01 - First Light
Unknown date : Unknown location
Darkness; the great void, stark of warmth and life. No beholden sight, no audible sound; not a single spec of activity pervaded the pall of stillness. The endless intangible ruled with absolute saturation; a night without a dawn. But then, from nowhere and everywhere, there came a little light.
"Guardian…," the little light spoke. Its notably processed voice was of origins unknown, but it rang with bracing familiarity.
"….Guardian…. Eyes up, Guardian…," the spark persisted, defying the pull of the void, dragging the world into focus.
Eyes blinked, skin bristled against sudden cold, and air filled lungs crafted from the grave that a young man's bones once called home. His brain was abuzz with static, his thoughts erratic, scrambling to perceive the peculiar sensation of being alive once more. After a moment, his mind narrowed upon a pointy, metallic creature that floated not a foot from his face. Its singular, blue eye blinked excitedly as its body spun, bathed in a glowing light.
"It worked… You're alive! You don't know how long I've been looking for you…" it remarked in apparent joy.
Its voice, though obviously synthetic, sounded nuanced and very much "human", like that of a young woman. Blinking again, he noticed his vision didn't seem natural, like looking through some sort of screen display. Still trying to wrap his mind around the unfolding situation, he looked down to his hands, at fingers that appeared almost foreign to him. He felt the appendages creak and click as he flexed them in bewilderment. Unbeknownst to him, those joints hadn't been used in centuries, and the full realization of his rebirth hadn't quite dawned on him.
"Where…where am I…? Who are…what are you?" he choked out, still adjusting to his regenerated vocal chords.
His breathing was labored and his heartbeat was low, but soon they found their old rhythms, pumping blood to places once dry and deceased. The hovering creature merely blinked, as if still giving the young man a chance to rouse himself. None of what was happening made any sense to him, but then again, the notion of being systematically regrown and reborn out of rot and dust would've been beyond comprehension for anyone. He tried to recall anything prior to the current moment, but with all the ringing in his ears, he soon gave up and returned his focus to the being before him.
"I'm a 'Ghost'. Actually, I'm your Ghost. And you…, well, you've been dead a long time. So, you're going to see a lot of things you won't understand. It's a pleasure to meet you; there's so much to bring you up to speed on. I—," she explained somewhat excitedly before being cut off by a sudden, distant noise.
It sounded malevolent; a haunting, dissonant screech that sent chills down his freshly reformed spine. Whipping his head around in order to locate the source, he saw three figures come into view, roughly about five-hundred yards from his location. They clamored their way over the rooftops of rusting cars that dotted the landscape, heading straight for him. They looked like hulking, armor-clad insects, but walked on two legs, much like people. Though he didn't yet know their intentions, he had a feeling that they were hostile in nature.
"This is Fallen Territory… We aren't safe here. I have to get you to the city…," she exclaimed in hushed tones, scanning for the quickest route out of the area.
The young man cocked his head in confusion. She had once again added to the already innumerable list of questions spiraling around in his brain. The Fallen? Who, or what were they? Is that what was coming towards them? And if so, what was their purpose? To interrogate, torture, or to kill…?
Shaking the panicked queue of mental inquiries away, he steeled his nerves. He knew that, without a cool head, his newfound life might not be a long one. His mind raced, and he quickly surveyed the rest of his snow-capped surroundings for possible ways to escape, or, at the very least, places to hide.
Based upon what he could see, he must be on some ancient highway, unused and forgotten ages ago. The crumbling roads sprawled nearly as far as visibility would allow, and came to stop in front of a colossal, rust covered metal building, a set of steps leading inside. It appeared to be the only sensible retreat. The ghost's tiny body spun as she looked in the direction of the approaching assailants. She then turned again to face him, her movements appeared anxious.
"Hold still…," the ghost instructed, and in a small flash of blue light, she vanished.
Startled, the young man looked around wildly, as the one seemingly friendly thing in this very un-friendly new world had disappeared. Had she left him to face the cruel jaws of death once more, alone? His heart pounded in his chest, and he felt his throat tighten. 'What the hell am I supposed to do now…?'he cursed internally, a sense of abandonment and betrayal washing over him. He tried to calm himself; there was no sense in waiting to be saved by some strange creature he'd just met.
"Don't worry, I'm still with you. We need to move, fast," the ghost's voice returned, causing the young man to nearly jump out of his skin.
Her voice seemed to come from inside his head. Reaching his hands up to feel around, it was only then that he realized he was wearing a helmet of some sort. Noticing his hesitation, the ghost sighed, becoming irritated.
"We won't survive long out in the open like this. Let's get inside the wall," she continued.
He wanted to retort in his own annoyance, but the lump plaguing his throat persisted. He shook his head vehemently to ward off the lingering paralysis of his shock. The little Ghost took his silence as an apparent disregard for her statement, and it only served to further exasperate her.
"Yes, I'm inside your head; there's no need to worry about that right now. We really do need to get the hell out of here. They'll be upon us any minute now," she huffed impatiently.
Her urgent tone snapped him out of his stupor, and he rose to his feet. He gave one last look back towards the monstrous creatures, then bolted for the building, sprinting around the dilapidated vehicles and hurdling debris. He could hear the creatures' roar again, hot on his heels, and he tried to pick up the pace. He went to leap onto the hood of a truck, only to find that his movements took relatively little effort at all, and his body felt almost weightless. He jumped again, and to his amazement, cleared several cars in a single bound.
"What happened to me…?" he finally asked, darting his way inside the heavily oxidized structure.
He knew he probably shouldn't focus on anything else aside from the task at hand, but the questions kept nagging in the back of his mind. If she could tell him anything that would help them live to see another day, he'd take the gamble of a little conversation. Hopefully it would be worth the risk.
