No.
No no no no no NO NONONO!
Kendrix crawled. One arm reached out, fingers digging into wet earth. The other hung limp, twisted and bloody and broken. His legs scrambled in the mud, his breath came fast and shallow, his heart beat almost at random. His Light had failed him, and his body was a hair's breadth away from doing the same.
But his mind surged, with love and hate and hope and pain and will and loss.
And so he crawled. Crawled over mud and root and stone and steel. Crawled towards the body of his brother, silent and still.
Until something stood in his way.
"Do not mourn, insect," the thing that once was Bludgeon drawled. "You'll rejoin him presently."
The machine raised a metallic foot, moving to stamp him out.
But the earth shifted, and the Herald stumbled. Stone cracked and metal groaned as something emerged from the bowels of the Garden. Clad in still-living matter and roaring with warbling thunder, the Hydra burst into being.
"Traitor!" the Herald hissed, swinging its sword to cut the Mind down. But the blade was caught by the golden lattice of the Hydra's shield, and its optic screamed with crimson wrath as it surged forward, firing upon him with burning Solar energy that sent the samurai flying.
Kendrix lurched to the side, narrowly avoiding falling into the chasm left in the Hydra's wake as he continued forward.
Ken, we need to go. Proxima thought as she surreptitiously manifested beside him.
Kendrix didn't have the presence of mind to respond, or to notice the hitch in her voice; his only focus was on moving forward. All he noticed was feeling returning to his broken arm; nearly ready to help him crawl faster.
Ken… Ken he's gone. Bludgeon's distracted. We have to go!
He pulled his legs up under himself. Broke into a sprint.
"Kendrix!" she shouted, flying in front of his face, eye bright with pain and fear.
"NO!"
She flinched; his voice was so loud she thought he'd tear up his newly restored vocal cords all over again. He shoved her aside, kept running. Came up beside the body, laying on its back.
"Nova," he said. Whispered. Begged.
He knelt by the severed head, its eyes dim. Lifeless.
Proxima hovered behind him, watched his body begin to shake.
"Ken… he's my family too. But he's gone. And I couldn't forgive myself if I let you get taken too. So please, let's-"
"Fix him."
"What?"
"Just once. You've fixed me a hundred times. Just fix him once."
"I… that's not how it works, Ken. I-"
"Fine." Kendrix stood up and walked over to the body. He scrambled up onto the torso and began pulling away layers of plating, digging into the chest.
"Kendrix," Proxima said nervously, flying over. "Whatever you're thinking, it's not-"
She was cut off as the last layer fell away, revealing Kendrix's target: Nova's spark.
The normally electric-blue engram was much darker than last he'd seen it, nearly gray. Kendrix placed a hand upon it. Only the faintest thrum of Light remained, and even that was quickly fading. His own Light was still so very thin. But he had to try.
Kendrix's hand suffused with golden warmth. It spread slowly, tracing out the billion facets of the spark's geometric interior in rivulets of neon ichor.
"Come on," Kendrix whispered.
The spark pulsed beneath his fingertips.
"Come on."
The spark flashed blue. Flickered. Died.
"No. Not again. Not- FUCK." Kendrix clasped his face in his hands as tears seared his eyes, fighting the sudden urge to rip his helmet off. Proxima's shell clenched as his pain burned across their mental bond, mingling with her own until she couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.
They both floated there, for a moment, frozen. Still.
Then, Proxima stirred.
"I think I have an idea." Kendrix's head snapped up, daring to hope. Proxima floated over to the spark, scanning the chamber's architecture, mapping pathways through the intricate data-matter. "You and I are a bonded pair; my Light and your Light are one and the same. That's why I can resurrect you and only you." She shifted position, eye flickering as calculations whirled through her mind. "So, maybe, conceivably, possibly, if your Light and Nova's Light also became one and the same… I could resurrect him, too."
"Ok," Kendrix said, half-understanding. "So… how the hell do we do that?"
Proxima's shell fidgeted with discomfort and uncertainty. "Well… his Light is stored as information in an engram: his spark. And when I trasmat you from one place to another, I temporarily convert you into pure data to do it; Light and all."
"Wait… you want to transmat me… inside his spark?"
Proxima's fins flexed in a desperate shrug. "I'm grasping at straws here, Ken. This is as last-ditch as efforts come. Am I certain of it? Hell no. This is completely uncharted territory. If something goes wrong, there's a chance… there's a chance I might not be able to bring you back from it. But it's all I've got."
Kendrix rose to his feet, and slowly removed his helmet. He looked down at the body of his friend, his brother.
"Let's do it."
Proxima sighed, and slowly rose to meet his eyes. "Hey. Whatever happens next… I want you to know that finding you and Nova that day… it was the best thing that ever happened to me."
Kendrix smiled. "Likewise." He leaned forward, nestling her in his arms in their strange embrace.
"Stay safe," she whispered.
"You too."
She pulled away, and took one last look at him.
Then he disappeared in a flash of transmat.
He broke the surface of the [water/glass, gasping for [air/light]. All around him, the [ocean/mirror] stretched on into [infinity/eternity, flat and smooth and featureless. [White/black] stars filled the [black/white] sky, tracing out untold constellations and myriad galaxies.
He [looked/thought] around at the alien worldscape, filled with [wonder/fear]. His [eye/mind] caught on something, a light [flickering/beating] in the distance. He started to [walk/fall] towards it, straining against the [push/pull] of the [glass/water]. It took him a [moment/millenium, but he reached it.
The light shone from [above/below] the surface of the [mirror/ocean]. Its form was shifting, a [crystal/song] made of a billion dancing [facets/notes]. But the light was [fading/dying, [exploding/collapsing].
He reached out his [hand/heart] and caught one of the [shards/echoes, [feeling/hearing] its [pain/memory]. He [looked/felt] at the light, filled with [sorrow/determination].
"I [want/promise] to save you," he [shouted/whispered] into the light. But it [did/could] not answer.
