"When the Traveller arrived, everything changed. It was humanity's first contact with an alien entity. Their first real proof that they weren't alone in the universe. That alone probably would've represented the biggest cultural shift in human history. But the Traveller did more. It offered knowledge, or at least the means by which to derive it. Understanding of physics, math, and technology expanded at a completely unprecedented rate. Every corner of scientific exploration was fast tracked by several centuries. It was the beginning of the Golden Age, the greatest era of progress and peace the human race had ever known, and likely ever will know."
"But the Traveller's arrival was recognized by many as not a wholly good thing. If it existed, they reasoned, what was to say that there weren't other entities or species out there with power equal to or surpassing it? Humanity no longer warred with itself, but that didn't mean it was safe. So some of the greatest scientific minds of that era, of all eras, began to develop a plan. A plan that would eventually culminate in the creation of the Warminds."
"A Warmind is, conceptually speaking, an artificial intelligence. A sentient computer, programmed with a singular purpose: the protection and preservation of humanity. They began as nested neural networks, pattern recognition algorithms made so complex that they could recognize patterns in their own programming. This allowed them to recursively monitor and adapt themselves, continuously improving their intelligence and power. They were given almost universal access to humanity's weapons and infrastructure, all in the name of humanity's safety. And the first and greatest among them was called-"
"Rasputin," Kendrix guessed aloud, his brow furrowed.
"Yes," Proxima replied, bobbing slightly in confirmation. "Unfortunately, the Warminds' creators were right. The Traveller was not the only power in the universe, and humanity was not safe. Centuries after the Golden Age began, it abruptly ended when an alien invasion swept the system. Records from this time are so scant that we're not even certain what attacked us. My best guess has always been Hive, but many believe it was something else entirely. Maybe even the Darkness itself."
"And Rasputin couldn't stop it?"
"Couldn't, or didn't. Again, we don't know. All we know is that after the Collapse, when the dust had finally settled, Rasputin was alive. And the billions of people he had been designed to protect were not. Save of course for the few scattered populations that would eventually become the Last City."
"So we don't know if we can trust him," Kendrix surmised.
"Exactly. He's never made a move against the City, despite all accounts indicating that basically nothing but the Traveller's intervention could save us if he decided to. But he doesn't do us many favors, either, usually only reaching out to ask for a Guardian's help with some paracausal threat he can't handle on his own. Hell, there's even some debate about whether he actually classifies Guardians as humans, or if he views us as just another untrustworthy alien collective, holding his actual subjects hostage with power and propaganda."
"That's… not encouraging," Kendrix muttered nervously.
"Nope. I told you you wouldn't like it. Unfortunately, I really don't see any other option. Rasputin's warsat network gives him eyes and ears everywhere; if anyone knows where Nova's ship is, it's him."
"Alright. Then how do we get in touch with him?"
"Rasputin didn't get through the Collapse unscathed. His network was broken, his mind scattered. A fragment of him exists on Earth, somewhere deep below the Cosmodrome, so probably not far from here. It's from there he has communicated in the past. We could go to the general area, see if we can find a way to make contact, and open some sort of negotiation. If he does agree to help us, he almost certainly won't be doing it for free."
"Of course not," Kendrix sighed. "The Cosmodrome will be crawling with Fallen as usual, I imagine?"
"Yep."
"Wonderful," he groaned. "Let's get started."
Nova hated being left behind. The boredom alone was agonizing, driving his thoughts in maddening circles. His hands were always twitching, thrusters always humming, his entire body energized of its own accord, itching for a fight. He wondered if he had always been this way, or if the damage his processor had suffered had changed him. If his unfamiliar and decidedly dangerous circumstances had driven him to this constant unease, warping his instincts into a state of paranoia.
But the boredom wasn't his only frustration. It was knowing that his friends were out there, risking their lives for his sake, and they wouldn't even let him be there to help. When the plan of action had been decided upon, Nova had immediately transformed, ready to fly off with his companions to the site of their next adventure. But his human friend had quickly shot the notion down. Travelling by Sparrow would be faster and more covert, he insisted, especially to a location so close by. Plus, the so-called Warmind was powerful and unpredictable, and if it detected Nova and designated him an enemy, it would likely mean his end. It was a perfectly logical and sensible argument.
