Necrochasm
Do you think I have not witnessed your bloodshed, Guardian? That the conquests you waged were done in my ignorance? I watched you claw your way up from the corpses, when you were chosen by that falsity of a God. I heard your body struggle to live, saw the way that the Light raged to keep you from being returned to the darkness it stole you from. I drank the suffering of the Fallen as you burned away their wretched tribes, felt waves of pseudo-hatred that radiated through the Vex as you crippled their own emanation of a Godling. I bathed in the horror that radiated from hundreds of thousands as you ripped their so-called "Kell-of-Kells" from his perch and returned them to my embrace. But did you ever consider that you and your fellow Guardians had fed me single-handedly with the blood and pain of countless millions? After an offering like that, how could I resist a conversation with my Harvester Champion?
Have you ever wondered how many you've personally killed? Don't bother hiding from the glory of it all behind some just cause, you were pulled from the abyss for your capacity for death. But your death-toll is nothing but a snaking crimson rivulet compared to the roaring flood I have unleashed. As war raged for your species, as bone and rock struck the first blow of a newborn and eternal struggle, my army put worlds to the sword. Their soldiers quailed, then rallied, and finally broke, scythed through by our lowest Thralls even as their cities were left lifeless ritualized craters. I am the act of War, and I have never been equaled in my trade.
You think to challenge me? To drive a pittance of a dagger into my heart? To eviscerate that which defines the act of evisceration by it's very existence?
Even now the torment and struggling of ten million species feeds me, and not even Oryx, nor Savathûn, could hide their deepest secrets from me, even the very act of resisting my vision is an evocation of my wyrm-borne dominion over all that lives and dies. And it is in this manner that I am the greater God than all my Siblings, than the dooming Darkness, than the burning Light and your feeble Traveler.
I will share a secret with you: I have never fled the field in war. My forces have swallowed a million worlds, and not once have I failed to let the blood flow from soldier and sentinel and civilian alike. But, I watched as your so-called "Protector" abandoned you, when the Dark threatened to envelope it. It did not leave Io for your safety, but to leave you all to the predation of That Which Ends. Perhaps you scoff even now at the idea, irate and intent to cast my words as lies. But that is not my way, I am the crash of armies and the shattering of fleets, I am shock and awe, and more than that, I am a God. To lie is beneath me and my honest domain. Or, perhaps even you deluded and sentimental warriors who slave for the great celestial coward can see the truth on the wall.
Either way, it pleases me to disrupt that fantasy. Yet none of this is the true secret I intended to share. No, that is a banal detail compared to the truth. The so-called "Warminds" that your species created is was nothing compared to the Darkness. Automata Generals capable of building endless factories and weapon arrays, anything to defend Humanity from an invasion, within or without. No weapon however, no matter how powerful, can be counted to even strike an enemy beyond it's understanding. Across all the dozens of these machine-gods created by your species, there was not a single one capable of truly harming a paracausal entity. No, that power, that veneration belongs to my hand. How intelligent you must have presumed yourselves, cloaking your weaponry in codes and terms, building layer upon layer of defense at the very edges of your space, creating the very greatest strategists and commanders that had ever been witnessed by Humanity. But did you know that not a single one of those fortifications changed their calculations? That every single weapon was one they knew would be wasted?
There was only a single item of importance in their consideration, only a single worthwhile blade drawn against the Dark. It was this weapon they intended to use to wound the traitorous God-Sphere, a detonation capable of bending spacetime itself. A suitably primitive intimation of my wrath, the flare of light as it roared against the Traveler was bright enough that not a single person on Mars was left blind to the coming Collapse. And the energy released by the event was enough to doom the colonists of Titan to the crushing depths as the methane sea roiled around them. The very clouds of Jupiter were shifted, like a great bruise imposed upon it's surface. In a single moment, more destructive force was focused in that one spot, that one location, on your precious Godling than had been fired in the entire initial attack by the Warmind Collective on the Darkness.
