I fall through a space devoid of any reason or solid matter, things I have long since forsaken.
Ever since my radiant unmaker sung me out of existence, I have sailed the Sea of Screams, carving out my own place with my force of mind, and my will, sharpened by violent lashing I has dished out to those lesser fools who try to understand the way without paying the price.
But alas, even I, the great Toland, have to return to the material realm to check on some insignificant things that have slipped from my memory as they are replaced with the wonders of the architecture carved out by swords.
Slipping through a passage in the Oversoul throne, I sneak through the child god's realm before emerging on the other side, in the pits of the Hellmouth, the deepest part of this system's hive infestation.
As I ascend to the upper parts of this unfathomable place, I find myself thinking back to my time when I was flesh and bone. Back then, I had believed myself informed of many things, namely the Hive. I thought that by dissecting and torturing the ones I had captured, I had extracted their secrets from their twisted minds. That I could replicate their logics and magics, making myself one with them. Synonymous, impossible to untangle from them.
Yet now? Now I can't help but laugh at their pitiful ignorance. Now I see that for all their worship of the Sword and the pain and death they inflicted in its name, they are blissfully unaware of how deep those who dwell in the deep are. That to them, those who truly matter, their own dependence on their worm is laughed at, for it is a weakness that turns all their sacrifice bitter, rendering their offerings hollow.
After all, there can only be one, 'strongest one.' And if they are merely slaves to their worms, how can they proclaim to be truly strong?
As I finally ascend to the highest level I'll even need to reach again, I come to a stop before a large circular cathedral like room, one that doesn't stink of death and is actually somewhat well lit, a rarity here in a place that claims Light can reach. But there is a practical reason for this, of course. After all, while imperfect, the Hive do understand the destruction that is frivolous things such as decor or cleanliness.
This is the World's Grave. A library (for lack of better word.) that houses the entirety of this brood's collection of history and information, on both Earth, the Last City, their numerous enemies, as well their history, traditions, and their perfect, final shape that their supposed King of Shapes is destined to create. Their blind faith, making way for his would be usurper to worm her way into this place, tricking them and growing in her own power.
Humph, honestly, it makes me laugh at just how ignorant they are. Surely they must see how hypocritical it is to claim to snuff out all unworthy life when they are too weak to do anything beyond follow behind their masters on tight leashes? It's embarrassing that I once saw these foul creatures as-.
Crunch.
"!"
Footsteps! Someone else is here! Moving as quickly as I can, I hide myself in front of one of the lights, my own form blending in perfectly so as not to attract attention. I can't believe someone is here now, this place is normally abandoned, save only the occasional Witch or Wizard coming to make sure everything is still legible.
But as my intruder steps around the corner, my surprise mounts. It is no Hive but a Guardian. A Warlock too, not some scavenging savage Hunter. She is small, slender. Clad in white robes with a hand-cannon clutched in her hand, Hive blood dripping down her armor.
Her gun was unusual, as it had a black grip, chamber, and hammer, but a white muzzle with what looked like a wing engraved on it metal. A strange weapon that seemed to radiate Light all on its own. Strange, I don't believe I've seen that before. Is it some kind of paracausal enhancement? Like the worms of the Hive? I'm not entirely sure, but I do know it almost seems to suck away her own Light, not unlike a parasite. This one definitely seems like the type to add a bunch of unnecessary mods to her gear, practical or not.
And on that note, I noticed her helmet has been modified to have a long white tail attached to-. No, no. That is no accessory, that is the girl's hair. Snow white and slickly, well cared for and well maintained. It's the kind I'd expect to see for an aristocrat in the city, not a Guardian's. Surely the city hasn't fallen to the point where they're encouraging their soldiers to engage in such pointless activities such as hair care and the like. Even they must understand that the only way to survive is to kill everything that stands in their path. That is the way it is. The it should be!
As I watched the young woman step to the center of the room, looking around to make sure she's alone, I see her Ghost appear beside her, it's eye scanning her blind spots.