Nova despised it.
He had also come to find he despised their method of communication. Or rather, his. He could understand the words his friends spoke without much difficulty, but his replies were far more cumbersome. The code Proxima had given him, while functional, was woefully underdeveloped. He'd become somewhat more fluent with it in the days since his awakening, but it still took him at least a second to relay a single letter, making communication painfully slow on his end. He'd resorted to speaking in as few words as possible to save time, but it often made him sound brutish or stupid. He was hardly an eloquent speaker, or at least he didn't think he was, but the current method was just ridiculous. No, wait, it was- oh, what was the word he'd found?
B-U-L-L-S-H-I-T he beeped aloud to himself, a twinge of humor washing over him. He had no idea why referencing the fecal matter of an alien animal he'd never even seen amused him so, but it did, and he relished it.
Unfortunately, the brief spark of interest faded, and he was back to being alone with his thoughts. And they were being rather unruly today.
The skull-faced samurai stood threateningly in his mind's eye, sockets blazing with emerald suffering. Nova's body shuddered as he thought of it. Even the memory of the green flame seemed to burn him.
Who was he? Did he and Nova really know one another? Had Nova really been responsible for stranding him here? They seemed to be enemies, or at least he suspected they had been even before whatever conflict damaged both their ships. The samurai certainly acted like it. Mocking him, torturing him, calling him Autobot.
Autobot. It was a strange word. One with no equivalent meaning in the human tongue. A name then, Nova had concluded. But a name for what? Was it the name of a family? Was he 'Nova Autobot?' Or was it something else? Derogatory, maybe? An insult? Based on his station, perhaps?
Something about the word felt so important. Like if he could understand it, some pieces would start to fall into-
Nova spasmed as his mind shook and his senses were overridden. He tried to see through the fog, the maelstrom of pain that had suddenly encircled his thoughts. He caught glimpses only, of a scene that was very much not the hangar.
A horde of metal men stood amongst billowing smoke and howling flame, rushing to and fro, their bodies all shapes and sizes and colors. Some fired weapons, others carried supplies, and a few simply ran. Some distance away, Nova spotted one of them step up onto a pile of wreckage. Taller than the others, with a form of brilliant red and blue, the warrior raised a blade of glowing orange into the sky.
"Autobots, to me!" he shouted in a voice of enlightened thunder.
The warrior charged out of Nova's view, countless others rushing to answer his call. One, however, did not follow. Instead, he ran right towards Nova.
The other bot was bright yellow with grey accents. His body and build felt rather familiar, a sensation that only increased when he got close enough for Nova to discern the details of his face. He recognized the face. Because it was his.
His own face, contorted by fear and urgency, roaring at him. Shouting something about getting up, about needing to leave. And then… a name? Yes, a name.
Wait.
His name. His name was-
The vision shattered.
For a moment, all Nova felt was shocked.
Then came the rage.
Engines howled. Flares screamed. Gunshots rent the air asunder. Nova's body slammed into a nearby pillar, flailing around in pain it didn't feel, his mind severing ties with his impulses.
It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair. He'd been so close, so desperately close to knowing who he was, he felt certain of it! But his own mind denied him that, that satisfaction, that peace. He hated it! In fact, in that moment, he hated everything. He hated his broken mind. He hated his aching body. He hated all the stars in the sky and all the gaps in between. He even hated his friends, his saviors and protectors, and he hated this rust-ridden tomb they'd bound him in.
But most of all, he hated the samurai. The eyeless visage still leered at him, the burning talons still scorched his thoughts, the sweet laugh still poisoned his heart.
And then, as quickly as it had come, the rage coursed out of him, leaving nothing but the hollowness in his mind and the samurai that reigned within it. The stranger who knew more of Nova's past than even he did.
Nova slid to the ground, laying on his side and pulling his knees to his chest with both hands. He felt so small then, and oh so bitter.
It was all such fucking bullshit.
As it turned out, being close to your destination didn't save all that much time when you didn't actually know where your destination was. Kendrix slowly meandered about the Cosmodrome, in part to make certain they were thorough, giving Proxima enough time to chase after potential signs of their target, and in part to attract as little attention as possible.