Nevertheless.
He had [come/gone] too far to give up [now/forever]. He grasped another [echo/shard, and another, and another, until his [heart/hands] could hold no more. He grit his [teeth/soul] and pulled them together, [entering/embracing] the light, until [he/it] became as one with [it/him].
The [Man/Machine/Guardian/Autobot/Warlock/Scout] [stood/knelt/rose/fell/reached/recoiled]. They were [alive/dead/awake/asleep/new/old/flesh/metal/mortal/immortal/finite/infinite]. It was all [too much/not enough, they couldn't-
Stop. Take a breath.
They breathed [in/out]. They were [alive/awake]. Or… [awake/alive]? No, that-
Stop. Take another.
They breathed [in]. They breathed [out]. They were [awake]. They were [alive].
They looked out on the world around them. They saw the glass sea, crystallized waves reflecting golden starlight.
And they saw a great bridge stretching from their [heart] beyond the far horizon, reaching towards… something.
"What…"
But then a brilliant light suddenly shone from [within/without].
And the whole world went white.
The Herald crouched over the Hydra, forcing it into the earth, where its rotten form belonged. The Mind screamed and struggled, radiolaria gushing from where his sword had pierced its central tank, but could not escape. The Herald took his time, hungry talons stripping away vector after vector of golden shield, as he set about vivisecting this undying abomination.
During the battle, the Herald had realized that the Mind would never bow to him. It served that whispering prophet and its foolish dream, and it had not the will to break free of the lie that caged it. And so it had to be destroyed, particle by particle.
But even as its shield collapsed and he plunged his hand into its gleaming eye, tearing away its head, he knew it could not truly die. The Garden, itself a victim of the lie, would remake it, again and again, in an attempt to keep the Heart bound in worship.
No matter. He was here now. And soon, he would walk the surface of that wretched cage they called a world, so that he might break the dream that shackled truth. So that he might awaken that Divine Inevitable he called Master. Now, there was nothing to stand in his way.
Unless…
A great pillar of purest Light erupted into being. Sickly clouds scattered to the winds. Vex of all stripes screamed and burned. For a moment the Garden was awash in a pale sunlight, bathing its ever-blooming flora in a daylight not known to it since before time began.
Deep in his chest, the Herald felt the roiling agony of the Black Heart as its antithesis made itself manifest so near to it, and he was gripped by sudden fear and violent hate. He surged forward, but was repelled as the pillar pulsed outward in a pearlescent flare. Giving way to what strode out from inside it.
The form was leaner than it had been, square, blocky armor giving way to slimmer, more angular plating. The blacks, whites, and reds of the figure's form were now all inlaid with geometric bronze filigree, which rose in places to form gleaming fins and segmented plates. A black gauntlet enclosed each hand, humming with hydraulic might and thundering gravity, and a roaring thruster crowned each shoulder, breathing feathers of golden flame over the long crimson cape that hung just below them. A helmet with bronze plates formed as wings at the temples framed a white face with bright turquoise eyes that looked about in wonder, and a mouth that curled in a grin of smug jubilation.
The figure looked itself over, rolling its shoulders and flexing its joints, feeling the shape of its form and the power it contained. Then, it turned to the Herald, and as it met his eyes that sanctimonious smirk changed into a thin line of gritted determination.
"How… how?!" the Herald roared, shock and rage mingling in his mind.
"How?" The figure snorted. "You said it yourself- I'm a survivor."
"Nova." the Herald spat.
"And Kendrix," he replied. "And more still than the two of them together."
"A binary bond?" the Herald laughed. "What a revolting concept; debasing oneself by relying on the essence of some worthless organic."
"Says the half-dead coward who went crying to the feet of a Dark God."
The Herald twisted his hand, wrenching the abomination through space and time, pulling it to his feet in an instant.
"I AM A GOD!" he screamed, ripping his sword down to cleave its head in two.
Only for the blade to slam off the violet discus suddenly clasped to the figure's arm. Its eyes peeked over the rim of the shield, as did the very tip of an amused smirk.
"Could've fooled me."
"Impossible. Impossible!" the Herald raged. "The Void is mine!"
The shield struck him in the throat, sending him choking to his knees. He gathered himself and looked up, just in time to see the figure Blink out of view. In less than an instant the shield slammed across the back of his head, sending him sprawling in the mud and filth.
"You've got Void in spades," the figure agreed. The Herald performed his own Blink, reappearing some ten meters away, sword at the ready. "But me?" the figure continued, barely reacting. "I've got all the Light of a million-year-old Cybertronian spark. And I've got all the skills of a Warlock who knows how to use it."
A flaming sword burned into being in the figure's open hand, glowing a brilliant contrast to the simmering absence of the shield. Thrusters roared to life with wings of plasma. Plating shifted and sung with dancing electricity. And eyes blazed with all the colors of the world.
"I am Kendrix-Nova. And I am your doom."
The Herald moved, a vortex of flashing blade and roaring Void. His every strike was knocked aside, his every hex absorbed. He called forth ravenous singularities; they were engulfed by the shield. He cast countless onyx shadows; they were burned away by the sword. His every move was countered, utterly and without remorse.
For the first time in an eon, the thing that once was Bludgeon felt it.
Fear.
He Blinked away, far out of reach of the merged warrior. Kendrix-Nova simply watched him, watched as he hung above the battlefield, above the crescent throne. Watched as he raised his hands, crackling with miasmic power, and transfused it into the stone statues that stood in supplication to the Black Heart.
The titanic Vex constructs lurched into existence with bellowing shrieks. Each larger than the Gate Lord, built as vessels for the Heart's power and now filled to the brim. Primeval. Imminent. Eschaton. The Sol Progeny.
The first was bisected from head to groin with a single swipe of Kendrix-Nova's sword.
The second was devoured by timeless decay as the shield reflected its fire back upon it.
The third was torn limb from limb by the fusion's bare hands.
