelve, so that makes fifteen of us still fighting."
"What about any Guardians from beyond Earth?"
Charli peeled open the door to a building that, like the others, had seen much better days, the windows shattered and glass spread about a dark floor, possibly a furniture shop at one point or another given the assortment of couches, chairs, and beds combining with the smell of wax mingling with synthetic leather. "Your drop pods are the first things to get through their air defenses, and we both know how many of those didn't make it through."
"What about Rasputin?" Arla wondered why the old man hadn't reacted to any of this.
Charli laid her gun against a china cabinet and leapt onto a bed. "Roald has two theories…" Arla set her gun next to Charli's but elected to keep her pistol drawn as she settled into a reclining chair. Charli propped her head with an arm. "One is the lack of comms beyond about a hundred meters is keeping it quiet. The other is that it's still reading an all clear or something that's preventing it from firing."
"I'm honestly glad it hasn't. When I saw the images, I knew something had happened, but I thought that someone had ticked off the Old Man again."
"Yeah," Charli sighed. "We wouldn't want to have another situation like Caesar." Whirring engines came from outside. "Looks like they're coming." She clicked back over comms, and Arla discreetly began listening in. "Is that you guys?"
"Yeah, we're incoming," an unexpected voice answered, one that caused Charli to sit up on the bed rather quickly.
"Maximus?" Arla blurted. "Where've you been?"
The steady whir of a Sparrow hummed in the background. "I got a little tied up at Omolon. Let's just say I don't fancy the other guy."
"Ouch. Where are you right now? Charli and I are waiting in that furniture store by Traveler Square for a group of Guardians that survived."
"We're just around the corner," Roald butted in. More engines began to echo through the empty streets before dying just in front of the entrance. "Made it."
The engines in Maximus' comms died out as well. "I'm just around the corner as well," he announced. "Would you mind one more?"
"For the Speaker? Anything," Roald replied. The door to the shop opened and in stepped a Titan in green and gold armor carrying a similarly colored hand cannon. "Come on you two," he called out as they picked up their weapons and moved towards the door. Arla hesitated for a moment, just now digesting what Roald had said before. Quickly, she looked for an excuse. "Hold up a minute," Arla yelled. "I dropped one of my knives."
"You need any help?" Charli offered, stopping and turning around as Arla went back to the chair she'd been sitting in.
"I've got it," she initially said, adding after a moment, "I think it just slipped into the cushion." The Huntress crouched over the chair and feigned fishing around in the cushion. "Maybe not. She retreated behind a large china cabinet, pulling out her pistol and the knife Harold had given her. She held the grip hard, preparing herself for what she had to do. This isn't the real thing, she repeated over and over in her head. We're not there yet. Suddenly, everything crashed around her and threw her to the floor. Guttural cries screeched over the an explosion of sound until one word rang out over the others: "AMBUSH!" Heavy boots ran across the store as Charli called out, "I'm coming Arla!"
Just as the boots reached their loudest, Arla threw herself forward into Charli, knocking them both to the ground and tumbling into a chair. Gunshots echoed out of the doors, and Arla, suddenly finding herself staring down the barrel of Charli's weapon, knocked it to the side just as she squeezed the trigger, several bullets depositing themselves into the floor just to her right. While Charli was off balance, she made a quick punch at the magazine, a sharp crunch and click ringing out as the magazine bent outward. Undaunted, Charli twisted the weapon back and launched the stock at Arla's face, barely missing and slamming into the ground.
Arla twisted her body and positioned herself on top, drawing a knife and preparing to plunge it into the burnt orange armor. Two firm hands gripped the knife and pushed it back towards her, both straining at the effort. More cries of battle raged outside as Arla battled back. Charli shifted beneath her, and suddenly the Huntress found herself scrambling off her back, crawling towards the pistol she had dropped moments before. A hand cannon burst into the floor as Arla shuffled to her feet and swept up the gun, another one burying itself into her shields and collapsing them on impact. Stumbling a couple steps backward as she regained her balance, a third shot whizzed past her with only centimeters between her and death. Seizing an opportunity, Arla snatched a thin knife from her belt and threw it as hard as she could.