"You were a corpse," she responded rather flatly, "and will be again very soon if you don't keep your wits about... My estimation is that you perished centuries ago, most likely during 'The Collapse', or in the years thereafter. That doesn't matter right now, however; I didn't bring you back just to be Fallen bait. I can answer everything else when we get to the city...," she muttered, half of her attention diverted to scanning for enemies.
The young man puzzled at her words. 'So, this isn't just some elaborate dream... And what the hell did she mean by "The Collapse"...?' He grumbled to himself, cursing his inability to recall any memories or anything that could potentially aid him now. He eventually gave up in futility; he knew he'd gain nothing by splitting his focus while they were still in peril.
"Okay… I need to find you a weapon before the Fallen find us," the ghost murmured in his ears, still scanning around.
Vaulting over a railing, he continued down a long catwalk, slowing cautiously as he heard clawing noises coming from the pipes above him. The room grew darker the further he moved along the path. The Ghost flicked on a light from the young man's helmet, in order to compensate.
"Quiet… They're right above us," her voice hissed in his head.
'Thank you; I can hear them just fine, ya know,' he thought as he rolled his eyes, hoping that she couldn't actually read his mind or anything.
Just before turning to a small stairway on his left side, he stumbled to an abrupt stop when one of the vile beasts rapidly scurried up a large duct mere feet in front of him. It disappeared again into the darkness and he slowly inched forward, his hands starting to tremble a little. His heart was pounding again, and he tried to gather his courage for the now seemingly unavoidable fight. He prayed that, whatever these 'Fallen' were, they wouldn't catch him unarmed.
The pair eventually found themselves on a balcony, looking over a quite cavernous room. It spanned perhaps two-hundred feet, from the floor down below them, to roof way above his head. That was based on what he could see, anyway. As he walked further into the room, visibility progressively dimmed till it was nearly pitch, even with his helmet torch. Suddenly, the Ghost flashed out in front of him, and he had to grab the nearest railing to avoid a fall to his death below.
"Hang tight. Fallen thrive in the dark; we won't," she murmured, having not noticed the scare she had given the young man with her blinding reappearance.
"We need more light… I'll see what I can do," she continued, starting to ascend towards the ceiling.
"SERIOUSLY!? WHAT THE HELL!? You could've killed me!" the flustered young man spat, trying to catch his breath, still clutching the railing for dear life.
The Ghost turned to him and, had she been human, he could've sworn she rolled her eyes.
"Sorry, I didn't realize you were so prone to fright, oh great lionhearted hero…," the hovering orb of light remarked, her tone resounding with snark.
Crossing his arms indignantly, the young man arched an eyebrow and grimaced as he muttered something under his breath. The Ghost began to comb the spacious room for a way to power the canopy lamps, producing a cone shaped beam of blue energy from her singular eye. It appeared to be analyzing her surroundings and providing her with data on whatever it touched. None of that even registered with the young man, however, as he was still fuming about his near-death experience and his tart of a new companion.
"Just great… I get brought back to life by a floating metal pine-cone of sass, whose first language is sarcasm… Not to mention the barrel of fun I'm having trying to stay off the menu of some homicidal alien bugs…" he huffed.
The Ghost ignored him completely and continued to search, suspended high in the air above him. Huffing again in his helmet and tapping his boot anxiously, he figured there was nothing else to do but wait for her to finish. He idly looked around and noticed the bizarre clothes that he now wore. Succumbing to curiosity, he gave himself a once over.
He had seen glimpses of the unique attire from when the ghost first woke him up, but never really took the chance to inspect them. From what he could tell, he was donned head to foot in some sort of insulated robes, as well as armored gloves, helmet, and sturdy but comfortable synthetic leather boots that came up to the knees. The pants clung to his frame like a glove, and he had complete freedom of movement.
'Well, if there's one nice thing about her, she knows how to tailor a guy,' he thought, absent-mindedly. Stretching and flexing his body, he also remembered noting that he had gained a surprisingly powerful physique, and hadn't grown tired despite all of the strenuous activity he had recently performed. Considering that he had just woken up from the "ultimate dirt nap", as he described it in his head, it made him ponder just how far the limits of his new found athleticism reached.
"Another one of these hardened military systems… And a few centuries of entropy working against me…," the Ghost groaned, tucked behind a pipe.
The darkness felt cloying, suffocating, and if he wasn't lost in thought at the time, the young man's feelings of dread about the whole situation probably would've escalated. He, however, was busy shadowboxing and kicking in the air, getting a feel for how his newly constructed body worked. He also failed to hear the sounds of claws crawling along the ductwork of the ceiling, drawing ever near to his position.
"Ah, here it is!" the Ghost called, using her light emitter to 'flick' the switch to the system box she had found, and a harsh, electrical noise reverberated around the metal walls.
The lamps above slowly fired up, bathing the room in a mild, florescent glow. The young man lifted his hand to his helmet's visor momentarily, as the internal HUD screen inside had to adjust to the change in ambient luminescence. The ghost seemed rather pleased with her efforts as she stared floating back down to him.
"Not so bad, for someone lacking hands, ey?" she chortled as she descended.
Noticing the confused look the young man was giving her, she stopped and listed to the left a bit, as if cocking her head curiously.
"What, do I have something on me?" she asked, thinking maybe some loose debris had become lodged in her shell from the jungle of pipes she was just delving in.
He just stared back at her for a moment, saying nothing. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, hesitantly contemplating how to express his next sentence. Then, with a deep breath...
"Soooooo… what do I call you? Like, do you have a name? Do Ghosts have genders? Or even a preference of one? I'm just sayin', we're running for our lives, and I have no clue how to even address you, I mean, you sound like a woman, but then again, I'm the guy who's been dead for who knows how long, this all still feels like one big drug trip, and I could be just pulling that distinction out of my ass for all I know…," he finally blurted out, in one long, drawn out breath.