The Herald balked. Then, he gathered himself. This foe may be beyond him, but it was not all-powerful. His plan could still come to fruition. All he had to do was escape this forsaken Garden.
So he Blinked, back across the geometric chasms, towards the eternal cliffside. Only to reemerge into the gnawing vortex of a Void grenade. Stunned, he failed to dodge the next attack as a barrage of seeking explosive drones thundered across his frame. Kendrix-Nova reappeared before him, flare batteries still aglow with the heat of their new payload, and struck him with a fist full of mechanized gravity.
His form fell from the sky and was smote upon the land. A sliver of time more and the warrior fell upon him like a thunderbolt, driving him yet further into the hungry earth, only to pull him bodily out and send him sprawling yet again. Void anchors appeared around him, tethering him in place. Mind, body, and soul.
Kendrix-Nova approached slowly. Patiently. Sword swinging from side to side like a pendulum. The Herald's spark, smothered in Dark though it was, surged with terror, compelling him to struggle against his bonds with all his powers, all his might. To no avail. The warrior was drawing close, very close.
Three paces.
Two.
One.
Kendrix-Nova went down on one knee, sword and shield both dissipating. His face was largely hidden behind his battlemask, but his eyes were bright and clear. Staring. Searching?
He reached out a hand. The Herald tried one last time to squirm away, but the hand found its mark nonetheless: a vice-like grip upon his face. One eye was covered by the palm, but the other started out, seared by panic, meeting the other's unwavering stare.
Then, the hand began to hum with silent energy. Power, building and building, until the hand began to glow, blazing and bright and hungry. The light spread, to his face and flesh and soul, engulfing the Herald in the totality of its judgment. And he couldn't even scream.
Bludgeon blinked, eyes flickering. He felt… different.
The anchors were gone, and with their disappearance he found he could look upon himself. To his shock, he had completely changed. Gone were the black plates of his Godhood, the elegant curves of his Vex adaptation, even the pseudo-organic struts of his Tombship alternate mode.
All that remained was the simple bronze of his old armor, the fine metal that garbed him before his ill-fated journey to Sol. He looked up in wonder, to where Kendrix-Nova still knelt, Solar Light slowly fading from his hand.
"You… you purged the Dark. Healed me. Why?"
The fusion looked at him for a moment, then answered.
"I needed to make sure you would be mortal enough to feel this."
Bludgeon lurched. Agony erupted across every synthetic nerve in his body. He looked to where the warrior's hand had buried itself in his chest. Felt it close around his spark.
"I want you to understand something," Kendrix-Nova said, voice full of icy venom. "You took my friend. My brother. My life." His hand twisted, and Bludgeon bit back a scream as his spark turned with it. "And with all that in mind?" Kendrix-Nova leaned in, battlemask folding away to reveal a face, fully human yet fully machine, contorted by a truly shared hatred and pain.
"This is a world better than you deserve."
His hand tore back, metal and energon spraying as the spark was ripped out of its chamber and crushed into dust. Bludgeon's body lurched.
Then shivered.
Then went still.
And as at last Bludgeon's eyes went dark and dull, Kendrix-Nova stood. Feeling a change in the air, he turned towards the Black Heart.
Its form surged out, then collapsed in, the rhythmic beating suddenly a panicked cacophony. A shockwave of gravity and Dark shook the very spacetime continuum as it coalesced into a sphere denser than the core of a neutron star. Its last vessel destroyed, the Heart's power surged unabated. Bolts of lightning tore from its surface, scorching air and memory, flashing more and more frequently, burning brighter and brighter until…
The Black Heart erupted in a nova of purest light.
Proxima awoke in realspace. Startled, she looked around frantically for her family, fearing the worst. But Kendrix-Nova simply stood, breathing heavily. Alive.
Flushed with relief, she took note of their surroundings. It seemed to her to be the same valley as before. But her navigation functions were… well, functioning, again, showing their true location.
"We're back on Mars," she said, amazed and relieved. "The net's on fire… the Traveler's Light, it's surging! I… I think we did it!"
Kendrix-Nova fell to one knee, retching.
"Something's… wrong…" Icy terror struck through her once more, and Proxima bolted over. Her eye flashed as she scanned his amalgamated form.
"Your Light, without the Garden it's… dispersing. Separating. I need to pull Kendrix out before it tears you apart."
Kendrix-Nova fell onto his back. Proxima rushed over him, activating the release on his chest plate and revealing the sparkchamber. Once more, she delved into the impossibly intricate dataspace of the spark, searching desperately for the part that did not belong. But she couldn't see it.
So she looked within herself instead. Found a memory.
She was floating over frozen hills and rusted machines. Her eye picked through the remains of hundreds of long-dead innocents, her mind long since numbed to the morbidity of it all.
And then, she chanced upon something. Barely there at first, but then growing brighter, and brighter. She knew the shape of it, the edges and grooves left by a life full of love and pain and hope and dread. She tried to remember that shape, that light, tried to remember how it felt when it was wonderful and impossible and new.
She reached out, and took his hand.
In a flash that was half-transmat and half-resurrection, Kendrix's form burst out of the sparkchamber and fell into the dirt. The Warlock coughed and groaned as his stomach twisted into knots with what was, by far, the worst case of motion sickness he'd ever experienced.
Behind him, the form of the giant metal man rippled with waves of shattering and reforming fragments as it recalibrated into a more familiar form. Nova bolted upright, eyes flickering wildly as he regained consciousness, then emitting his own groan as the pain made itself known.
Kendrix, eyes wide, threw himself at the robot, exhaustion be damned.
"Oh thank fuck you're alive!" he nearly screamed. Nova clasped an arm around him in a returned embrace.
"Yeah, yeah I am."
The three of them froze in unison.
"Did you just…" Proxima said, voice filling with wonder.
Nova grasped at his throat on impulse. And beneath the surface of his frame, he could feel it. His old voicebox, perfectly intact.
"Holy shit," Kendrix said, stupefied.