"Strange. I could have sworn I detected something else here." It said, neither of them seeing me. "This feels wrong, like a trap. Miss. Schnee, I think we should go before anything happens. You know this is unsanctioned by the Vanguard, even if I could get a signal to the surface, no backup would be sent."
"We've come too far to turn back now, Klein. If we miss this opportunity, we won't have a chance to sneak back in here for another year. And that's at absolute best." The Guardian replies, her voice high with youth. She was reborn young it seems. Far younger than most. I wonder how old she really is compared to her physical age. She awfully reckless for one of Ikora's class.
"Weiss. I don't think-." The Ghost, Klein, begins. But goes silent when they hear a groaning coming from somewhere below them. Seems something inside the throne world has found my presence and is coming to find the source. Making my time greatly limited, and that's before counting the time this little girl will take up by her doodling.
Unfortunately, it seems she didn't quite understand the gravity of the circumstances.
"Looks like it's nothing." She says when she doesn't hear anything else. "Klein, hurry and pull all the tomes and records related to our collapse. I'm going to go check the records of the Deep myself. Make sure to record anything related to how the Hive were defeated. Don't leave anything out no matter how insignificant it might seem."
Her Ghost is clearly concerned about the plan, but follows her instructions anyway, floating to a nearby wall where he starts to shine his light across the decrepit writing. I notice he isn't translating it. Have those fools in the Vanguard used my notes to reverse engineer the Hive's league? If so, why haven't they raided the World's Grave yet? Sending this inconsequential brat instead? Surely even that imbecile Cayde understands the importance of the Hive.
As the Ghost works, the girl rushes over to a different wall, pulling out a table where she starts scanning the ruins as well, taking pictures for recording sake.
Shifting my gaze, I see it's been heavily modified, scanning the writing and giving a rough translation of what it says, letting this child quickly scan for what she's looking for while recording the rest. Clearly she had come prepared, but this didn't look like Vanguard tech, and given how they had said it wasn't sanctioned, I'm starting to get a good idea of what's going on.
This child had studied my work, and managed to create a translator that would let her sift through Hive records quickly, an impressive feat given how young she seemed to be. And to be able to sneak up here without the Vanguard finding out was even more impressive. Even we, the first fireteam, couldn't have snuck up here with Eris' clearance, and even then, Ikora almost caught us.
Still, even with her incredible mind, she was clearly inexperienced. After all, she was so absorbed in her work, she had stopped paying attention to her surroundings. And here, I'm the heart of her enemy's base, that was a mistake only a fool would make.
Looking to the side, I don't need to see the massive Hive Knight that is slowly making its way up from the lower levels. Its body so huge, its head would scrape against the ceiling if it took a single step inside these chambers. Its body radiating a suffocating miasma of darkness, one powerful enough to snuff out even the brightest Light.
And as its gaze scans the room through its enormous helmet that covered its entire face, I recognize its hideous armor painted bitch black from its name.
This was Atropal, the darkest Hive, son of Crota. Born and raised in the darkest pits of the Hellmouth, this Hive hadn't seen the light of the sun once in its life, being dedicated to the dark in his entirety.
He had been raised among the Ogres, ate with them, slept with them, and fought with them. Growing massive as a result, with the strength to equal any of them, but the intelligence of that of a normal Hive.
Nothing when compared to his aunts of course, but well on par with his sisters and most of his cousins, a being fed tribute for the sole purpose of devouring any Light bears or other Hive who dared to challenge his father's regime. An executioner worthy of the Hive royalty.
I see it scan the room, eyes eventually stopping on the line Ghost, still recording the tomes. It hasn't noticed yet. Atropal is surprisingly sneaky for someone of his size. If it wasn't for the oppressive darkness leaking from his body, even I may not have noticed his appearance. A feat I suspect has cost many a Hive their head.