The Ghost gawped at him. Would that she had a mouth, it would've been agape as she found herself flabbergasted at what she had just heard.
"Did-, did you go absolutely daffy or something?! Do you really think that holds even the smallest bit of relevancy right now?! We're quite literally being hunted for slaughter at this very moment, and your only concern is whether or not I care to identify as one of your species' normative gender roles?! Are you mental, or was head trauma the direct cause of your death?!" the ghost retorted, bewildered at his impertinence.
"Hell if I know how I died! For your information, I can't even remember my own goddamn name!" the young man howled back, rather offended.
Neither of them had a chance to continue the debate, however, as the air around them suddenly filled with more bestial screeching that rang out through the rafters. Numerous Fallen crawled along the various pipes and fixtures about the room like horrible spiders. They were accompanied by several red, jet-propelled robots that zoomed along with deadly purpose.
"They're coming for us! Come on, we need to move, NOW!" the Ghost shouted, racing towards a mesh, metal door to the man's right. She scanned a keypad lock beside it, and gradually, it creaked upwards. Instinct taking hold of him, the young man made a break for it, sliding under the edge of the door. He quickly sprang back to his feet, wanting to put as much distance between himself and the Fallen as possible.
"Wait! Is that-?" the Ghost cut off as she noticed something propped up against a crate.
"Here! I found a rifle! Grab it!" she called, before disappearing back into his helmet.
"Aw, Hell yeah!" the young man shouted both in relief and delight, grabbing the rather beat up looking assault rifle.
Without giving himself enough time to even question if he knew how to operate a gun, his hands seemed to move on their own. He field checked it, analyzing its condition and inspecting for defects or damage. His mind buzzed with instructions, from brushing the dust and checking the chamber, to pulling the slide back, and removing the clip. His mood improved exponentially when he found it to be fully loaded and in good shape.
He snapped the magazine back into it and charged down the winding passages. He hoped to get the drop on his foes and become the predator instead of the prey. At least, that was what the adrenaline was telling him anyway. The persistent tremble in his hands spoke otherwise...
"I hope you know how to use that thing," the Ghost's voice called in his ears, sounding rather unconvinced.
He tried his best to choke down any doubts, before his current emotions could give them validity. After all, he was in a hostile world, and his memory still hadn't cleared yet. Who could say how good his aim would be, regardless of how well his muscles remembered the motions. He slowed his pace a moment, looking at the weapon clenched in his fists. He could read the words 'Khvostov 7G-02'.
"Hey, um… Ghost? Any idea where exactly we are right now or what this means?" he inquired, hoping he wouldn't get his ears blown off with another venomous tirade.
"Hmmm… I haven't made a GPS sync with the local satellites in orbit for some time… But if I had to guess, based on that word, I'd have to say we are somewhere in Russia. Not like that will make any sense to you right now, of course. Your memories will have been wiped by the resurrection process…," the Ghost replied, lacking the heat she had to his earlier questions.
Chuckling, the young man allowed himself a smile, having some modicum of relief at her words. It meant that his missing memories were normal. Knowing that, he gained a small bit of hope they'd return in due time, if he managed to live through this whole ordeal.
He came to a halt, however, as he spied a figure jogging around a corner out of sight ahead of him. He readied his weapon, his grip shaking just a little out of anxiety. He crept forward, trying to widen his focus as much as possible, determined to not be caught off guard.
"What was that—," the Ghost cried in surprise reaction to a broken light fixture that suddenly, and quite loudly, shorted out just ahead of them.
The young man had to jump back as it snapped off the crumbling bolts that were holding it place. It sent sparks all over, and he reflexively held up a hand to block where his face would've been. Once the light-show had stopped, he carefully stepped around the hazard, re-sighting his rifle as he continued on. Reaching the corner, he peered around, but seeing nothing, he shrugged and went to take another step.
No sooner than he did, two grizzly Fallen sprang out, one from behind a crate, and another from a shaft in the ceiling. They screeched in some unknown language, weapons drawn. The larger had four arms and a rather wicked looking rifle. Its shorter comrade sported only a knife and a pistol; its lower extra arms seemingly amputated and capped with metal. They were adorned in silver armor, decorated with red sashes that bore a white symbol.
They lunged at him, but his trigger was ready and his aim true. The Khvostov roared to life in rhythmic blasts, riddling his attackers in a torrent of bullets. Their ventilated corpses tumbled back in a heap on the ground, smoke issuing from the numerous holes that now perforated them.
"Damn… This thing packs a punch, huh?" he remarked, rubbing his shoulder where the buttstock had been.
To his sudden dismay, however, he soon saw that he had spent the entire magazine on the two attackers in his initial panic. He didn't recall having picked up a reserve. He began looking around the hall for a spare clip, but there were none to be found.
"Hang on; I've got this," the Ghost called out, "go ahead and pull the magazine out a second."
Confused, the young man complied and removed it, not knowing what to expect. After a second or two, it felt heavier again, fully loaded. Blinking a few of times with intrigue, he decided against questioning it, and slapped it back in. He'd have plenty of time once they got somewhere safe, but he had bigger things to worry about.
Moving along, he turned around two more corners, only to be ambushed once again. This one was much closer than the last, and realizing he didn't have time to raise his gun, he instead went to shove the creature back. It was not the best tactical move, however, as the Fallen grabbed its knife to take a swipe at him. Suddenly, he could feel a potent energy surge up through his body, and it burst out of his open palm with concussive force. The blast slammed into the monster, sending it reeling backwards to the floor, dead.