"I guess coming back from the dead has its perks?" Nova said with an uncertain laugh.
"Holy shit!" Kendrix repeated, overjoyed.
Proxima shifted as something pinged her systems. Then stiffened.
"Uh, guys…" she said, voice suddenly filled with trepidation. "I just received a transmission. It's… it's from Trinity."
And a black pit reopened in Kendrix's heart.
It was raining on Venus.
The storm did its damndest to confound Nova's guidance systems, but they found their way to the coordinates nonetheless. They'd been there before, after all.
He could barely think through all the trepidation, the exhaustion. The guilt. He could feel Proxima sharing his disquiet. And also… Nova. The Autobot's mind seemed connected to him now, in the same way as Proxima. Certainly an aftereffect of their fusion, but he found he didn't have it in him to be excitedly curious about the development.
The Autobot's jumpship form cut through the cloud layer into the deluge below, honing in on the rendezvous. A large Void dome became visible in the distance, holding ground against raindrops and Vex constructs alike.
Kendrix materialized some meters away from it, hidden from the rain beneath Nova's hovering form. As he approached the dome, a gap opened in its surface to grant him entrance. Despite all he'd suffered today, he suspected the worst was yet to come. After a moment's hesitation, he stepped through the barrier.
Apollo was pacing, so quickly it was almost a run. Every time a Vex optic so much as thought about glowing, the Hunter sent a spray of gunfire to curtail the notion, half-swearing, half-shouting as he did.
In stark contrast was Wayland, who was so motionless he might as well have been a part of the rock he sat on. The only thing that betrayed a hint of life was the slightest shaking of the hand that held his combat knife in a white-knuckled grip.
Oroa stood beneath the pinnacle of the dome, one hand raised to keep it aloft. Her head was turned upwards, eyes closed, as if trying to feel the raindrops splashing against her ward. However, her eyes opened as he entered the space, and she moved to pull him into a bone-breaking hug.
"Thank the Traveler, you're safe," she murmured. Kendrix found himself incapable of returning her embrace.
When she finally released him, Kendrix found that both Apollo and Wayland were now staring at him, wordlessly. Even if their faces had been uncovered, he couldn't have looked either of them in the eye.
"What happened?"
It was barely a question. Kendrix turned to where the last of them knelt. Restless hands toyed with the safeties of twin pistols, the barely-audible clicking setting a soft metronome to the drumming rain. She hovered over where a white shroud mercifully covered the twisted and broken remains, a turned back and hooded cloak obscuring fully the face that spoke her words.
"Trinity. I'm-"
"What. Happened."
It was an order now.
"We… we were hunting a Gate Lord. We killed it, but-"
"I can see that," she said with a jab of her weapon at the fallen form of the Vex mind, half-drowned in the downpour.
"...but we were ambushed. He just came out of nowhere and- and I couldn't-"
Kendrix's voice broke. His eyes blurred.
It was getting hard to breathe.
"Who?"
Kendrix couldn't answer.
"Who?"
"His name was Bludgeon."
All of the Guardians froze as the unfamiliar voice broke through the hammering of the rain. And all of their attentions snapped to a point beyond their sanctuary as Kendrix's jumpship split open into a thousand pieces.
"What the fuck-" Apollo began to shout, raising his gun. But his fire went wide into the open sky as Kendrix's hand wrenched the weapon aside.
Nova's form resolved from the shifting mass of metal, hands lifted in surrender. "I'm not your enemy," he said placatingly. "We just want to talk."
"Kendrix, explain. Now." Trinity growled, her own weapons at the ready.
"His name is Nova," Kendrix said quickly, moving to put himself in front of Trinity. "Proxima and I found him in the Cosmodrome on my first day, fixed him up. He's been helping us on missions-"
"Helping?" Trinity said, incredulous.
"Riksis," Apollo said with a bolt of clarity. He turned to Kendrix. "That's how you did it."
Kendrix nodded.
"Escaping the Cosmodrome, freeing the shard of the Traveler, fighting the Gate Lord… Nova's saved my life more times than I can count. I owe him so much. We all do."
"I'll decide who's owed what," Trinity spat. Her eyes turned from Nova to pierce his own. "This 'Bludgeon'. Explain."
"An alien. The same species as Nova, but completely insane. He wanted to access the Black Garden, turn the Vex into an invading army. He… he needed the Gate Lord's tech to do it."
"He followed you here," Trinity said, voice quivering. "You brought Beckett, alone-"
She sprang so quickly Kendrix couldn't even react with a Blink before her pistol was leveled mere inches from his face.
"I should kill you," she said, voice icy with sudden hatred. "Drag your corpse back to the Tower and put you in the deepest cell they have. You're reckless, selfish… a disgrace. I can't let you hurt anyone else."
In that moment, he almost wanted her to pull the trigger.
But a flash of transmat interrupted the thought. Trinity's eyes widened, and she pulled back slightly in shock.
Proxima stared her down, eye blazing, fin pressed against the barrel of the gun.
"You want either of them, you're gonna have to kill me."
Kendrix wanted to reach out, snatch her away, keep her safe. But he felt her will against his own, and knew he couldn't move her even if he tried.
For a few terrifying seconds, nobody moved.
Then, a gauntleted hand slowly reached out and gently closed around Trinity's shaking arm, moving it down.
"This is not you," Oroa said softly. "And this is not what Beckett would have wanted."
The gun fell from Trinity's hand. She crumpled to her knees, breaking into silent sobs and phantom tears. Oroa knelt next to her, putting an arm around her shoulders.
"This Bludgeon bastard… he's dealt with?" Apollo asked after a moment.
A memory, of a life pulled free and crushed to dust.
"Yes. The Black Heart went down with him."
"Good fucking riddance," the Hunter swore. Then, nervously, "So… what happens now?"
Trinity let out a long, shaking sigh, then stood up.