And today is no different, see the Ghost and Guardian so far away from one another offer an very unique opportunity, one that most will not have had. Most Ghosts hide in their Guardians Light, only emerging when the fight is over or when their Light fades. Meaning it doesn't matter how tough a combatant is, unless it's a single Guardian, they won't be able to wait out the clock to strike down a Ghost. But if one like is just available in the field, than…
Immediately, the Black Knight raises his hand, opening it up and creating a sphere of Arc lightning, crackling in his palm as he takes aim at the spark of Light. And in so doing, he enacts a right, a ritual, a challenge. There can only be one Strongest one, and he seeks to prove it isn't them.
The crackling sound alerts the spark of Light, both of them actually. They both look up simultaneously and see Atropal standing there, a malicious grin spread across his face. He wants them to witness this, to see his power with their own eyes, to savor their pain before he snuffs out their Light.
"Klein! Get back-!" The Warlock screams, but she is too late. A bolt of lightning shoots from his palm, striking the Ghost down, his shell falling to the ground in a stunned stupor, completely shutting off the machine. Now helpless, it can do nothing but lay on the ground and wait for fate to be judged on him.
Seeing the Ghost in this vulnerable state, Atropal takes a step towards it, ready to finish it off with its massive blade that was easily the size of one of the surrounding support beams.
But before he could take more than a single step, a white blur shot past him, reaching the Ghost first where his Guardian scooped him up in one hand, the other leveling her hand cannon at the Knight.
The Guardian had just shot across the room, moving at Speeds comparable to, if not surpassing that of a Hunter. I've never seen that before outside of their Blink ability. And even then, rare are those who can cover so much ground in so little time. Seems I might have underestimated this one, perhaps she has some skill after all.
I watch her stand, tucking her Ghost into her robes after making sure it was okay. Then, she turns to look up at her opponent, eyes narrowed to slits as she glares up at the massive Knight.
"I don't know who you are, but you have a lot of nerve attacking me." She says, standing up straight and raising her gun between herself and her opponent, muzzle points at the ceiling as if it was a sword. "Going for me is one thing, but attacking my Ghost is another. For that, I'm going to punish you. I hope you're ready, because this is where you die."
She calmly pulls back the hammer and spins the chamber on her gun, letting them come to a stop as she levels, releasing the hammer stopping them instantly, a faint glow emanating from the engraving on the muzzle. It seems I was right. There's something special about that gun. As for what, I'm quite curious to see. After all, a challenge has been issued and accepted. Now all that remains is to see who the strongest one is, this girl, or that of Crota's brood. One would walk away from this fight, and the other would be just another stepping stone on the other's journey.
They stood there for a second, both sizing up their opponent. Then, as if on a signal, they both shot forward, diving toward one another.
Despite having a sword, it was Atropal who struck first, lashing out with his blade, bringing it down with the aim to split the girl in two. The force behind his swing carried enough weight to crush three Ogres in a single strike!
But despite all the power behind his attack, the Warlock used that incredible speed of hers to shoot right between his legs, dodging the attack effortlessly while she spun around and began firing shots with incredible precision into the back of his head.
However, the Knight didn't seem to notice, spinning around to face his opponent despite now taking the shots to the face.
With a deafening roar, Atropal charged at the girl, swinging wide to try and catch his quick opponent, knocking down several columns as he went.
Yet instead of trying to duck or dodge, the Warlock leapt into the air, landing on the blade where she dug her heels in, letting her stay perched on the weapon even as it plowed through the chamber.
Seeing her opponent caught off guard, the Warlock immediately raised her gun, firing two more rounds into the Knight's face, causing a small crack to form in his helm that, while doing minimal damage, did leave a mark of the girl's skill and agility.
However, the second the last shot landed, her gun let out a faint glow, the wings engraved on the metal seemingly igniting with her Light as she reached the last bullet in her magazine.
Taking aim, the girl fired her last shot, this one glowing a luminous blue as it sailed right into the same spot as the others, crashing into his skull causing an explosion of Light which sent the Knight reeling, his helmet split in twain as he crashed into the wall on the other side of the room!