Charli, with a swift flick of her hand cannon, simultaneously blocked the knife and dispatched the spent capsule. Arla rolled to the side between two wardrobes and threw one to the ground as she dashed for cover. Another bullet split the air next to her, her shields and breath finding the momentary ability to recover as it deflected off of something nearby. Arla switched the mode on her pistol, a second barrel sliding open with a small protrusion snapping forward. "Eat this you poser," she muttered to herself. She leaned out just in time for another bullet to pummel the shielding at the head. Her head snapped back painfully, but Arla deftly used the backwards momentum to roll herself to a kneeling position and pull the trigger. A cord quickly spooled out of the the lower barrel as Charli looked at her chest. Bracing, Arla released the trigger and pushed it forward, the line snapping taught and yanking an unwilling Charli towards her. As the Titan flew, she flipped the switch again, depositing a pair of bullets in her adversary and releasing the tension in the cable. Arla dropped the pistol just as she arrived, burying her other knife deep into the helmet with the momentum and driving the corpse onto the ground. Purplish-green blood oozed from the head would, and "Charli" moved no more.
The Huntress knelt there for a few more moments, waiting for something she couldn't quite put her finger on. Nothing in the store moved except for herself and the puddle slowly growing around her. Arla slowly retracted the knife and wiped the blade before placing it back in its sheath. That wasn't Charli she repeated as she picked up her other knife, weapon, and moved towards the now-silent door outside.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Voidwalker Maximus
8:31pm
Arla shuffled out of the store visibly shaken that much I could tell. As I looked at the bodies around me, many of them deflating or stretching vertically as their Fallen bodies couldn't fit the Guardian armor unassisted. Her steps were slow and calculated, not covering much ground but showcasing a lot of thought as she maneuvered around shards of glass or other debris. Once she passed through the blown apart ingress, she slumped to her knees with her eyes to the ground. "What do you even want?" Arla whispered seemingly to the wind. "What is there for you to take? What is there for us to defend?" An explosion echoed in the distance. When I turned back my gaze, Arla was staring dead at me, her face behind the visor begging an answer. "The Traveler. You want the Traveler," she continued. "A broken machine that hasn't done anything meaningful for at least a century. You embarked on a crusade to save something that can't protect those around it...that can't even save itself." Arla gave a melancholy chuckle. "At this point, I just feel like giving it to you. You've killed thousands, injured more, and displaced the rest all for a broken machine that we don't even know." Arla pushed herself to her feet. "When it's put that way, it makes us all sound crazy doesn't it? Like we stepped off the deep end?" She chuckled a little harder, her voice closer to its normal volume.
"I've slain your kind by the Ketch-ful," she shouted, throwing a hand towards the store. "Pulled the trigger and ended their miserable existences in the name of a cause I thought I believed in, but you know what? In the end, it doesn't matter. You Fallen would continue to throw yourselves at us until the end of time if you could, make yourselves a martyr for a god that abandoned you just like we would. As someone who's spent a fair amount of their afterlife on constant guard, I can tell you this: it doesn't care. A dead god sees nothing, does nothing. There comes a point when you realize that if you're going to accomplish anything in life before you die, you have to find your own purpose, blaze your own trail." Arla raised her left hand and looked at something metal in it.. "I've decided my purpose," she declared, her voice returning to the near whisper it had been. In a sharp motion, her right hand shot up and drew a golden hand cannon. "I'm going to kill every last one of you." With a flick of the wrist, the grenade shot forward, and Arla's figure ignited in a bright orange. She fired once into the building, the shot and its resonating heat lighting the cloth and wooden materials inside. She immediately followed it with another to the opposite side of the building. Finally, she turned to the orange grenade flying through the air. The final shot rang out, with a massive explosion in tow that made me shield my eyes. Arla, now doused in a flickering silhouette, spoke again. "What was it you said, imposter? 'Go out with a bang?'" She let off a maniacal chuckle. "I hope you burn."