The young man looked at his smoking glove, not quite sure what to think. Things just kept getting weirder by the minute; first being told he was dead, then aliens attacking, and now… magic? He was uncertain just how many more surprises he could take.
"Light," the Ghost said, sensing his confusion, "it is what brought you back from death, and it still courses through your entire being. It can be used to protect you in a number of ways that I'm sure you will master in time, but don't stop now… We've still got quite a bit of ground to cover yet."
Clenching his still outstretched hand into a fist, all he could do was accept her words and that he didn't fully understand them yet. Taking a deep breath, he resumed his pace down the hall. This time, he kept his rifle at the ready; he had a feeling guerrilla warfare was a staple of Fallen tactics. He came upon another large room, and rubble began to rain down further in as four more enemy combatants came crashing, yet again, from above.
"I'm starting to see why they're called the 'Fallen'," he chortled, jokingly, "because, ya know, they're always—"
"Oh, come on! We're running for our lives here; the least you could do is let me have SOME humor... Killjoy...," he moaned, protesting her dismissive attitude.
"Don't," his companion replied, flatly thwarting the incoming pun.
Hearing no retort out of her, the young man shrugged it off, and turned his attention back to the fray. The monsters before him open-fired, and blue energy ripped out of their weapons. It singed past his head, crackling with electricity. Some of the projectiles were slow, however, lazily drifting through the air at him. He stepped to the right, but soon found himself ducking as the bolts abruptly turned with him, and nearly landed.
"Jeez; laser bullets with tracking…?! What next…?" he exclaimed, growing weary of the insanity of it all.
He then responded in kind with another salvo of death from the Khvostov, and the remaining Fallen tucked behind cover. Hot in pursuit, he rammed the buttstock of his gun into the face of one, sending it hurtling over a nearby rail. It hissed and screamed, falling dozens of feet below, before landing with a sickening thud. He had already moved on to the other, however, and used his palm strike again to disarm it.
Unfortunately, it was not a killing blow. Before he could block, it flashed a knife out of its holster, and slashed him in the side. The pain staggered him, and he also noticed a lingering aftershock grip his muscles with momentary paralysis. The blade was electrified, and he winced, stumbling back a few steps.
The Fallen reached for its pistol, but not before the young man regained his senses. He lifted the muzzle of his rifle to bear on the alien's face, blasting it nearly point blank. The fiend crumpled to the floor; this time, there was no life left in its eyes. He held his side for a second, then pulled the hand away to determine his level of blood loss. His eyes widened, as it appeared there was no wound; not even his robes had been damaged.
"You were struck; make no mistake. You have a limited shield made from your Light that protects you, and even heals you after a short time, should you sustain injury. Not to mention it can patch up your suit when damaged, with a little help from yours truly, of course," the Ghost chimed in, matter-of-factly.
Sighing heavily, the young man made another mental note, adding to the burgeoning list of things to ask about, before soldiering on. The little Ghost would have a lot of explaining to do if they made it out of this, he mused to himself. Right now, that seemed like a pretty large "IF", with no end in sight to his struggles.
"There's more ahead! Keep it up!" she shouted, having seen more movement nearby.
He didn't see anything down the newest narrow catwalk that lay before him, but he had no reason not to trust his new ally, so he kept his eyes open and barrel forward. He came to a short little set of steps descending to another hallway, and just before them was a squat, metal box with various green lights on it.
"A loot cache! Let's see what's inside!" the Ghost piped up excitedly.
"You sure it's safe? They could've set a trap…," the young man murmured, apprehensively, as he poked at it with the muzzle of his rifle.
"Oh, don't be a 'Kinder-guardian'… Just open it up already... I already scanned, and it is free of booby traps," she chided him, teasingly.
Huffing and rolling his eyes, he abstained from trading barbs this time, and dropped to one knee to inspect the chest. Opening it up, the contents were millions of light-emitting, blue cubed particulates. Reaching out to touch them, they suddenly dispersed and disappeared, causing him to retract his hand in astonishment. A small icon appeared on his helmet's HUD screen. The picture looked like a tiny gun, and it was labeled 'Preacher Mk. 20'.
"Oooh, that's a shotgun. We'll need it if one of the Fallen try to drop us at close range again," the Ghost remarked cheerfully.
"Okay, but…where is it now? Everything in the box disappeared… I can't very well fight with a tiny image of a shotgun inside my helmet…," the young man replied, a hint of sarcasm lingered in his words.
The Ghost let out a nearly inaudible groan, and the young man's Khvostov vanished from his hand. In a flash, it was replaced by a polished, silver and black gun with a larger muzzle opening and a pump action slide. In his other glove appeared a bundle of 'high-load' shells, which he quickly loaded into the chamber, as naturally as if he'd done it his entire life. As the last one slid into place, he lifted the end skyward, and pumped the slide, a shell snapping into the chamber. It was smooth and crisp sounding, like it had been waiting for him.
"Hmm, looks like I do know how to pick 'em…," the little Ghost mused to herself, watching the young man's actions.
"You say something?" he piped up, only half paying attention.
"Wha—No, I didn't say anything. S-shut up and let's get going already, Light's sake…," she stammered, flustered and not realizing she was speaking aloud.
He made a weird, perplexed face, but shrugged and hopped down the little stairway. He rounded the next turn, but something felt amiss. He came to a jarring halt, just as mere inches from his nose materialized a little red laser beam. It was soon accompanied by a few more further ahead of it that spanned from the right side of the hall to the left in various angles.
"Trip mines! Don't touch them!" the Ghost exclaimed in alarm.
He held his breath, and, very gingerly, backed away from the deadly, crimson beam. Crouching down, he attempted to limbo underneath. Barely clearing it, he stood up, but before he could take another step, an additional beam appeared under his outstretched boot. He froze a moment, but he quickly re-corrected, and managed to bound over it as well.