Kendrix had been getting better at combating Fallen, to the point where he hardly ever died out in the open against them. But that hardly made it a pleasant experience, especially on the rare occasion when they managed to corner him, so he wasn't exactly itching for a fight. Unfortunately, he never managed to avoid combat for long. They'd been patrolling for maybe twenty minutes when Proxima piped up.
I think I've got something. There's a nearby transmission on a Warmind frequency. I can't crack the encryption, but I might be able to trace it.
Worth a shot Kendrix politely acquiesced, knowing full well that they'd take whatever they could get. He revved his Sparrow's thrusters and went sailing towards the marker Proxima provided on his HUD, rust kicking up in his wake.
Looks like it's up near the old Skywatch. Found a report that says a team of Guardians went dark there not too long ago. Tread carefully.
Understood. Kendrix grimly acknowledged. Between Riksis's history and whatever had claimed the lives of these Guardians, it was quickly becoming clear to him that Risen weren't as immortal as they sometimes seemed. Which made dying all the more uncomfortable, as if such a thing were possible.
Kendrix dropped his Sparrow into transmat about a hundred meters from the Skywatch, preferring to approach on foot. The ancient communications complex sat hunched atop a frozen ridge, its decrepit form giving Kendrix the impression of some ancient metallic skeleton half-buried in the desert of rust and snow.
Duke in hand, Kendrix approached the building slowly, moving from cover to cover, keeping his eyes peeled for flashes of movement or marks on his HUD. He was starting to grow wary of the stillness when he saw a flicker of crimson cloth. A Dreg, stalking through the wreckage near the Skywatch's primary entrance. Kendrix didn't think the thing had noticed him, which was a good sign. Unfortunately, it seemed to be alone.
And Fallen were never alone.
Kendrix had come within spitting distance of the Dreg when he heard the thump of heavy footsteps nearby. He glanced from the brush he was half-hidden in and spotted the Captain stomping its way towards him, the alien's stature almost as intimidating as the weapons it carried. In two of its hands was a bulky shrapnel launcher, seemingly a slightly smaller model than the one Riksis had wielded. A long metallic cutlass hung sheathless at each hip, and some sort of heavy cannon Kendrix didn't recognize was slung around the thing's back. A long crimson cloak hung from its shoulders, stained and tattered, its furred collar giving the otherwise insectoid Fallen an almost wolf-like air, like hackles raised in defiance of the cold.
The Captain moved towards the unassuming Dreg, closing the remaining distance between the two in little more than three strides. The lesser Fallen hissed in greeting as its commander approached. The Captain, nearly twice its height, snarled and struck out, knocking the Dreg into the dust with a cry of pain.
Kendrix winced. He knew it was more than likely the Dreg had done nothing to warrant the abuse. The Fallen were ruthless as a whole, but the Devils were supposedly the most sadistic of the bunch. Captains were the highest ranking field agents of the Fallen Houses, and this one had likely been in command for decades, if not longer. Going mad with power and mistreating your underlings was practically duty to them. It didn't help that Dregs were made when a Captain ritualistically tore out two of a Vandal's arms as a punishment, the trauma and metabolic demands of which reduced them in size and strength, meaning this Dreg had likely upset the Captain before.
Kendrix winced again as the Captain kicked the downed Dreg in its side, eliciting a subdued shriek of agony. Seeing the poor creature so twisted and abused almost made him sorry for what happened next. But the conflict made for too good of a distraction to pass up.
Kendrix leapt out of his cover, gravity roaring as he bent it to his will, sending him sailing right at the Captain. The goliath Fallen snarled as its torso was pepper with half a magazine of hand cannon rounds, stumbling back from his charge. Kendrix deftly landed where it had been standing and closed his empty hand, crushing the shocked Dreg's head with Void force and sending a plume of luminescent gas billowing out from its now headless neck.
Kendrix ducked as the whine of Arc shots filled his ears, just dodging the coiling blue projectiles as they went sailing by. He Blinked, bringing his leg out as he did, so that the surprised Vandal he appeared next to found its legs swept out from under it. Kendrix planted a bullet in its skull before rushing the second Vandal a few feet away. The creature had just managed to draw a cutlass when Kendrix ripped it from its clawed hand and thrust the blade into its chest. The Fallen went down gasping and Kendrix quickly stepped over its convulsing body, trying not to look at it. His eyes glanced around, frantically searching before a distraction. They found one in the form of a bulging orange projectile screaming right towards them.