I remained motionless, stunned. Her words chilled me to the core; it was like she had lost it, or that she was right. Even though I was now connected to the Traveler, I knew its one desire, the one thing that it yearned for more than anything at this point. It had tried to solace me, saying everything would be alright, but the truth said that nothing was going to be the same again. Even if the Illusion were to pack up and leave right now, nothing would return to the status quo. The Tower was a large section of the wall that no longer existed. Much of the City would have to be rebuilt.
A tap came at my shoulder. "Maximus, you ready?" Dea asked. I turned around and saw the her in flexible yet sturdy armor, her usual standard of dress and hood exchanged for battle garb. I replaced the magazine in my weapon and said, "I don't think Arla is. You think she's lost it?"
"This wouldn't be the first time she's gone off the deep end," Dea warned.
"Her family's Wolf. Yeah, I remember the story," I agreed.
Dea nodded. "This would make it double duty. I think the Illusion knew about her connection to Harold, knew she was vulnerable and would probably come her way. I still find it strange that they would send a patrol of just Guardians."
I looked at a couple of the bodies that surrounded me, a number far less than what had been there before the Nova Bomb. "They're crafty I'll give them that. Were you able to find anything on our imposter friend...before Arla torched the place?" I glanced at her still staring at the fire. I felt the sudden urge to get moving, but I convinced myself that we were in just as much danger standing here as we would be riding across the Plaza or hoofing it.
"She didn't give me much time, but yeah. This one was a rather high ranking Vandal from the looks of it. Found this in a pocket on her belt." Dea held up a small, black chip with a white edge. "Looks like it switched her comms chip while she was paying her respects."
I pulled off my helmet for a second and switched my own chip back to the original. Upon putting it back on, they crackled for a second or two, but, beyond that, they remained the same eerie silence they'd been since the Illusion figured out a way to hack in. I handed Dea the Fallen chip. "That's cold," I muttered. "Characteristic of them. But still cold." The wind began to pick up, sweeping through the abandoned roads and whistling through the spaces in the buildings.
"I think winter came early this year," Dea observed.
"This winter has been coming for a long time," I responded. "The Vanguard and Speaker were just doing what the older Vanguards had taught. Same with those before them: fight today, so that we have a tomorrow. Delay the inevitable. This winter is late if nothing else."
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Traveler Plaza was silent aside from the wind, a gale that muffled any footsteps, friend or foe. We passed through the shadow that now draped it, another shadow beginning its descent on the City and joining its long-lost brother.
The closer we traveled to the Queen's palace, the better off our surroundings faired. It still looked like a warzone, but the amount of dust and destroyed blocks dwindled until streets were just outright dirty, people annihilated rather than entire streets razed. That was when we ran into the patrols we'd predicted. It was probably about ten people or so, quite literally civilians with guns walking down the street with little to no body armor. Dea quickly led us to the top of the building before the group could see or hear us. As they marched on, we payed them no attention, instead looking for their "Guardian" protection.
I looked from building to building, scanning each one for heat signatures or something that would give away their position. Neither of the others had any luck. A man up front with a Suros rifle halted the group and said something that was lost in the wind. The group began to disperse, poking through the buildings nearby and shouting to each other. I kept my eye on that man, scanned him to confirm my suspicion. "I think they primed the volunteers with their own troops," I posited. "The leader is disguised."
Dea turned her eyes to the leader as well, confirming what my scanners saw. "Probably a low-ranking Vandal. Let me see if I can find their comms frequency. Keep looking." I shifted over to the corner of the building and perched myself against the ledge, watching the group slowly rally back to their de facto leader. Moments later, two more of the militia turned orange. "Got two more," Dea announced.
"Quality control I bet," Arla muttered. "When things go south, they're probably supposed to kill the group." After a moment of silence, she added, "Or at least the ones who panic."
"They're all civilians with no experience in battle," Dea offered. "Two things are gonna happen. They'll try and die like heroes or flee in terror. We're not going to let either of them happen." She pulled a grenade off of her belt, it was thinner and more cylindrical than the others she carried. "Gas potent enough to knock 'em out for a while."
"Why knock 'em out when we could kill them?"
"We need to minimize civilian casualties," Dea reasoned. "Look, I won't stop you after I gas them, but just as you said, the moment everything goes awry, their escorts will come out of the shadows and kill them."