Landing with a roll, the Warlock opened her palm, a burning blue sphere of flames appearing in her hand which she threw right into Atropal's chest where it began melting through his armor while spitting out smaller sparks that rained down on him.
But as it did this, I hear something emanating from the girl's Light. The song of her soul echoing out from both that bullet as well as her grenade, anything that was tied to her Light it seems.
How strange. She's clearly a Sunsinger, but even from veterans of the class, I've never heard their soul songs outside of when they use their Super. And even then, very rarely at that.
Closing my nonexistent eyes, I open my soul to her Light, listening with not my ears, but my own will. Letting her symphony dance through me, its rhythm reverberating through me whole being. It has the taste of classical music mixed with a faster pace beat, almost like rock but not quite, though not for lack of trying. It felt almost like her voice was being repressed by something, something that caused the lyrics to alter and fluxes, not unlike the soul fire winds that ripped out from a Hive's throne world.
She sings of mirrors and solitude. Her voice held a plethora of emotions, each one stronger than the last. Fear, uncertainty, anger, disgust, despair, unfathomable sadness and loneliness. She seeks companionship, yet is afraid of opening her heart. All while battling her inner demons that demand her to be perfect, a word she has come to hate.
She wishes for others she can trust, she can rely on. But she has been used by everyone who approaches her, and everyone else has left her. Thus, she has turned her heart to ice to protect herself from further pain, all while wishing it wasn't so. Burying herself in her work to shut out the cruel, unfairness of her circumstances.
How utterly foolish.
I returned, shutting out her pathetic song as I now look down on this girl with contempt. She is stupid. To be in a position where the only thing that matters is her own survival is a blessing I wish I had. To ignore such trivial things like companionship, or friends that only serve to slow one down, chain them to pointless obligations that do nothing to further the final, perfect shape of the universe. To waste such time on things like this is an affront to the natural order!
Why, she should be happy to be the queen who can build a mighty army! Not wish to be the one who writes a great book, or builds a tower. Both things are utterly useless when the time comes to be judged by the weight of those who sit above us. To be gifted with solitude is a privilege that should be cherished, not cursed or viewed as a burden!
But this worthless thing sees it as nothing but that. Squandering her gift instead of embracing it. She has failed this test by even now, knowing she is alone, insisting on refusing the way of the world. Longing for things that are as irrelevant as the stars. Here, in a place where the Light does not reach, she must play by the logic that governs all, the logic of the sword.
Yet she doesn't. And so, she will be cut down, as is the universal law. The weak will not survive, existing only to be minor obstacles to those who understand the truth. Blunt whetstones they might be, but a challenge every one in a while keeps the strong on their toes. Forcing them to try even a little bit, even if the outcome is inevitable.
For while the struggle to exist is the struggle of existence. That's what the sword logic dictates and what its practitioners have done for eons before humans walked the earth. There is always a strongest one, and it has been crowned by complete and utterly subjugation, not worthless things like companionship.
And sure enough, I see Atropal rise, knocking the Sphere from his chest with a single swipe of his hand, his eyes now fixed on his opponent. He had underestimated her, no doubt. But now he was done playing around. He would kill her in the name of his father and his grandfather, offer her up as tribute to the Final Shape, a boon that while appreciated, would go mostly unnoticed.
With a roar, he charges once again, this time firing bolts of lightning from his palm, causing the entire area in front of him to light up with the light from the explosions, forcing his opponent to backflip away, desperately trying to avoid his attacks while countering.
But unfortunately for her, there was no opening. Atropal had been trained to be unrelenting, refusing to allow his opponent to rest. He knew that the only way to bring low a Guardian was to pressure them until they ran themselves exhausted, emptying all their guns and abilities until they had nothing left, leaving them vulnerable, and weak.
A strategy this reckless was something not everyone could do. Normally, a bullet would kill even an armored Knight after only a few headshots. But to defeat one who doesn't fear death, you must fight like one who doesn't either. This was the philosophy of the Hive and why they were the race that had inflicted the most Guardian casualties.