The detonation sent Kendrix flying back several feet, his body burning with Solar and pain. He regained his feet as quickly as he could, doing his best to ignore the distinct feeling of his broken ribs shifting inside his abdomen. The Captain stood across the small battlefield, hefting its large cannon, barrel glowing hot with another blast.
Scorch cannon, get down!
Kendrix did as he was told and hit the deck. There was a blast of burning thunder as the fiery round impacted a few meters behind him and detonated, sending up more Solar heat. Kendrix heard the Captain stomping towards him through the snow, wasting no time in pressing its advantage. He coiled a grenade into being, stood, and-
The Captain's hand closed around his neck, interrupting his throw and yanking him into the air. The beast snarled, its multitude of eyes flashing blue and its fanged mouth peppering Kendrix's visor with flecks of spittle. Kendrix felt the barrel of a shrapnel launcher press into his chest, its superheated firing mechanism burning his robes. In turn, Kendrix pressed his grenade into the Captain's chest, and Blinked.
Violet hunger engulfed the air behind him as Kendrix reappeared. He turned to see the Captain swathed in Void light, howling as its armor and body were ripped into by the unleashed force. Entertaining no thought of letting it weather the storm, Kendrix launched into a Glide, fist clenched.
He punched through the Captain's chest, his arm sinking elbow-deep into its carapaced entrails. His momentum coupled with the Void behind his attack overwhelmed the last grip the Captain had on reality. Its body burned away into magenta embers, dissipating so quickly that it was gone before Kendrix's feet touched the ground.
He stood there for a single frozen moment, dead silent, waiting for the slightest hint of another attack. When none came, he released a huge sigh of relief.
His damaged ribs didn't seem to agree with such liberal use of his lungs, and a stab of pain sent him to his knees, gasping. Proxima appeared in a flash and bathed his body in soft white light, recoloring bruises, sealing cuts, and knitting his organs back into place. Kendrix thanked the universe's mercy for making the process relatively painless.
"Sloppy," Proxima said haughtily. "You could've gotten through that in much fewer pieces. Should've kept pressing the Captain at the start."
"He didn't want to go down, and I didn't want to give him an opportunity to grab me."
"How'd that work out for you?" Proxima asked sarcastically.
"I'm getting better!" Kendrix complained.
"Yes, you are," Proxima admitted, and Kendrix could hear the smile in her voice.
Kendrix stood and stretched, breaking in his newly repaired bones and muscles. He glanced over to where the Captain had turned to ash, and noticed that not all of its equipment had gone with it. Lying amidst the embers of Void he spotted the hulking shape of the scorch cannon, still faintly aglow with molten Solar fury.
He walked over to the tech and picked it up, admiring the scrappy but effective craftsmanship. Then, after a moment's thought, Kendrix slung it up onto his back, feeling its heft weigh him down slightly.
"Those things are super unstable," Proxima warned. "You are figuratively and literally playing with fire."
"You worry too much, I'm sure it'll be fine. Where to next?"
"Onward and downward, my friend," Proxima replied far too cheerily with a sarcastic roll of the eye, directing his gaze to the Skywatch's entrance. "I've still got the signal, but there's a lot of Fallen chatter too. I think they might be what's got Rasputin worked up." Kendrix sighed, then started moving.
As Proxima lead him into the sublevels beneath the main complex, the bright light of the world outside quickly gave way to the shadows beneath the earth. Artificial lighting was sparse, but given the building's ancient construction Kendrix was thankful for any system that managed to remain functional.
After a time, he noticed a faint green glow cast on a wall some ways ahead.
Is that what I think it is? Kendrix asked apprehensively. As he rounded the corner, the light's source came into view. The lantern was large, about the size of a weapons cache. The large, pale, sickly orb was bound in a black, urn-like cage, leaning haphazardly against a wall.
Hive. Proxima confirmed. There's a nest somewhat near to here, but I didn't realize they'd tunneled so close to the surface. Be on your guard.