Suddenly, a shot rang out, and one of the men in the group dropped dead. Screams and shouts for help and cover split the air as several more shots rattled through. "Find them!" I yelled, sweeping my weapon from side to side, trying to locate the source. Arla rattled off several shots, the marked Fallen going dark.
"Spread out!" Dea ordered above the chaos. I quickly slung my weapon to my back and leapt onto the adjacent building, one that was a few feet lower than the original. A momentary glance downward, once I hid in the far corner, showed a third of the men and women lying dead in the streets. Taking cover on the building, a bullet punched through the concrete next to me, causing me to take a step backward and lean further into cover in hopes that it was an errant shot.
"Bring it on!" Arla shouted from the original building. I looked up just in time for her to fire her grappling hook straight into a "Huntress" dressed in purple and red. The Fallen, stunned by pain and surprise, suddenly found a throwing knife sticking out of its face, Arla retracting the hook, and in one swift motion while the body hurtled towards her, grabbed the knife and used her shoulder to toss the imposter off of the roof, onto the street below. Suddenly, she turned in my direction and fired again, the hook burying itself a foot to my left. With a powerful jump, Arla hurtled head first towards me. Unsure of what she was doing, I rolled out of the way, and in that time, a Warlock in blue and yellow armor vaulted onto the roof just for Arla to bury her shoulder into it. The two went over the edge of the roof, and I sprinted to the ledge out of fear for the worst. A sharp crack echoed out of the alley as they hit the ground, Arla on top. With a quick stab of her knife into its helmet and a reverberating war cry, that imposter met its bloody end. She pulled herself off of the body and plopped herself down behind a nearby dumpster.
Suddenly a bullet hit the side of my helmet, tossing my head to the side enough to deflect a second that would have gone straight through the facemask. Across the street was a Titan in red and black armor, heaving a grenade. "Titan across the street!" I reported, ducking behind the ledge in time for another pair of bullets to split the air over my head. Several more shots smashed into the building, several cutting through the damaged concrete around me and some of them pushing through a little too close for comfort.
I pulled up with my eye down the sights of my weapon, watching for the marker for the Titan. When he popped up next, he had moved a few feet to my right, but, by then, three shots of my own shattered the facemask and dropped him. "Titan down."
"Two down," Arla stated, out of breath. "Last one got me a little more than I'd anticipated." I heard the hook shoot into the wall next to me, and Arla vaulted over the ledge moments later.
"You good?" I asked without looking, still scanning the area for "Guardians" and purposely missing the civilians below.
"I'll live," she said, lightly tapping my shoulder. I took the reprieve and shoved another magazine into the Multi-Tool.
"Alright," Dea chimed in. "Popping gas. Switch to the reserves." Arla ducked behind the ledge as well, tossing the spent mag over the ledge and maneuvering a new one into the slot. Below, I heard the small tink of light metal bouncing on concrete followed by a sharp hiss. A white mist began to fill the air, quickly clouding everything in a dense smokescreen. Shouts of confusion and loud bouts of coughing filled the streets until the cloud was about as high as the roof we were on. In accidental sync, Arla and I switched to the reserves of oxygen in our suits, a small chuckle coming out of us both. Dea called out over our local radio, "Arla you've got overwatch. Maximus, on me." I shrugged to Arla and leapt over, blinking closer to the ground to limit my impact.
I couldn't see much on the street other than what was immediately in front of me and the white gas. A small message about limited targeting capabilities flashed on the top right of my HUD. Dea held up a fist. "You hear that?" she asked. Nothing stirred the air. Slowly, the gas began to clear, showing the numerous bodies of dead and unconscious littering the ground. Living or not, they all looked like rotting corpses, most of their clothes, hair, and other features run ragged with the most recent events. Most of them probably ran who knows how far away from the falling Tower and debris, from their impending doom only to track right back to the carnage.
"I don't," I whispered.
We continued to tread slowly and lightly through the street, Dea on alert for something in the distance. "We've got another patrol," she announced over the comms. "Sounds like they're using more of those sparrows you found."
"Better for us." I concluded with a sigh. "Save us the bullets." Dea stopped just before we entered the intersection at the end of the road. "Arla?"