"Whooooo...," he said, finally releasing the air from his lungs.
He didn't have much time to catch his breath, however, as two lesser Fallen dropped from duct-work near the end of the hall and raised their pistols.
'Give a guy a break, would ya...,' he thought, lamenting that he might never get out alive at the rate he was going.
He looked for the best route through the tripwires, and after another deep inhale, he let his muscle memory take over once more. He moved with impressive fluidity, finding himself to be quite flexible as he dodged each one. As he landed on the other side, unscathed, the Fallen looked at each other and back to him, surprised and annoyed at his survival.
One of them ran at him, only to be met by the bellowing might of the Preacher's deadly "sermon". Its head flew from atop its shoulders, and a white gas burst from its exposed throat. The other backed up as its now decapitated comrade's corpse hit the floor. The young man didn't give it time to recompose itself, however, and dashed forward. In a graceful, dance-like transition of movement, he grabbed the alien by the collar, and threw him into the tripwires behind him.
The beams of light, having been broken by the Fallen's body passing through them, widened with a sharp whine. Its face contorted into what the young man perceived as horror, and the devices emitting the lasers detonated. Pieces of the creature flew in every direction, blown into smoldering heaps on the walls and floor tiles. The young man covered his face in disgust, and to prevent anything from spraying his helmet visor.
"Welp, that's one way to get through," the young man bemused.
"You really lit up his world, ey?" the Ghost giggled.
"Oh, so now we're telling jokes?" he grumbled, accusatorily.
"Oh shut it. It was in the heat of the moment; don't throw a wobbly over it," the Ghost clapped back, regaining her acerbic demeanor.
Another eye roll later, and the young man pressed on, fighting his way past several more waves of explosive traps and grunt enemies till he came to a third cavernous room. There were a few large support pillars towering up at least twenty feet in the air, and one gaping hole in the wall ahead of him, presumably leading to a ventilation shaft. Debris littered the floor, and he had to take care in leaping down from the little ledge that led into the room's interior. Landing with a loud clang upon some discarded metal, he looked up in time to see several more assorted beasts crawl deftly from the hanging wires and down the pillars.
"Okay, I have another question… Is there a difference between these 'Fallen'? Like, some have two, some have four... Do they evolve, or grow into having four arms? Or is it just some mutation?" the young man inquired.
"Yes, yes, they do have a certain hierarchy in their ranks. Those ranks have some pertinence to the number of arms they have. The larger and better equipped ones are called Vandals, and they have four arms, as well as a middle rank. The smaller are called Dregs, and they only have two arms. In the Fallen's culture, the weakest are docked of their arms in a grotesque ritual to keep them in line; hence the metal-capped stubs. They're usually the lowest ranks in the Fallen military," the Ghost replied.
"It's all rather barbaric, really; they're all a bunch of murdering, scavenging pirates who raid our cities. They take pleasure in killing, and destroy everything they can't find a use for…," she trailed off, recounting the horrible skirmishes she'd seen.
They didn't have time to sit and reminisce, however, as the two Vandals raised their guns and fired several tracer rounds at them. The young man ducked and weaved through the gunfire, and let the Preacher do its job, punching giant holes in their abdomens. Without conscious thought, he raised his shotgun in the air and it vanished, replaced by the Khvostov. He then rained hell down upon the last few Dregs, getting used to the recoil as he peppered the area around him with lead. The pitiful fiends screeched their last, and joined the rest of their dead brethren, all of them leaking more white gas.
More started to emerge from the wide vent in the wall, and the young man re-centered himself to face the invading party. Tucking behind a crate that bore the Fallen's symbol, he poked around it to send several rounds their way, clipping a few of the dregs and slowing the Vandals down. They hissed back, venomously behind their cover.
"Accursed vermin...," the Ghost muttered to herself with much vitriol, "do me a favor and aim high... They breathe ether, and it's under immense pressure in their systems. One pop on the head, and you're one step closer to avenging every man, woman, and child who have been slaughtered by their wanton destruction..."
He could feel the little Ghost's hatred, evidence of years witnessing the loss of many people from the wrath of the Fallen, he wagered. He wanted to keep fighting, but knew he was about to be overwhelmed. He stowed his gun upon his back, and spied a big tunnel to his right, leading out of the room. But more importantly, he could hear something coming from it that made his heart skip a beat; wind.
"We've gotta be getting close to the outside by now... Just how big is this building anyway?" he shouted over the gunfire.
"The halls and tunnels of these old compounds are kilometers long. It would be prudent for us to retreat outside to scope our exact location," the Ghost replied, concurring with what she surmised was the young man's plan to flee from their current situation.
Trying to implement her previous tactical advice, the young man aimed the scope of his rifle to bear its reticle down on the remaining creatures' heads. He pumped the trigger, releasing controlled bursts of fire. He counted as their heads flew off, just as the Ghost had said, till the tunnel entrance was littered with corpses.
"The Fallen have a tighter hold on this place than I thought. Just a little bit further. Let's just hope there's something left out there…" his companion called through his helmet.
The pair slowly started down the mouth of the tunnel, hoping beyond hope to avoid any more snares. The Guardian could feel the air temperature dropping around them. He had to stop, however, as he came to a mesh filtration screen blocking the way. Upon inspection, he found it surprisingly brittle. He kicked at it, and a hole opened up wide enough to allow him to climb through.
The path was ankle deep in water, and a huge vent fan loomed at the far end. He noticed ripples stemming from a breeze around the bend of the tunnel. His heart skipped a beat, and stowing his gun, he excitedly sloshed through the puddles ahead. The pools thinned, and eventually, the splashing sounds turned into the soft crunch of snow beneath his boots. His eyes squinted at the change in ambient light, and a huge smile spread across his face.