Perhaps if she had spent her time killing Hive like him, she would know what to do under these circumstances.
Sure enough, after firing her final shot from her hand cannon, the young girl found herself out of amino, forcing her to retreat to try to reload her gun. But Atropal saw her weakness, instantly closing the distance between them swinging wide to try to catch her again.
Acting immediately, the Warlock leapt into the air, dodging the blade as she once again tried to land on it. From there, she could not only reload with relative ease, but also return fire from a position that was difficult to counter.
But she underestimated the Hive Knight.
Predicting this, Atropal suddenly spins, ripping his blade back leaving the girl hanging helplessly in the air for a second. Then, she was hit by his massive fist, sending her flying the entire length of the room, hitting the ground and rolling several feet before finally coming to a stop. A trail of blood dotting the ground.
I sneer as I watch her try to stagger to her feet, part of her helmet shattering revealing her icy blue eye, blood running down her forehead visible through the hole. I can tell she's winded, probably has broken bones too. Her legs give out under her cause to to fall to her knees, her empty hand cannon clutched in her injured hand.
This battle is over. Without a Ghost to heal her and with no backup anywhere to be found, she's out of the fight. Her life is about to be nothing but a chip on Atropal's blade. A small, insignificant star blinking out, just like so many before her.
That is what she deserves. For forgoing her birthright of solitude, she is now being punished. Had she chosen to engage that right, to live for herself for the sake of killing, maybe things would have turned out differently. She might have even become one of the greats. But sadly, her journey is over now.
I watch as Atropal approaches, standing over his newest victim sneering down at her. Calmly, he grips his blade with both hands and raises it above his head, gleefully readying his final blow. He had proven he was the strongest one, now he got to enjoy the last moments of agony from his fallen foe. A treat he found worth savoring.
But as the Warlock looks up, her eyes locking with his. I see no fear, no uncertainty in them. Only strong, resolute determination. The kind I wouldn't have expected to see in someone about to meet their end.
And then, she lets out a single breath, her song echoing in her words, carrying the tone surprisingly well.
"Who's the loneliest of all?."
Thunk!
The Warlock is silenced as Atropal's blade comes crashing down, splitting her head to two, splattering blood onto the floor. Her hands drop and her body goes limp, her Light flickering out as her song dies, leaving nothing but an empty husk.
Grinning, the Knight ripped his blade out, wiping his weapon on his arms as he turned and made his way out of the room, leaning her body for the Thralls to devour. A fitting fate for a squander like her. Wasting time on such pointless things like wanting friends. Ug! Just the fact she was the one to read my works puts a slander on my name.
But now, with her taking the fall for my introduction, I can finally get what I came for and-.
Suddenly, blue flame erupted from the girl's corpse, completely bathing the room in light as a song reverberates within it, filling every inch of my soul with her aria. A song of life, of love, of loss. And most importantly, one of a challenge.
Spinning around, Atropal is shocked to see his opponent rising to her feet once again, her wound closing as she's bathed in flames, her song reaching even his deaf ears. It was the same challenge he had issued her, now spat back in his face in the form of this melody of life and Light, disputing the logic of the sword, the logic of his forebears. A challenge he could not ignore.
With a roar, the Knight leapt toward the Warlock, raising his sword high into the air as he swung it down toward her, aiming to end this challenge in a single blow! The strength behind this attack several times more than before.
However, the Warlock stood firm, her feet planted, eyes narrowed and focused. Immediately, she threw her cannon to the ground, placing two fingers on her left arm and sliding them up to her hand.
Immediately several symbols appeared on her gauntlets, igniting with radiant Solar Light. Raising her hand, she conjured a grenade in her palm, its blue flames shooting out creating a shield of heat that surrounded her. One that, when hit by Atropal's blade, brought the bone weapon to a complete stop.
Shocked by the powerful display, Atropal seized his weapon with both hands, pressing it with all his strength in an attempt to break through. However to both his and my incredible surprise, the girl held him back with just her Light. A feat I would have thought impossible had I not seen it with my own two eyes!