"Now, we go back. The Vanguard will expect a full report, and I'm inclined to give it to them. And given the existence of your… friend, I expect the Consensus will get involved." She looked at Kendrix, eyes slightly narrowed. "Will you cooperate?"
Kendrix hesitated for a long moment, then nodded, unable to speak past the lump in his throat.
Oroa rose, the shrouded figure in her arms smaller than he expected. "You should ride with me. Bringing Nova into the city would only escalate things further."
Kendrix wanted to argue, but a nudge from Proxima assured him it was the smart move. So he nodded again.
:Are you sure about this?: Nova's voice asked in his head; clearly the Cybertronian had also noticed their newfound mental connection.
Oroa's right. If the Vanguard is going to find out about you, it's better that you're out of reach. In case they decide to do something… drastic.
:And what makes you so sure they won't do something 'drastic' to you?:
Nothing. But I have to try and make them understand. Keep out of range of the City's scanners, I'll call you if we need you.
:Alright: Nova replied, clearly still reluctant.
A moment passed and a quartet of jumpships broke down through the cloud barrier, their normally colorful forms rendered in shades of gray by the persistent downpour. Kendrix followed Oroa to her three-winged Galliot, where Proxima transmatted him inside into a passenger seat. Another moment, and they were off, piercing the clouds once more and escaping into the serene emptiness beyond Venus' atmosphere.
For the first few minutes, they flew in silence, leaving Kendrix to sit with his twisting, agonzing thoughts. Trying and failing to keep his mind off the grim cargo gingerly laid in the hold behind him.
Eventually, Oroa spoke up, so softly it was nearly a whisper.
"It wasn't your fault."
Kendrix spat out a small, bitter laugh. "Yes it was."
"You did everything you could-"
"I could've lied better. Could've told him to fuck right off. Alternatively, could've waited, brought in more backup, trusted you all more. But no, I just had to walk the middle of the road, had to give him just enough of an inch to put him in danger, but not enough to get him back out of it."
"Kendrix-"
"And you know what's worse? Bludgeon probably couldn't even have accessed the Garden if I hadn't served him the Gate Lord up on a silver platter. Everything would've been fine if I just… hadn't been there."
Oroa sharply turned to him.
"Listen to me. Now." Kendrix stiffened. "I have known- knew… Beckett for a long, long time. Ever since he and Trinity first stumbled up to the Tower, wide-eyed and terrified. I watched him learn, and change, and grow. But in all that time, one thing about him remained the same: his stubbornness.
"Once he set his mind upon a thing as right and true and worthy, he did it. No matter how big or how small, whatever it took, for however long it took. It was his nature. He was not a man of doubts, and so he was not a man of regrets. He did not follow you into that place because he was manipulated, or because he felt like he had no other option. He did it because he believed in it. Believed in you."
"Yeah, well… he was wrong."
"No." Oroa said, vehement. "Beckett-5 was many things, but he was very rarely wrong. And if he knew that giving his life allowed you to finish the mission, to slay this Bludgeon and to destroy the Black Heart, he would be proud, and he would be content. So do not sully his memory by allowing yourself to believe otherwise."
Kendrix had no rebuke, so he returned to his silence. Oroa could not see the tears behind his visor.
But she knew they were there, all the same.
"They are ready for you."
"Thank you," Kendrix replied. He doubted the attendant frame was sentient enough to appreciate gratitude, but it was a habit. And it was hard to break habits when he was this fucking nervous.
His face was bare. He wore his biosuit, plain and utilitarian as could be, no armor or weapons in sight. Of course, Proxima could change all that in the blink of an eye, but it didn't make him feel any less exposed. Still, he really couldn't blame them.
He walked through the door the frame had opened for him. The room beyond was smaller than he expected, little more than a high-ceilinged conference room. A half-circle table dominated the floor, seven seats evenly spaced behind it to face the room's center, where he knew he was expected to be. There was no chair for him, not even a podium.
Each of the seven chairs had its occupant. Some he had met before, some he only recognized from the dossiers Proxima had shown him during their best attempt at a briefing. As he approached the center of the room, all seven turned from whatever task or conversation had been occupying their attention to place their eyes on him. It took every fiber of his being to keep himself from shrinking back towards the door.
"This hearing is now in session," the Speaker said, his masked face pointed firmly at Kendrix. "From this moment forward, audio and video recording is active. Please state your name for the record."
Here we go.
"Kendrix Brand."
"What is your occupation, Mr. Brand?"
"I am a Warlock in service of the Vanguard of the Last City."
"How long have you been serving as a Vanguard member?"
"Since my initial resurrection approximately three weeks ago."
"Will the Ghost of Mr. Brand please present themselves and state their name for the record."
"Proxima," the Ghost in question said as she appeared at Kendrix's shoulder.
The Speaker leaned back slightly and steepled his fingers. "In preparation for this hearing, you provided a number of materials to this council at our request. Do you verify that the information contained therein is, to the best of your knowledge, true and unaltered?"
"I do," Proxima replied calmly.
The Speaker nodded. With a wave of his hand, a hologram flickered to life between Kendrix and the table; he couldn't look it in the eye.
"The first issue at hand pertains to the death of one Beckett-5, Vanguard Titan and Captain of Fireteam 389-Delta, codename 'Nephilim's Green', as well as his Ghost, Castellan." Another wave, and the hologram changed to a highly abstracted diagram of an autopsy table. "Analysis of Captain Beckett's remains indicate he died from impalement by a previously unknown data-weapon, likely Vex in design, while Castellan's remains suggest he died from a combination of compression and blunt-force trauma. Reports and testimony from the witnesses present allege both acts to have been perpetrated by a hostile alien entity known as 'Bludgeon'."
The hologram changed again, and Kendrix had to suppress a scowl.
"This Bludgeon is a member of a robotic alien species previously unknown to this City, with the innate capability to replicate the form and function of any technology it encounters, primarily for aiding in operations both combative and covert. While the state and location of this entity has not been physically verified by this council at this time, testimony and video logs provided by the witnesses present corroborate its existence and alleged actions."