"I'm here. Haven't seen anything since the gas cleared," she reported. "No sign of any sparrows either."
Dea kept her hand on the side of her helmet, like she was listening for the sparrows while talking to Arla. Suddenly, her head snapped to the side. "Cover now," she ordered, redrawing her weapon. We slipped into the slowly growing shadows of the night. Now, I could hear the faint whir of the sparrows, nearly inaudible and made even moreso by the slight wind. "Arla they're coming your way," Dea relayed. "Stay hidden." The patrol cruised by us, almost a blur, but I felt something yank me back in their direction, a bad feeling stirring in my gut. Dea tossed a glance at me. "What are you doing?" she whispered.
"Saving her life," I said, sprinting out of our hiding place and dashing after the patrol. Dea tried to swipe a piece of the road but a quick flick to the right and a small push off the wall left her with nothing but air. As I ran, I would blink as soon as I could, covering ground much faster alone than I had with the group and keeping the patrol just within my line of sight. The fire I'd felt so many times, seen manifest itself in my darkest hours, the last drops of the Traveler's Light, began to ignite. Each blink began to cover more ground. My legs churned faster. My eyes seemed hyper-focused on everything around me. A faint white glow began to surround me. The black of night became clear as day.
A thought flickered through my mind. I saw myself in the air, rearing a punch behind one of the Guardians driving. The sparrows' engines were slowly growing louder as I approached, the light around me growing brighter with every step. I planted a foot on the ground again and blinked once more. In a flash of light, I was suddenly over a sparrow rider. With the snap of my wrist, the sparrow veered to the left and careened into its partner just as I hit the ground and rolled off the momentum. The tangled metal and "Guardians" flipped and crashed hard into the ground, exploding in a glorious firework.
I stood and dusted myself off, checking my weapons were still on my back. "Two sparrows down," I radioed. Somewhere down the road, I could hear more engines. "I'm hearing two more."
"I've got a pod of them!" Arla shouted, gunfire echoing in the background. "Counted five. I need some help."
"I'm on the way," I answered, picking up the pace again. Gunshots pierced the air, streaks, flashes, and chunks of dirt, stone, and asphalt spraying out of the ground or falling out of the building like small geysers of destruction. I eyed the glow slowly surrounding me, feeling a new power, the very one that I felt in Omolon, stirring within me, an almost literal fire that I could mentally harness and push into my arms and legs, every move deliberate, my senses on high alert. It was almost as if I could feel the essence of life itself. I could see the group much clearer now. Ten "Guardians" pinning Arla on top of a building not far from where she'd been watching over us. I had to buy her some time to escape. Suddenly, one reached for its neck and toppled forward, a new sound, one I hadn't heard since Venus, since I met Dea there and learned of the Black Garden. As it fell forward, fire erupted starting at its neck, enveloping its silent corpse until it became a pile of ash. The pod began to fan out, a couple of them tuning to search for the mysterious shooter, Dea, who had taken a position in the buildings across the street. "Arla," she shouted. "Get out of here now! We'll buy you some time." Arla popped up and let off a couple more shots, striking a Hunter in the leg but otherwise missing.
I clenched a scatter grenade, jumped, and threw it right at the running feet of a pair, the air around them sparking and exploding until they lay lifeless. Another shot rang out, toppling another Fallen. I drew my weapon and narrowly avoided some incoming fire. I rolled beneath a couple more and came up on one knee, leveling the sights and shattering the faceplate of a Titan with two quick pulls of the trigger. Just as I pulled up, someone got a lucky shot into my shoulder and thigh, knocking out my shields and forcing me to dash toward the buildings. Shields recovered, I leaned out and let loose a couple more rounds, suppressing a Warlock as he tried to lock down Dea's position. "Rifle charged. I'm back in," Dea announced. I ducked out to let loose a few more shots, but the gun clicked without a bang. Immediately, I pulled back in. "Got a jam!" I called out.
"There's a chamber release on the top." She fired her rifle. "Pull open the access and pull the bolt back. The jam should be forced out." She shot again. "Gun recharging."