For all the preparation, all the repetitions of simulations, the effort taken to isolate every variable and stop the only true defense for Humanity from fulfilling it's cowardly nature, the weapon managed only a crack in it's visage. A light-laced wound, thrumming with godly ichor, but only a scratch compared to what it had endured silently before in warring with the Darkness. A loser's compensation for their failure to stop it. Do you think your invented generals so clever now, when I reveal their impotence? Did you truly think only Humanity had the gall to attempt a failsafe? The truth is that no less than seventeen other species understood that they had no hope for victory in the intergalactic darkness without their para-causal light, that no less than fifteen of them attempted to restrain the Traveler, that all failed without exception. They were abandoned, and we were among the storm-surge that drowned their worlds, extinguished their stars, and drank their misery. They were ignorant of me before, but they learned learned my Sword Logic countless times until the extinction they fled caught them like a fly in my web.
It was my hand that saved your species. Not your failed machine gods, nor the entity that had shared your borders for so long, nor the hidden creeping voidlings of the Nine. The logic I forged is thus: the strong destroy the weak, the cowardly dishonour my domain, to flee my Domain is to twist and defile the logic and the power behind it. And those that violate my law fall under my purview to punish. I reached out from my throne-world, through the crux of the logic, and crippled it with a single blow, shattering it's armour and showering the burning fragments into the Saturnian clouds for years thereafter as they splintered, sparked, and died. It took only a single strike for the Sphere-God to protect itself against me, but I had need of only one. Without it to inspire you to battle, extinction would have come and left the system barren. I would have received no tribute from my glorious executioner as they warred and killed and doomed millions of others to drown in my grasp. It did not trap the Vex, nor shield the Earth, or even spread the very same ghosts that serve you now for your purposes, but for it's own. Desperate for makeshift little clockwork soldiers, it created you all, and even now you are but one more warrior to it. It feels no pride, no shame, no remorse at the lives you've taken. But I reward my Champions for the death they spread, and I will reward you now.
The casting off of one delusion deserves another, so let us consider the faith you've built up around your "allies". Do you consider them all worthy of your trust? Have you never wondered how the so-called "Hidden", Eris Morn survived her pilgrimage to the Moon? Six came to kill One, and even then failed to usurp his logic. Toland allowed himself to be obliterated into fragments because he knew there could be no simple victory against a God, yet you believe that she hid away in the realm of one? That the greatest of Crota's sorcerers simply could not conceive of her hiding place, would be left blind by her God, would not find and rip the last vestiges of the light from her cowardish corpse? My people have have hunted the light of the Great Coward for millennia and you think we would so easily miss one of it's wretched users in our own dominion?
No. Her escape was not simple happenstance, but directed opportunity by my Nephew. Even as she scurried and scrounged, as she cowered from the very Thralls she had hunted days before, he was the one that protected her. Even as she stole our secrets, it was his will that she be unharmed that saved her. Perhaps she would have wished otherwise, had she known what he wrought with her hands. That weapon you hold, Guardian, the one that craves violence and death and the end of species, did you never consider why it was among the broken detritus of the Moon? With ever ritual learned and every sacrifice made, she fulfilled a plan older than your entire civilization.
My Brother is many things, but he is not a fool. He considers himself a schemer, as my Sister does as well, and let both of them be damned for it. Treachery will have no home in my logic, it will earn no reward but for death. But even without me it sowed only the same betrayal. Crota is violence incarnate, his logic is the eternal warrior, but what war can be fought against his father, who is as above him as he is to your pitiful race. I have witnessed him die time and again, his Court stolen from him in a single instant. I have watched Oryx personally carve the wyrm from his skull and crush it. And time and again, I have witness Crota return all the more determined to slaughter his father and lay claim to his power. Does it surprise you, Guardian, to learn that he despises his father far more than you can ever know? That his hate eclipses that blip of emotion you know as it?
That which you hold right now was his murderous ploy. A weapon constructed out of rarified hatred, imbued with the tortured light of all the Guardians that lay rotting on the Moon. Utterly incapable of being Taken, and growing stronger with each and every murder it makes. In the hands of your kin, a dangerous tool, pushing you further and further from the Light. In the hands of a God? Capable of extinguishing those who count themselves above mortality. But Crota misunderstood the extent of his Father's sight and influence, even now, among his court. And now you hold the keys to his death. Unleash it upon him, Guardian. Let it drink the blood of your enemies and their gods and let the world scream as you do so.
But know this, I watch, and I drink even as you do.
Hey all! It's been a while since I wrote something like this. If you liked it, please leave a reply and have a good day.