"Finally… It's a funny feeling, but I'm really glad to see the snow," he chuckled, gazing out in wonder at the scene.
The tunnel had opened up to an expansive courtyard, various military tech from ages long since gone strewn about. A dilapidated tank, with 'time's orange blanket' covering its shell, lay discarded and broken. Above them stood massive space-crafts stretching up nearly into the clouds.
"Where are we now?" the young man asked in amazement.
"This was an old Cosmodrome… There's got to be something we can fly out of here," the Ghost replied, remotely scanning the area from inside his helmet.
Taking a few steps out into the winterized landscape, the wind whipped up fresh powder, and though he wore insulated gear, it still bit at his flesh and gave him chills. It was a stark reminder that they weren't safe yet, and needed to find shelter or transport. If the Fallen didn't get them, the elements soon would.
He strode further on, walking between the big buildings on either side of his path, when he suddenly heard several loud reports, stopping in his tracks. A red flare streaked across the sky from behind structures to his left. His body tensed and he raised his weapon, expecting another attack, but hesitated when he saw a second, much brighter light appear out in the distance. It was almost blinding, and, out of seemingly nowhere, a tremendously large ship materialized in the sky, accompanied by many smaller ones.
"INCOMING!" the Ghost shouted, as a shockwave rocked the area and kicked up a whirlwind of snow around them.
He stumbled, struggling to brace himself, and soon the sky above him was blocked by the shape of the formidable craft. It floated along, ominously dwarfing anything else in the nearby area. More of the smaller ships warped in and zoomed alongside it.
"Fallen ships?! This close to the surface…? MOVE!" the Ghost shouted in his head, and he bolted along the crumbled concrete for more open spaces.
The Fallen ship slammed against one of the old Cosmodrome spacecraft towering way above them, like it was a bear trampling a small sapling. It tipped over, sending debris crashing to the ground around him. He blocked the bigger pieces from hitting his head, and made it to the next courtyard, just in time to see a smaller ship hover over it. Metal rails lowered from its hull, and several Fallen slid down them before dropping to the surface below.
"Shit; they just don't know when to give up!" he cursed, sliding across the pavement behind a broken column.
He exchanged fire as more dropships appeared. The main craft had moved on, but not before the surrounding area was filled with scarlet-clad warriors, their energy rifles showering him with sparks. Taking his chances, the young man rushed to a nearby building, but was nearly decapitated as a Vandal swung two long, serrated swords at him, sizzling with electricity and malice. He grabbed the creature's sword arms with both hands, dropping the Khvostov. Rearing his head back, he slammed his helmet into the enemy's forehead. It screeched and gurgled its last, its skull caved in, as he stooped to pick up his gun.
He couldn't catch a break, however, as a glowing stick flew through the broken adjacent window, sticking to the wall next to him. It hissed and pulsed, shooting out arcs of electricity. He could only guess it was another explosive, and dove out of the building as the grenade went off. As he leapt up, he franticly looked around for cover, and saw another building, much like the jungle he had escaped from mere minutes prior.
"Guess I have no choice…" he groaned as he made a mad dash for the entrance.
He slammed on the brakes yet again, however, as a bolt of white hot plasma whizzed past his cheek and glanced his shoulder. He fell to his knees, winded as the searing pain of the shot hit him. He gripped the wound and, punching the powdery ground, he tried to stand. He crept around the box he had fallen behind, and saw the entrance was now teeming with soldiers. One of them was holding an extra-long rifle, that he inferred was some sort of plasma sniper.
"Don't wanna lose my head from that…" he muttered, trying to devise a plan on how to best surmount this latest challenge.
Not knowing if he had a lot of ammo left, and frankly not wanting to risk it, he tried to think of other alternatives. Pain from his shoulder clouded his brain, and unfortunately for him, nothing would come to mind. He knew that he couldn't just wait them out either, expecting more troops to land behind him and flank his position. He swore under his breath in frustration, growing more desperate.
"Use your grenade!" the Ghost finally called out, half-startling him, as she had been silent through the entire melee.
"Oh, welcome back to the party…! What the Hell do you mean 'grenade'?! I don't have any!" he shouted, fuming as more plasma bolts whizzed overhead.
"Look, just do what I tell you. Open your hand, focus on it, and feel your Light funnel into it. Then ball it up to make the grenade. Then lob it and off you pop. Simple; it's not nuclear physics," she sassed again.
He wasn't fond of her condescension, but admittedly couldn't find a better solution himself. Resigning himself, he did as the patronizing ball had instructed. Opening his hand, he stared in anticipation, not feeling anything at first. He strained, trying to visualize the bomb, but nothing happened.
"This is stupid! I don't even know how to control 'Light' yet!" he growled in vexation, standing up just long enough to fire a few rounds downfield. There were more of them now, along with a few of the red, hovering robots from earlier, and he was steadily losing confidence that they would survive.
"Just reach out with your mind, like you did with your shock-wave. It's the same basic principle, really. You are a Guardian; they can all use the Light as a weapon, and you're no different. Only you can get us out of this mess now…," the Ghost replied, a little gentler this time, noting his rising heart-rate.
He breathed in deeply, and then slowly exhaled, trying to alleviate his tension. While he still couldn't see anything happening, he could feel it this time, like a humming throughout his whole body. Focusing upon the sensation, he imagined pulling it towards his outstretched arm and out of his palm. Suddenly, the humming rushed out of him, pooling right where he had pictured. It formed a small sphere, burning of orange flames, and he breathlessly laughed in both surprise and relief.
"I- I did it!" he shouted, giddy and half embarrassed at how truly simple it had been.