This day just got better and better.
Kendrix proceeded with as much caution as he could muster, eyes peeled for the telltale green eyes he'd seen in such gruesome detail on the moon. As he trespassed into the Hive domain, Kendrix felt the Dark swell around him. It wasn't the suffocating, inescapable presence of the Hellmouth, but it was there nonetheless, beating against his thoughts like a slumbering heartbeat. The walls around him were coated in claw marks and blood and fleshy growths he dared not try and name, and the air was still and choked with ash and death.
Most unbearable of all though was the silence. It was so quiet, here beneath the earth. Quieter than any place had a right to be. And it made the empty screams that split the air seem all the louder.
Thrall!
Kendrix raised his Duke as he saw the shadows ahead begin to move in tandem with the screaming, but when the multitude of shapes began to emerge into the light, he quickly switched to his Khvostov and began to unload a hailstorm of rounds into the horde.
The Thrall pulsed forward almost as one mass. Their bodies were grey as stone and impossibly emaciated, seeming like little more than bones wrapped in dead skin. Their eyeless faces screamed with dry maws filled with broken fangs, and the hook-like claws with which they reached for him pulsed with electric suffering.
Kendrix's finger never left the Khvostov's trigger, the muzzle flash trapping the horrific scene in eerie, strobing light. Many Thrall fell to his fire, but those behind swelled over their dying kin without hesitation or conscience. Soon, one of them reached him, and Kendrix briefly stopped his fire to crush its wailing skull with a force-filled palm. But that only gave more of them an opportunity to close in, and soon Kendrix could feel their talons on his skin, their fangs in his flesh, clawing and gnawing and ripping and tearing. He fell beneath the weight of it all, unable to keep them at bay.
Kendrix vanished, reappearing back by the entrance to the hall, fear in his eyes and death in his hand. The Thrall screamed, and he screamed back.
The hall was filled with Void as his grenade detonated, swallowing the Thrall with metaphysical gluttony. Kendrix dashed forward, gunning down what few Thrall remained and continuing on past. He met other things in the dark, larger shapes with three pinpricks of emerald hate where eyes should have been, but he either cut them down or Blinked right past, blade-like Void projectiles firing futilely in his wake. He had no interest in engaging with the Hive any more than he already had.
Following Proxima's direction, Kendrix wove his way through the half-lit catacombs, and in a mercifully short time emerged out the other side into the more familiar metal hallways. He dashed for a ways then sank into an isolated corner, Duke gripped in bone-white fingers as Kendrix shuddered softly, waiting for the sound of pursuing monsters.
They're not following.
He released a sigh of relief.
Sorry, I just- they swarmed me, and I-
It's alright. Even secondhand, that was horrible.
Kendrix just nodded wordlessly. He sat there for a moment, hoping to calm his racing heart. His eyes wandered around the confined, poorly-lit space, the flashlight on his helmet following his gaze. Then it crossed something that was lying on the ground. Something that looked very familiar.
Uh, Proxima, is that…?
She wordlessly appeared in front of him and slowly floated over to the object. He stood and followed, and as he got closer the object became unmistakeable.
It was a Ghost.
The shell was dirty and cracked, the fins loose or missing, the eye dim and shattered. But there was no doubt that it was a Ghost. Or at least, that it had been.
"It must've belonged to one of the Guardians who went missing," Proxima commented. Her voice was flat, almost detached, but Kendrix could hear- no, feel- the grief bubbling up behind it. The Ghost disappeared in a flash of transmat. "I'll see what I can glean from its memory. Maybe some blueprints, or data, or-"
"Proxima," Kendrix said, his voice firm. His Ghost turned to look at him, her shell rigid and emotionless, her eye flickering erratically.
Kendrix reached out and cupped a hand around her, then slowly pulled her to his chest, right over his heart. Her fins dug into him, hard, almost painfully, as she returned the pressure of the unorthodox embrace, but Kendrix found he didn't mind.
After a few moments, the two separated, and Proxima disappeared in a flash.
You should keep moving while I see what I can find out.
Ok.
