Heavy.
Everything was lead, or was it weighed down by lead? Even the thoughts in his brain were foggy and heavy in their own way. Nothing felt clear. Everything was dark. Slowly, dreadfully, his senses came back, one by one.
The first was taste. Dry and tacky, mud coated his tongue. How disgusting. How sediment ground between his teeth scratched at his brain in the worst way, like Vex metal on stone. And then, his smell returned.
Smoke flooded his senses and so too did the familiar scent of jet fuel. Sharp and sweet in its own way, but acrid in the same breath. The City shouldn't smell like this. It was a Wednesday night; the streets should smell like food stalls of so many kinds. When the thought of food brought about pangs of hunger, his sense of touch came along with it.
Heat like hellfire suffocated his face with sweat and oil. Even the tattered robes he wore bore down on his aching body, feeling more like a weighted blanket. They had never been so heavy before. His whole body throbbed as though it were one big bruise. The stars swimming in the ink blotting his vision gave way to horror.
Vermillion singed the city scene before him. The state of his robes reflected that of the Last City; besieged and tattered. Fire devoured what wasn't stone and what was stone cracked and buckled beneath its own weight. As he tried getting to his feet, his body protested fiercely. Every movement made it worse, but no worse than his sense of hearing finally thrumming to life.
Screams. Cabal. Gunfire. Artillery.
His first instinct was to summon up his Light and defend the people. Try as he might, when he searched for the power of his Radiance or even the Void, the only thing that rose to greet him was pain. The Warlock stumbled and hugged his gut as it assaulted his senses with searing static. Up in the sky was the Traveler, caged by Ghaul's monstrosity; its shade turned to an ominous, orange twilight. The longer he trudged on, the weaker he seemed to get.
Sweat, blood, and dirt dripped down, which stung his eyes. His hair matted and clung to his neck and shoulders as he slunk between rubble and under bridges. More citizens screamed and more Cabal cut them down. They screamed for the Vanguard, for the Guardians, for the Redjacks, for him. At the sound of nearing Cabal-speak, he clamored behind the crumbling remains of what he recognized was once a clothing store.
A woman shielded her daughter as best she could, Legionaries closing in on them. The Warlock's eyes widened. By instinct, he leveled his scorched Traveler's Chosen sidearm at a Phalanx who gripped the leash of a couple war beasts. His arms trembled, the weapon shook. An abominable thought arose – a choice; save them and die or leave them and live.
Without his Light, this death would be his last, and there were too many Cabal everywhere. Fear seized his being. He had to survive. The Traveler's Chosen wavered, then lowered. The Warlock turned just as the Phalanx loosed its war beasts.
Screams. Screams, then shame. The longer he trudged on, the heavier it seemed his feet got. Heavier and heavier, not just his feet but his eyelids as well. And his heart.
"Guardian?!" came a faint call, "Oh, this is awful... Just awful."
A nearby explosion's shockwave caused the ground to shudder and took the Warlock's fragile balance. He hit his knees. The cracked optic of a Ghost found him. "Guardian?" they cried, "Seven!"
"L-Lazarus...?" Seven rasped.
The little light zipped over, barreling into Seven's chest. He curled an arm up around Lazarus. "Seven! There you are," the Ghost backed away, looking up at their Guardian, "I-I was so worried! The Red Legion are murdering Lightless Guardians. I was looking for so long. And the bodies…"
Lazarus nuzzled into Seven again. "I know, buddy. I know," Seven murmured.
The Ghost jolted with a gasp and hovered over the Warlock, mewling like a worried mother, "Oh, look at you."
They glanced up at the Traveler. "The Traveler. I can't..." Lazarus faltered, then their own diminished Light poured from their shell, "I can heal you, but I won't be able to resurrect you."
Seven's strength slowly returned, the grimy layer coating him also washed away by the little light. Cuts closed, bruises faded, fractured bones mended; even his bangs pulled back into a synthesizing band, all in a few seconds. All of it was fixed. "Lazarus," the Warlock trailed off.
"Yes?"
"Back there where I fell, I..." Seven got to his feet. He finally got an eyeful of his poor partner. Lazarus's shivering shell sagged off them, barely clinging on. Regal red and white laurel design smudged, chipped, and blackened with soot and burns from the chaos. Their little optic flickered, locked with his eyes but flitting place to place.
He thought of the woman and child he let die. The people of the Last City needed him more than ever. They needed him to be strong, to be brave like a Guardian, if he could even call himself that anymore. Seven didn't need to worry Lazarus.
With all he had left, he steeled himself with frail bravado, "Nevermind. We must find a way out of the City."
Their optic searched his face for a moment before relenting and dematerializing. The Warlock's helmet flashed into existence over his head. Lazarus's voice came from all around, "There's a breach in the wall. I'll mark it on your tracker."