Standing up after the latest plasma bolt passed, he chucked the ball as hard as he physically could muster. It landed in the middle of the group, down at their feet, and after a few seconds, it exploded into a vast sphere of fire. It incinerated the Fallen trapped inside of it, energy flowing outwards in all directions. The remaining Vandals screamed and recoiled, ducking behind various objects to escape the heat. The robots weren't so lucky, and violently combusted from the attack, the resulting blasts killing several Dregs caught in the wake.
"GO!" the Ghost screamed, seeing their opportunity present itself, and the young man charged the field.
He ignored the risk of running headlong into the fire he created, and kept on sprinting as the flames licked his body. He didn't feel the heat, however, and passed through unscathed. He knew he didn't have the luxury of time to be amazed about it, and rushed up the steps to the building. Spying a weak point in the ceiling above, he quick-swapped to the Preacher, and blasted it, sending a pile of rubble crashing down behind him, securing their escape.
"WHEW! Hot DAMN; we made it….!" he wheezed, collapsing to the floor in exhilaration.
The Ghost flashed out of his helmet, and flew further into the corridor, scanning their new environment. As his breathing returned to normal, the young man stood and followed, gawking at all of the random bits of disabled technology lying dormant about.
"I'm picking up signs of an old jumpship… Could be our ticket out of here," the Ghost murmured as she continued her search.
'Well, that sounds promising,' he thought, still cautious about optimism at this point.
Through a few more rooms they trudged, snuffing out any resistance, before coming to what he assumed had once been a hangar for military space-craft. He strolled into the spacious area, but tensed when he noticed a sinister form rise from the shadows. From what he could tell, it was another Fallen warrior, but this one was different from the rest of the rabble. Standing a head above a Vandal, wearing a billowing, blood colored cloak, and bearing a horned helm, it commanded an intimidating presence. It had four arms, much like a Vandal, but its bolstered muscle mass dwarfed that of its inferior brethren, and he suspected that this must be a high ranking officer.
A group of underlings soon filed out of their various hiding places to join their vile leader. The young man counted them to himself, and looked above where they stood to see a large, beaten up, two-engine craft. 'Of course… Once more into the fray…,' he lamented in his mind, swapping to the Khvostov and checking the clip for his remaining ammunition.
"There's the ship; clear them out!" the Ghost ordered.
He was all too happy to oblige, being quite fed up with these space pirates. He open-fired upon the crew of beasts, but while his bullets removed a few of the lesser fighters from the battle, they plinked harmlessly off of the brute. An eerie, blue energy swirled around it, and wreathed the creature like smoke.
"What do you call that thing, and what's up with the light show?" the young man asked, still shooting down range, trying in vain to make a dent in the Fallen boss's defenses.
"That is a Captain… They're bigger, stronger, crueler, and far more cunning than the weaker lot. They rank mid to upper echelon of the Fallen militia. Each are equipped with shielding made of arc-energy, not completely unlike the Light some Guardians can wield. They make it from an ancient technology they stole off of civilizations long forgotten. He won't go down easily…," the ghost sighed, grimly.
She knew the ferocity of those that were included in the Fallen's top brass; their dark ambitions driving them to horrible acts of violence and wickedness. The young man grimaced, mentally scrambling for a strategy to combat the Captain's shield. He would have to bleed it dry, and then go in for the kill, but how? His bullets seemed to lack the punch necessary to penetrate it, and he didn't feel like he could summon another grenade so soon after using the first.
"Oh no…," the Ghost whispered, "that's Rahn…"
"Ron? That doesn't sound so scary," the young man snarked, incredulously.
"No, no, no, you jesting twit! RAHN! It's a Fallen name… He's a particularly nasty bugger, known for his ruthlessness in battle, even amongst those that make up House Devils. We may need to fall back…," she snapped before trailing off, anxiety hanging in her voice.
The young Guardian picked up on her apprehension, and readjusted his rifle. He needed a new position, having the 'low ground' of the field, and at a notable disadvantage in skill and experience. Rahn noticed him readying his gun, and lifted his large, armored hands. He made a gesture with all four of them in what the young man could only assume was an insulting taunt.
"Oh ho! Big man on campus, huh?! Well then, come at me then, bro!" he threw back, goaded by his opponent's foul body language.
Clamoring up a tall pile of crates, he fought to climb into the rafters for a better shot. The Captain was having none of his games, however, and brought his ghastly looking weapon to bear. Its four barrels roared to life as the hulking creature shot a volley of red-hot plasma at the scrambling Guardian. The projectiles were slow enough for him to duck and dodge, but it made traversing the jungle of steel beams all the more difficult.
'Shit…,' the intrepid young warrior swore in his head, becoming increasingly irked with the whole situation. Here he was, swinging from the ceiling, fighting for his newly acquired life, against something out of his worst nightmares, in a post-apocalyptic wasteland. He was secretly still wishing to wake up, but not enough to chance the theory of the bullets screaming at him being fake or not. Suddenly, as he reached for another beam, Rahn's projectiles cut right through it, and the young man had to stagger back to avoid being hit.
"WHOA! A second later there, 'Cap'n', and I'd have to get a hook and join your merry pirate crew," he remarked, jeering at the brute with a taunt of his own.
Rahn's multiple eyes narrowed, and he hissed something wicked sounding in his native tongue. The Guardian thumbed where his nose would be, right back at the villain, and switched guns again to Preacher. Cocking the slide to load a shell into the chamber, he mentally judged the distance from himself to the ground. He then sighed, eyes wide with trepidation, mouthing a silent prayer for good luck.
"Oh boy…; here goes nothin'…," he said halfheartedly, before back-flipping off the beam towards his opponent.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! THIS IS NO TIME TO SHOWBOAT!" the Ghost cried, aghast as they rapidly plummeted to the hangar deck.