The hologram winked out as the Speaker refocused on the two before him.
"Please describe the circumstances of this encounter with Bludgeon and Beckett-5's subsequent death."
"As stated in our report," Proxima began, "Kendrix and I had traveled to the Ishtar Sink region of Venus alongside Beckett-5 and his Ghost, Castellan. Our intention was to draw out and defeat a Vex Gate Lord, for the purposes of entering the Black Garden."
"Was this operation sanctioned by the Vanguard?" the Speaker asked. As if they didn't all already know.
"It was not," Proxima confirmed uncomfortably. The Speaker gestured for her to continue. "We succeeded in drawing out and defeating the Gate Lord. However, we were then ambushed by Bludgeon, who replicated the Gate Lord's technological capabilities. He then used them to… terminate Castellan and Beckett-5."
The Speaker turned to Kendrix, then. "Beckett-5 was your commanding officer. Did he order you to accompany him on this unsanctioned mission?"
"No," Kendrix said as steadily as he could.
"Were you aware that the mission was unsanctioned?"
"Yes."
"Did you request that Beckett-5 conduct this mission with you, and that he not inform the Vanguard of it?"
"I did."
"These are the facts, as far as we are aware of them, regarding the death of Beckett-5," the Speaker said. "It is now the duty of this council to determine what responsibility, if any, falls on Kendrix Brand for this event, and what disciplinary action may be necessary as a result."
"Disciplinary action?" one of the other occupants scoffed, an Exo sitting to the Speaker's left; Lakshmi-2, representative of the Future War Cult. "He overtly and repeatedly disregarded his duties as a Guardian of this City, failing to report a real and present threat and undertaking an off-the-books 'mission' that got his superior officer killed! He's a traitor, at best; minimum sentence of life imprisonment!"
"By all accounts, Beckett-5 went on this mission willingly, under no forms of coercion or duress," another voice pointedly added; an Awoken to the Speaker's right whom Kendrix identified as Commander Zavala, the Titan Vanguard. "Kendrix appears guilty of many things, but regarding the issue at hand, laying Beckett's death at his feet is unreasonable."
"Seconded," came the voice of an Exo two seats down from Zavala, languishing back in his chair; Cayde-6, Hunter Vanguard.
"Let's move on from that then, shall we?" said the human seated next to Lakshmi; Executor Hideo, representative of the New Monarchy. "And address the giant metal elephant in the room?"
"Yes, let's," Lakshmi agreed venomously. "In your report, you confess to colluding with another unknown alien of the same kind as this Bludgeon, repeatedly, even granting it unsanctioned access to our City, to this very Tower!"
"I didn't collude with Nova, I cooperated with him," Kendrix said with a note of irritation. "He was a valuable asset on many of our missions. Without his assistance, I wouldn't have lived to stand before you all today."
"And Beckett-5 wouldn't have died?" said the Awoken on the right end of the table; Arach Jalaal, representative of Dead Orbit.
Kendrix didn't reply.
"Yeah, maybe Beckett would've lived. Just long enough for the Black Garden to spill its guts and drown us all in Vex milk," Cayde-6 said with a snort.
"This speculation is irrelevant," the Speaker stated, inclining his head slightly to Arach and Cayde in turn. "However, Mr. Brand's… relationship with the entity known as Nova is another issue we must address."
Kendrix glanced at Ikora, the only one who hadn't yet spoken. She was staring at him with a pensive intensity, mouth hidden behind clasped hands propped up by her elbows. He quickly looked away.
"This 'Nova' is extrasolar in origin, yes?" Jalaal said with thinly veiled curiosity.
"Yes," Kendrix said with a nod. "What evidence we've been able to uncover suggests he originates from the far side of the Milky Way Galaxy, from the homeworld of his people, which they call Cybertron."
"A Vex world," Lakshmi said accusingly. "These 'Cybertronians' are clearly derived from Vex technology."
"A formerly Vex world," Jalaal corrected. "And one touched by the Traveler, if this Bludgeon's stories are to be believed."
"So? If even one drop of radiolaria, one fragmented thoughtform, persisted, this 'Nova' may be a dangerous infection vector. The accused could already be infected; it would certainly explain his seditious behavior."
"Accused? Last I checked, this was a hearing, not a trial," Cayde said derisively. "Also, harping on the big bot for being Vex-based? I wouldn't sing so loudly in that glass house of yours." Lakshmi shot a murderous glance at the other Exo, but otherwise did not respond.
"Enough," The Speaker said, firmly. "Nova's origin is, at present, irrelevant. What is relevant is that he is an unidentified alien entity who on several occasions entered this very Tower completely undetected, aided knowingly and willingly by Mr. Brand. Regardless of Nova's allegedly benign nature and assistance in defending this City, this is still a grave breach of our security."
"It is my understanding that the witnesses have provided sensor calibrations designed to detect these 'Cybertronians', even when disguised?" Hideo asked.
"Which may not even be legitimate; how could we possibly verify their effectiveness?" Lakshmi scoffed. "And even if they are, how damning is it that the witness neglected to share these calibrations until now? Does he expect to garner leniency? They treat the security of this City like a bargaining chip!"
"Lakshmi raises an important point," Zavala said, only a hair reluctant. "Kendrix, your disregard for your duties is very concerning. I am compelled to ask you to explain your behavior."
All seven seats went quiet, looking at him.
Waiting.
"I… always did what I thought was right." Kendrix said carefully. "When I found Nova, he was just as lost and scared and confused as I was. He was alien to me, and I to him. But… he protected me anyway. He saved my life from Riksis and his Devils before I even knew my own name."
He took a breath.
"So yes, I let him find a safe harbor with me in the City. Yes, I used my payments to help repair him and keep him fed. I tried my best to keep him safe, and he did the same for me. We watched each other's backs, fought alongside each other, saved each other. More times than I can count.