I opened the access just above the bolt and yanked it back. A steaming, hot bullet flew out and clattered to the ground. As a precaution, I swapped the clip and closed everything back up, shouting, "Back in!" I pulled out of cover just in time to see the final "Guardian" heft a rocket launcher to his shoulder and fire. Just as she pulled the trigger, its helmet exploded into a thousand shards. Time crawled as I shot a pair of errant bullets at the rocket, missing wide as it careened into the building. "Arla!" I felt myself shout.
One scream drowned out everything else as I saw a body fly alongside the charred debris.
I dropped my weapon and sprinted forward, blinking with my arms open to catch her. The flash of the blink cleared... Arla several feet below me, smacking into the asphalt hard, her beat up helmet flying off on impact. "Arla!" I shouted again. I planted my feet and dashed back the other way, sliding on my knees to where she lay in a crumpled heap. Blood seeped through several bullet holes all over her torso and arms. Shrapnel pierced other parts of her as she just stared into oblivion. "Dea come in," I said, applying pressure to the larger wounds in an attempt to stem the bleeding. "Dea come in now. Arla's bleeding out. We need one of those shots." Blood continued to slip through my fingers as I continued to do my best. "DEA!" I shouted. "GET OVER HERE NOW" I looked away from her wounds to see her glowing green eyes, slightly unfocused, staring through my helmet right into mine. A shaky hand rose, touching my helmet, pushing on it as if to take it off. I gently set down her hand and unceremoniously yanked off the helmet, fruitlessly reapplying the pressure. "You're going to be fine," I reassured her. "Dea's coming with the shot. We'll get you fixed up in no time." I moved to pick her up, but she placed her hands on my arms, continuing to stare at me.
"No," she whispered, her voice distant and wispy. "No...shots." Her breathing was labored and uneven. "I've lived...my life, twice over." She took another breath. "And I wouldn't trade it...for anything. I'm...proud of you Maximus. You'll make a fine Speaker." She reached a hand to my face as the color quickly drained from hers. "I'm just sorry I won't get to see it."
"Don't talk like that," I said, grabbing her hand and placing it back on her slowly darkening chest. I turned and yelled as loud as I could, not caring if the Fallen could here me. "DEA WHERE'S THAT SHOT?!"
Arla raised her hand again, the shaking much worse, the arm much weaker. "No, Maximus." A weak smile pushed its way across her face. "My time is up." She sucked in a breath, clearly struggling. "I know you'll do the right thing. It's what you do best." Her hand caressed the side of my face. "From here, the stars," she whispered.
"No!" I denied.
Her eyes widened, the focus drifting but still maintaining that piercing gaze she kept. "From here, the stars," she repeated.
I stared back, saying nothing initially but then muttering, almost inaudibly, "From here, the stars…"
I looked down and saw myself at the cosmodrome again, a wounded Huntress in a torn, brown cloak with gashes across many of the same areas. I remembered lifting her into the ICU. I remembered the battle at the Wall, her blood dripping onto the floor out as we flew off victoriously. I remembered the baseball games, the Devil's Lair, and the shadows. Once more, I saw the trials of the Black Garden, the endless wandering through its canyons and catacombs. I saw the Heart of Darkness and felt the evil radiating off of it. I saw it explode. I saw Arla tackle me in the ship right after, tears flooding her eyes as she screamed, "We did it! We did it!" I could almost feel her embrace as we huddled on the metal floor of the ship for what felt like forever. The memories melted back into the present. Arla's hands tightly clasped mine as I watched her. I looked down our entangled hands, using my thumbs to stroke hers. I looked back into her eyes and saw the sharp smile that I swore had always been there even in the darkest of times, a smile that spread across her face long enough for her to say, "I love you Maximus." Then, her head dipped back, and the glow faded from her eyes, one final breath escaping her lips. "From here, the stars," I repeated.
A new silence swept across the street, the wind going deathly still. I knelt there with her hands weakly clasping mine. I raised a mournful hand and closed her eyelids, sliding her head off of my lap and gently laying it on the road, but I didn't move after that. Instead, I did something I never thought Exos were capable of:
I cried.
Credit: "Do Not Go Gently into That Good Night" by Dylan Thomas, published in 1951.