Kendrix did as his Ghost suggested and began to move further down the hallway. The path was blessedly clear of Hive, and with Proxima's guidance was relatively easy to navigate. However, as they travelled deeper, Proxima soon warned him of a marked increase in Fallen radio chatter up ahead. Shortly after, Kendrix found he could actually hear the chatter himself.
Keeping to the shadows as best he could, he came to the end of the hall and found it opened into the top of a large, cavernous space. The walls of the bunker-like room were covered in what Kendrix thought were computer servers, accessed by an array of tiered platforms with stairs connecting them. He could see a number of Dregs and Vandals moving throughout the space, around a dozen. More pressing, however, were the hulking shapes standing at the room's lowest and centermost level.
Captains, two of them.
One of the Fallen commanders stood stooped over a large console that was still comically small for its height. The other stood at the first's shoulder, alternating between watching it's partner work and scanning the room around it.
Shit.
Yup. Proxima agreed. You should try and play this quiet. Take out as many of the little guys as you can before getting noticed. Trying to take them all at once will not end well.
And how exactly should I do that? I'm not a Hunter!
Nope. Just a guy who can teleport to and from hiding places at will and kill with a touch of your hand.
...Good point.
Kendrix Blinked down onto the uppermost platform, making sure to reappear behind a server bank so the Captain keeping watch wouldn't notice. He slowly moved along the perimeter of the room. He encountered a Dreg first, one facing away from him. He grabbed its head from behind and made a sharp, jerking motion with both hands, snapping its neck before it could cry out. Kendrix used this encounter as his formula moving forward. He'd approach a Fallen's location, Blink if necessary to remain out of sight, then take it out with the butt of his rifle or a firstful of Void. It actually worked surprisingly well. Until, of course, it didn't.
He was in the process of silencing his fourth Dreg when a howl split the air. His head whipped around to see a Vandal rounding a corner and raising its rifle. Kendrix crushed the Dreg's neck then Blinked, vanishing just in time to avoid the Vandal's shots. Unfortunately, its call hadn't gone unnoticed, and almost as soon as Kendrix rematerialized, something leapt up over the computer banks and onto his platform.
The Captain snarled, and didn't hesitate to charge Kendrix, its bulky frame filling the space of the platform as it prepared to run him down.
Abandoning all thoughts of stealth, Kendrix let loose several rounds from his Khvostov into the Captain's chest, but it continued to barrel towards him, so he Blinked past it onto the next platform. The Captain at the console howled when it spotted him, but didn't abandon its post to attack him. Kendrix wasn't sure whether to be relieved or concerned.
He decided on concerned when the first Captain tore up and over the computers to nearly land on top of him. Kendrix moved into a Glide to dodge the assault, simultaneously rushing a nearby Vandal and using a force-filled palm to plant a crater in its chest.
Then Kendrix gasped in pain as the burning ammo of a shrapnel launcher tore into his back. He turned and fired at the Captain, who weathered the attack with its Arc shield, eyes gleaming with malice.
"Alright, that's how we're doing this?" Kendrix called out as an idea sparked. He reached back and hefted his commandeered scorch cannon onto his shoulder. The Captain seemingly hadn't recognized the weapon earlier, as it froze in shock when Kendrix levelled it at his target. And fired.
The Captain moved to dodge, but the confined space hindered it too much. The molten projectile found its mark, striking the Fallen right in the chest. The alien pirate screamed as its body was engulfed in Solar flame, its armor melting and flesh burning as it collapsed into a pile of bones and ash.
Another scream pierced the air, and Kendrix had what felt like a fraction of a second to react before the other Captain was upon him.
Its place at the console completely forgotten, the hulking Fallen howled with rage as it fell upon him, a long electric cutlass clutched in each of its four hands. The blades cut into Kendrix's body, tearing through cloth and armor with disturbingly little effort. He growled in pain and Blinked to the other side of the platform, seeking respite. But as soon as he reappeared the Captain was on him again in a literal flash. He tried again, and still it followed.
They have teleportation tech! Proxima helpfully informed him. Kendrix blinked again, and this time saw as the Captain disappeared in a flash of blue light that bolted to his location. He dodged out of the way with a Glide this time, but the Captain leapt after him, keeping pace and constantly slashing at him.
How the hell do I get away?!