"But I never did anything to jeopardize this City or its people. I never hurt anyone, and I don't intend for that to change. I value human kind very much, and it is my honor and my pride to serve as one of their Guardians. And I know Nova feels that way just as strongly as I do."
He raised his head slightly, eyes flashing, almost indignant. "I don't regret protecting Nova. I don't think I ever will. He deserves the same piece of life, joy, and freedom that all of us do. And if you mean to convince me otherwise, you can save your breath. Because Guardian or not, he's part of my Fireteam. And human or not, he's part of my family."
For a moment, all was silent. Then, Ikora shifted in her seat.
"Family," she murmured. The word was weighty, full of an emotion Kendrix could not discern from behind the mask she put on it. The Speaker's head turned ever so slightly for a moment, as if glancing at her, then refocused on the Warlock in front of him.
"Kendrix," he said with firm sympathy. "None here dispute that your actions have directly contributed to saving the life of the Traveler and, by extension, protecting this City from annihilation. For this reason, I feel life imprisonment would be too severe a penalty. However, your attachment with the entity known as Nova has clearly compromised your ability to act as an effective, reliable, or trustworthy member of the Vanguard; you consistently prioritize Nova's well-being over your duties and responsibilities as a Guardian, and have given me no reason to believe this behavior would change going forward."
The Speaker paused, though for hesitance or effect Kendrix couldn't guess.
"I therefore move that you be stripped of your rank and clearance as a Vanguard Guardian, and furthermore, that you be exiled from the Last City."
The room erupted into a whirl of heated conversation. But Kendrix couldn't make out a single word of it over the thundering of his own heartbeat.
"Order!" the Speaker shouted at last, slamming a fist on the table; the other Consensus members quickly fell silent. "We will now vote on the motion. All in favor?"
"Yea," Lakshmi-2 said the second the Speaker finished. Two in favor.
"Nay," Cayde-6 pointedly fired off a split-second later. One against.
"Yea," Executor Hideo said after a moment of brief consideration. Three in favor.
"Nay," Arach Jalaal said. "These Cybertronians could prove potent allies if we do not spurn them; at the very least their technology is worth examining." Two against.
Two undecided.
Commander Zavala's face was creased with thought. After a few moments, he spoke. "I agree that Kendrix's actions have proven him unfit for duty as a Guardian of the Vanguard, and that he should be discharged from service." Kendrix tried to keep himself from tensing even more than he already had. "...however, I do not believe he poses a threat to this City, nor do I expect that to change. As such, I feel exile is too harsh a punishment. Nay."
Three in favor, three against.
One undecided.
Kendrix looked at Ikora.
Ikora looked back at him.
And spoke.
"He's here," Oroa said quietly, standing up. The rest of the fireteam turned to look as Kendrix walked out onto the main platform of the Tower.
As did the roughly three-dozen other Guardians that filled the waiting crowd. Some of them moved towards him, to congratulate, or pester, or threaten. But every last one balked as Oroa's enormous figure swept in front of them.
She placed her hands on Kendrix's shoulders, eyes bright with concern. "What happened?"
Kendrix took a moment to swallow the lump in his throat.
"They've arranged for passage out of the City."
"How long will you be gone?"
Kendrix looked at her. Watched her eyes flicker with tears. "No," she said, at a loss. "Not you too."
"What's going on?" Apollo asked as he slowed from the slight jog he'd started to catch up with Oroa. He looked back and forth between them, confused.
"He's been exiled," Oroa said shakily. "Haven't you?"
Kendrix nodded slightly, utterly drained.
"What?!" Apollo repeated.
" I'm to report to the hangar immediately," Kendrix explained. "There's a ship waiting."
"I'll talk to them," Oroa said, forcing down the desperation in her voice. "I'll make them listen, I'll-"
Kendrix shook his head. "I've already caused enough trouble. And besides, I can't just leave Nova out in the wastes, alone. Proxima and I are all he's got." Kendrix could feel Oroa's hands shaking. Then they moved and pulled him into a ginger embrace; Kendrix hugged her back, fighting his own tears.
He pulled away, and looked at Apollo, waiting for a snarky comment. But the Hunter just looked at him, and extended a hand. After a moment of surprise, Kendrix shook it.
"Take care of yourself," he said grimly.
"You too," Kendrix replied with a thin smile.
Wayland stepped forward, having surreptitiously ambled over. He looked at Kendrix with a hawkish intensity; Kendrix tensed, almost expecting the Awoken to strike him. But Wayland just placed his hands together and simply bowed at the waist. More than a little confused, Kendrix merely returned the gesture.
And then there was Trinity.
He had to be brave.
"I know you probably don't want to hear this right now, but… about Beckett… Trinity I am so, so sorry and-"
She moved faster than he could process, pulling him into a hug that was somehow more bonecrushing than any Oroa had ever subjected him to.
"I'm sorry too," she whispered back. "For everything."
After a moment, Kendrix disengaged himself. He looked at them, these people who, each in their own way, had taken him in. Cared for him. And who still cared, despite all he had done. He found himself wishing he had time to get to know them better.
"I'm gonna miss you guys," he said hoarsely. Then, before it became too much to bear, he pushed past them towards the hangar.
The cavernous platform was mercifully empty, with only a few service frames dotted around performing various tasks. One turned to him as he approached.
"Your transport is ready," it said in the always-cheery artificial voice every frame possessed, pointing to a standard Vanguard shuttle. "Its autopilot will deposit you outside city territory."
Kendrix thanked the frame, and looked to the shuttle. Tried his best not to think about what he was walking away from, and instead focus on what he had to get back to. He took a shaky breath, and a step forward…
"A moment."
He turned to see the figure that had suddenly appeared at the end of the hangar. The Exo Stranger stood, watching the sunset, with something like peaceful contemplation on her face. With a small sigh, Kendrix walked over to join her, taking in the sight of the City below, bathed in rays of gold and orange beneath the silent shape of the Traveler.
As he came up next to her, she turned to him.