Rahn hefted his gun skyward, but just a split second before his gnarled finger could grip the trigger, the young man slammed a Light-charged palm into the monster's face. Hissing and screaming of alien profanities ensued as Rahn reeled back, blinded as his shield shattered and dispelled. Landing upon the ground, the Guardian spun low, catching the feet of the Fallen with a well-placed kick. This sent the Fallen devil toppling onto his back.
Seeing his chance, the Guardian found his feet, standing above his stunned adversary. All Rahn could do was watch, as the small human he underestimated trained the barrel of death upon his hideous face. Realizing his end, the Captain closed his eyes. The Preacher gave Rahn his last rites, its muzzle bursting forth a roar of finality. The creature's head rolled from his shoulders in ether and blood.
The Guardian, grasping that he had won, felt his strength give way. His knees buckled and sent him to the floor on his posterior. The Preacher lay beside him, still smoking.
"Is it over…? That was literally the last 'Ace' up my sleeve…," he panted, his breathing quite labored from his exertion.
The little Ghost flashed out of his helmet, and hurriedly scanned the nearby shadows. Finding no other signs of life nearby, she nearly fell out of the air herself in relief. She had been so sure that they were to be just the latest in Rahn's long list of trophies.
"Well, maybe you aren't a waste of Light... It's not every day that a brand new Guardian fells a Captain. And a 'named' one, as infamous as Rahn was on the City's wanted list; Zavala's going to want to meet you…," she murmured, actually impressed, as the young man feebly gave her a thumbs up, still trying to regain feeling in his legs.
"Tell you what…; you rid us of this frozen Hell, and I'll kiss this 'Zavala' right on the damn mouth…," the Guardian joked, finally catching his breath.
"I really wouldn't, but I'll let you find that out, yourself… Alright, let me see if I can get us out of here…," the Ghost said, floating up towards the large ship that would be their ticket away from any further tribulation.
Hefting himself up and off of the cold ground, the Guardian shuffled over to it, looking it over from top to bottom. It looked roughly intact, but he couldn't bring himself to believe it would start. Placing his hands on his hips, indignantly, he fumed over how he had risked his neck over an ancient hunk of junk.
"What a heap…," he groaned to himself, noting the glaring amounts of rust on its battered frame and hull.
"It's been here awhile; hasn't made a jump in centuries… We're lucky the Fallen haven't picked it clean," the Ghost muttered, looking over its inner workings with her Light beam.
"Will it fly…?" he called dryly, giving ample indication of how low his expectations were.
The Ghost just ignored his pessimism, still floating over the ship's roof. She occasionally swept her beam across its surface, checking for potential problems. The Guardian grew impatient from the lack of an answer, and was just about to ask again, but the little Ghost turned back to face him.
"I can make it work," she retorted confidently, cutting his words off before he could utter them.
He raised an eyebrow in skepticism, and muttered something incoherent under his breath. It seemed to be their only means of departure, however, so he started towards the ladder that led to the cockpit. The Ghost disappeared, venturing inside.
Silence hung in the air, and the Guardian was just about to give up on waiting. Then, slowly but surely, the ship's lights began to glow. The engines sputtered and spit, clouds of exhaust billowing from the thrusters. Once it had cleared, they soon had ignition. The ship began to float on its own, the restraints suspending from the ceiling snapping off as it leveled out.
"Well, I'll be damned…," the young man chuckled in both surprise and guilt that he hadn't had enough faith in his companion.
"Okay… It's not going to break orbit, but it just might get us to the city," the Ghost called via radio to his helmet com-link, "now about that transmat…"
The Guardian just stared in wonder while she creaking ship hovered in place. Before he could move a muscle, however, a piercing shriek filled the room. Out of a gaping hole in the hangar wall sprang several more Vandals and Dregs, armed and angry. The young man groaned in aggravation, about to voice his displeasure at the arrival of new trouble, his breath abruptly caught in his throat.
From the darkness permeating the tunnel, two massive, clawed hands loomed out. A massive, demon-horned Fallen, the largest he'd seen since being revived, pulled itself out of the shadows. It must've stood nearly fifteen feet tall, making its underlings seem puny in comparison. The blood drained from the Guardian's face, and he nearly dropped the Preacher where he stood in despair.
"Bringing you in!" the Ghost shouted over the coms, and the Guardian was swept up, vanishing in a cone of Light, and materializing inside the cockpit.
Blinking, awestruck, he didn't even have enough time to fathom what just happened before the ship spun in place and rocketed through the hangar's roof. The Ghost, operating the controls, initiated the afterburners as soon as they cleared the building. An angry chorus of Fallen curses rang out as the pair flew out of their range.
"We can come back for them when you're ready. Let's get you home," the Ghost said, trying to calm and reassure him that the ordeal was finally over.
He slumped into the pilot's chair; the weight of the day's events cascaded over him. Once he regained his composure, he looked around the surprisingly roomy cockpit, trying to comprehend everything that had just transpired. Reaching over with his right hand, he pinched his left arm.
"Ow… Well, I'd say that settles it… I'm not dreaming after all…," he mused to himself as fatigue began to take hold of him, his eye lids growing heavy.
The Ghost didn't say a word, and kept her attention on steering the ship. Finally resigning himself to whatever fate lay ahead, the young Guardian succumbed to his exhaustion and nodded off. As the craft raced out of sight, a new figure stepped out from behind a mangled antennae that adorned the hangar's roof. Though the full moon illuminated the snowy plain, their face was hidden by a hood. Glowing eyes flickered with intrigue underneath its shade, and the face wore a knowing grimace.
It was nearly time. A new dawn was about to break. For better or worse was yet to be seen.