I don't know! They usually use this stuff to dodge or retreat! I've never seen a Captain use it so many times so quickly.
Kendrix tried desperately to think as the Captain continued its onslaught, using his Khvostov as a makeshift shield to keep the swords at bay. If they didn't normally use the teleportation tech like this, even in life or death situations, it probably meant there was a heavy downside to doing so. Kendrix's eyes roved over the Captain's body, trying desperately to discern how he could defeat it.
Then, he spotted it. Some sort of generator hanging at the Fallen's hip. It was glowing and sparking with blue energy, and he thought he could hear a high, strained whine over the Captains snarls.
That would do.
Kendrix Blinked, and as soon as the Captain teleported, he did so again. And again, and again. He really started to feel the strain; Blinking this often took a lot of concentration and energy, so their battle quickly became a war of attrition. Every time Kendrix Blinked, he moved closer to the brink of exhaustion. Every time the Captain blinked, the device at its hip glowed brighter and sparked more. He wasn't quite sure how long they continued. It felt like it could've been anywhere from an hour to a few seconds. Regardless, it eventually came to an end.
Kendrix Blinked a final time, his breathing haggard and his muscles aching. He looked to the spot he had just disappeared from, waiting for the Captain to follow. Sure enough, it activated its teleporter, was engulfed in blue light, and-
-remained rooted to the spot. The Captain looked down in surprise. Then its form flashed blue again. And again, and again, faster and faster, until the Fallen was oscillating in and out of existence, the air around it crackling with unstable Arc. The Captain screamed as its body was torn between reality and oblivion, looping on and on with no sign of stopping.
Kendrix grimaced, raised his Duke, and fired. The Captain's scream cut off as the bullet entered its head, ending the pain. A few seconds later, there was a final flash of brilliant blue light, and the Captain's body was gone, rent away from the material plane to a place Kendrix had no clue how to imagine.
He let out a sigh, and collapsed to the ground.
This had better have been worth it. This is the place, right?
Looks like it. Though it seems like the signal stopped a few minutes back. I'm guessing it was some sort of automated distress beacon that the Fallen set off with their meddling.
What were they doing here, anyway?
Seems like they were trying to hack Rasputin's network. Probably trying to steal data. Locations of resources and weapons caches, blueprints, that sort of thing. The important part is we stopped them.
Yay us. Kendrix muttered through the exhaustion filling his mind.
Also, I've got good news.
Oh?
That Ghost that- that we found, um, it had some codes. Codes to reactivate a hidden communications array. Apparently the Guardians that went dark were sent by Dead Orbit to try and bring it back online, connecting the Tower to all sorts of facilities across the system.
Wow. That'll be really useful to get back online.
That's not even the best part. The array belongs to Rasputin. Reactivating it would let him out too, let him reconnect to systems and databanks on other worlds again.
Wait. Are you saying we're gonna blackmail him with it?
No, I'm just saying it'll make an excellent bargaining chip during our negotiation. Speaking of, you ready to meet him?
What?! Now?!
Yeah. Unless you're itching to go back and fight through those Hive again?
...alright, let's do this.
Proxima appeared in a flash and went hovering over to the main console. A beam of white light flashed intermittently from her eye as she manipulated the controls.
"Alright, patching us through in three… two… one…"
Kendrix's commlink exploded.
A roaring of mechanical thunder and digital might filled his ears to bursting. Lightning cracked and stars burned, earth shook and oceans froze. And beneath it all, harmonizing with the cacophony of noise and chaos, was a cold and calculating voice dictating stratagems and commands in a language Kendrix could not understand.
"Proxima!" he shouted as he tried in vain to dampen the maelstrom of sounds with his hands.
"He's trying to burn us out, he thinks we're Fallen! If I can just send our ID codes then-"
Suddenly, the noise cut out. Kendrix's eyes, which he hadn't even realized had been screwed shut, opened. He raised his face to look at the console, at the screen that was blazing impossibly bright.
At the light that burned there. At the infinite iterations of ochre recursion, wheels within wheels and minds within minds. At the blank rage of a boundless logician. At stratagem and duty and knowledge given form and flesh in light and circuit. At the iron will of the tyrant of tyrants.
Kendrix looked upon the face of God, and knew His name was Rasputin.