"Take this," she said, holding up the strange rifle he'd seen her carrying in their previous encounter. He hesitated, then accepted the gift; it might well be the last one he received for a long while. "There's so much more, Guardian," she said wistfully. "I've seen terrible things born out in the darkness; every moment brings them closer."
"I'm not a Guardian," he said; the words hurt more than he expected.
She looked at him, and gave a small smile.
"All ends are beginnings. Our fight is far from over."
And with that she dissipated into a flash of bubbling transmat, leaving Kendrix confused but… strangely hopeful?
She is one weird lady. Proxima said with a proverbial wrinkling of her nose.
Despite everything, Kendrix laughed. Then he walked back to the shuttle.
—Three Days Later—
Eight of them gathered in the clearing beneath the mountain. Four standing, four floating; four Guardians and their four Ghosts.
Apollo the Gunslinger, dressed in golden finery, and his silver-shelled Ghost Artemis, eye pale and serene. Wayland the Bladedancer, clad all in mourning black with facepaint to match, and his Ghost Yutani, whose spherical shell of curved leaves was similarly darkened for the occasion. Oroa the Defender, in full battle armor, and her Panoply, a Ghost wearing nothing but a standard shell splatted randomly with various colors of neon paint.
And finally, Trinity-3, Dawnblade, robed now in deep blues and grays. And her Ghost Hecate, whose shell consisted of a single free-floating ring turning around her core. Trinity stood before a pile of smooth stones collected from a nearby riverbed, stacked with care into an approximation of a headstone; it wasn't much, but it meant far more to her than the hand-carved stone coffin used in the official funeral. She bowed her head, took a deep breath, and began to speak.
"Beckett-5 was the first face I ever saw. He helped pull me up off the ground after Hecate pulled me out of the dirt. And I was the first face he'd ever seen; two Guardians, raised side-by-side in the wreck of some stolen BrayTech skimmer. Couple of mad science experiments who got themselves killed making a run for it, far as we could tell," she said with a little laugh. "And we just… kept moving. Stuck by each other. All these decades, all these trials. All the love and loss and laughs…
"And I took it for granted," she said with a hitch. "I really did, ya know? Thought it'd be me and him 'til the end of days, no questions asked. Should've known better." Oroa placed a hand on her shoulder, and she took a moment to steady herself. "Beck was a lot of things, every last one of them good. Tough as nails, stubborn to a fault… absolute dogshit at karaoke." A smattering of chuckles from the other mourners. "But the best part was that he loved you. Even when it was hard. Especially when it was hard. Didn't matter if you were some random stranger on the street or practically his twin sister; it was like breathing to him… most natural thing in the world.
"And I loved him back," she said, phantom tears burning her eyes. "He was my brother and I loved him. Still do. I love you, Beck. Get some sleep."
The Fireteam stayed for a while longer, saying their pieces, swapping stories. Taking in the world without him.
But all things end, and as the sun began to set they returned to their jumpships, to find their solace elsewhere with good food and good song. And for a time, the clearing was silent. Until a shadow broke from the treeline.
"Hey, Beckett," Kendrix said as he knelt by the stacked stones. "Figured I should… stop by. Seeing as I couldn't make the funeral since… well, you know." He pinched the bridge of his nose, and sighed, turning the words over in his head. "I just wanted to say I'm sorry. Sorry for dragging you into this, sorry for what happened… I'm sorry I'm not the person you wanted me to be." His voice broke, so he stopped, rested. Gave the tears their time to flow.
Then he stood.
"But I'm going to try," he said, firmly. "Try to be more than I am, to keep fighting the good fight, no matter what. I'm a Guardian, and nothing they say can ever change that. I just hope I'm strong enough…"
"You are," Proxima said, bumping him from her post above his shoulder. "Always have been."
He smiled, and bumped her back.
A shifting shadow swooped over them, and Nova touched down deftly in the clearing after the mid-landing transformation.
"I've got the route mapped, when you're ready to go," he said in that new, wonderful voice of his. "Assuming the coordinates are right."
"They're right," Proxima assured him. "Rasputin was way too grumpy about giving it up for it to be a dud." She glanced at Kendrix. "You ready?"
The Warlock thought for a moment, then reached up to the bond around his shoulder. He pulled the clasp open, causing the geometric orange hologram to flicker out, then set the loop of metal atop Beckett's pile of stones.
"Yeah, I'm ready. Let's move."
Running.
That's what it was called, that thing they were doing with their legs and wings and hearts and minds. Running from the world, running towards the future. It terrified all three of them.
And all three of them were glad they didn't have to do it alone.
AN: Thanks to Keltoi for the edits, and for consistently enduring all of my brainstorming and random ideas.
So ends what I'm provisionally calling "Book 1" of Periapsis. This chapter took a long time to write and refine, and if I'm honest I'm still not fully satisfied with it as a 'finale'. But I'm happy enough with it to go ahead and use it.
While I don't intend the story to end here, I do want to take a break from this project for a little while to work on other things and explore other ideas. I still have tons more things I want to expand on in this story, with loose outlines worked out for every expansion through the end of D1, and plenty more fragments and concepts beyond that. However, given it took me three whole years to work through just the base campaign, and given I don't hold nearly as much nostalgia for the next couple expansions as I do for base D1, the story structure will likely be pretty different going forward.
I want to try my hand at a looser structure, jumping between different events both canon and wholly original as they pertain to the worldbuilding I want to expand on and the stories I want to explore with our main trio, instead of holding myself to a pseudo-abridged retelling of the events of the game.
Whatever may come, I want to thank you all as always for your readership. It's very rewarding to know that people enjoy my work and want more of it, and I hope to continue to keep you engaged, or at least mildly entertained. This has been the largest creative undertaking of my life by far, and the one I am most proud of. I welcome any comments, constructive criticism, or questions about the story so far or the story to come (though I may elect not to answer some outright, depending on spoilers).
All ends are beginnings. Farewell for now.