And that battle was far from over.
Extending her hand, the girl fired bolts of flames from her palm, hitting him in the leg, causing it to drop, throwing him off balance, giving her another opening to counter attack.
And counterattack she did, detonating her grenade ripping Atropal's blade from his hand, sending it flying several feet in the air before crashing down, impaling itself in the ground with a noticeable chunk torn out of it where it had struck the girl.
The Hive Knight turned to look at his blade, then let out a snarl as he whirled back around, eyes fixing on the Warlock. Rising to his feet once again, he clasped both hands and brought them down towards the girl, aiming to crush her this time.
But he was too slow.
Moving with speed I have never seen from a Warlock, skating just above the ground as she shot to the side, dodging the attack before she shot forward, back towards her opponent's back as he turned to try to catch her once again.
But this battle had been decided the moment he lost his sword. The fool Atropal just hadn't realized it.
With elegance and grace of a dancer, the Warlock threw another grenade, this one landing at the base of his feet before detonating, launching him into the air before she hit him with another in the arm, this one staying in place, trapping it in place with searing Light. Then she threw another, and another, and another, each one landing on one of his limbs, rendering each one immobile.
Atropal let out a scream of pain as the blinding blue Light burned away at his body, turning his flesh to ash with every passing second. The Knight could barely force his eyes open when he heard his opponent move on his right, but even then, there was nothing he could do to stop the inevitable.
And there, silhouetted against one of the lanterns that dotted the World's Grave, he saw his opponent hanging in the air right above him, her hand pulled back as it flowed with her Light, her song echoing out as it reached its peak. It's melody reaches every inch of both our being.
"I think I'm the loneliest of all."
With that, she shoots forward, blasting her way straight through his chest, leaving a hole of burning flames in her wake. Atropal's last cry of rage before his body disintegrated ebbing away as it, drowned out by the last, soft notes of her soul's aria as she landed, not even looking back as he hit the ground, burning away the next second.
With the fight over, the Warlock let out a sigh, her hands coming down to rest on her knees, her blue flames dying out as well as the many grenades she had thrown. All of them burning out.
The ritual was done, she had proven she was the strongest one. Now, I watch as she pulls her Ghost from her robes, checking to make sure it is okay. Then, once she's sure he'll make it, she limps over to her gun and tablet, picking both up before making her way towards the exit, her feet dragging against the ground as she went.
And as I watch her go, I find myself unintentionally impressed. I expected her to be some worthless, city dependent Guardian, a Light too far from the Traveler. Yet she had displayed her competence, defeating a Hive of Crota's brood. A feat worth remembering, for a bit I suppose.
Still, it is nothing compared to that which is the way of the Sword. Anyone can cut a measly tribute bearer, but to take that which lays above it, that which it feeds, that is what it truly counts. And this girl, for all her potential, doesn't have what it takes to climb to that peak. For so long as she desires such trivial things like friendship, or companionship, she will never be truly strong.
For life exists to end all other life, a truth that none can hope to escape.
Still I suppose one cannot expect such a little girl to understand this yet. After all, while not fresh out of the grave, she was clearly nowhere near a century old yet. And it had taken even I fifty years to understand this truth, fifty years wasted in servitude to the Vanguard and their ridiculous dogma. I just hope she realizes what a blessing her solitude is before she loses it. That would be such a waste of such wonderful potential.
"Weiss Schnee. I do hope we meet again." I murmured to myself. "As by then, I'm sure you'll make a harder whetstone than you are now. And I can't wait to see what blade you'll end up sharpening."
Recorded by Toland the shattered.
NOTE.
Putting this here for any Weiss simps. These stories are told through the perspective of characters with biases. As such, if one character comes off as insulting, it's because that is their personality or beliefs. It is not reflective of the truth or me stating a fact. It is reflective of that character and only that character. So don't hate the story or me for having them state their beliefs as fact.
Anyway, thanks for reading and have a nice day.