He wasted no time winding up to a jog, following his radar's direction in silence. There weren't any Red Legion this way. The duo came upon the gaping maw of vulnerability in the City's mythic walls. Passing through it didn't take long. While Seven was stoic, Lazarus nervously spewed everything they heard over the comms, "There's an emergency broadcast on loop.
"Coordinates. They're evacuating the planet. This can't be happening." When he emerged, the wilds awaited. Lazarus flickered in front of him, the front of their shell twitching from side to side, "I think- …Guardian, I think we're on our own."
Seven reached out a hand behind Lazarus and coaxed them into his chest for a moment. Lazarus stayed there until they flickered away. Over his shoulder, he glanced up the wall, then back to the beckoning wood. He retrieved Traveler's Chosen and released the magazine. The Warlock counted one, two, three, four rounds.
A quick tug on the slide popped five up, which Seven snatched from the air. He placed five into the magazine. It ground back into the sidearm and the slide popped forward. That's all there was, then. No more stalling.
Two days passed without any event. The only notable thing was his hunger. With no rations and no way to tell edible plants from poisonous ones, Seven only got hungrier and hungrier until he had Lazarus mitigate the pangs with their Light reserves, but it was only a temporary solution. Near the end of the second day, a noise cut through the sounds of nature. It sounded like a radio.
Heart in his mouth, Seven jogged ahead. A camp. The tops of tents peeked over the ledge. If not for the building hope in his mind, he might have heard Lazarus call his name or paid attention to the lack of blueberries on his tracker before it was too late. But he did not listen, and his reward was carnage.
The corpses of Guardians- Hunter, Warlock, and Titan alike- lay strewn across the ramshackle campsite. Seven hopped down from the rock lip where he'd stood before. The radio they heard looped a young man's voice, "If anyone's out there, whatever the Red Legion did, it was like they flipped a switch. Every Guardian and their Ghost's connection to the Traveler just vanished. I'm gathering survivors at the Northwestern Passage. They took our Light. They're - they're killing us!"
Over and over, it repeated until the Ghost murmured, "They had no chance. This coulda been us."
"It's not."
"But it could be!" Lazarus said, "If you die, I can't bring you back. Please be careful, Sev."
By chance, the corpse in whose direction Seven had glanced held a submachine gun - Omolon Foundry. What sorrow had this weapon seen? When he gingerly plucked it from the dead Guardian, his silent gratitude was given to his fallen comrade. "Yeah," he murmured, "Careful."
Despite an overwhelming sense of guilt at disrespecting the dead, Seven found that his peers had left behind a true treasure trove. Ration bars of different, all terrible, flavors and 9mm ammunition for both of his weapons. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight; with nine in the chamber of Traveler's Chosen. From the Hunters, he took their knives. While severely uneducated in their application, Seven realized their use in survival.
The sun was sinking over the horizon, setting the clouds and landscape ablaze in deep oranges and reds. The Warlock dared not sleep, not yet. Lazarus could mitigate any physical symptoms of sleep deprivation. He didn't stay at the camp. He simply had Lazarus add a few of the camping supplies to their inventory.
From there, they hiked through the night. The little Ghost kept themselves hidden unless Seven absolutely needed them to see but was standing by, ready to heal. Seven looked up through the trees. He had never been one to leave the Tower without very good reason, only ever venturing beyond their comfort on missions of great import with his fireteam. Nock used to tell him about the wilds and how beautiful they could be.
He'd always brushed her off because he preferred a library to a tent. Survival came as easily to her as breathing. She wasn't in the City when Gaul arrived. Seven's chest tightened. All she has to do is lay low and not be a hero.
As the night sky, free of light pollution, reflected in his amber eyes, the Warlock silently conceded to Nock. Somehow, the stars filled him with more wonder from the ground than the cockpit of his ship. Years of jumping from planet to planet had numbed him to the magnitude of the cosmos. Shipless, Lightless, and made to walk the Earth, he felt small again. Unfortunately, it was hard to feel anything beyond the stone resting firmly in his gut.
Stops were rare. When he did rest, it was off the beaten path, against a tree. Sorrow rested in his grip, propped up in his lap, and his eyes rarely left his radar. Days passed with this cycle. Walk, hide, rest, think of his team, and repeat.
There was a particularly nasty incident with a small patrol of legionaries that very nearly spotted him. Seven managed to slip by. Fortune came in the form of scraps left behind. Metal casings and left behind glimmer supplied Lazarus with the means to synthesize ammo for both weapons. Two extra magazines for Sorrow, one for Traveler's Chosen.
After three days of wandering, a brisk wind blew through the trees. Seven shivered. June had managed to sneak up on him, it seemed. Though it was manageable now, the sun rested just above mountains. Night was bound to get colder.
"Lazarus," the Ghost appeared in Seven's open palm, "Be a lamb and scan for any nearby structures, please."
"You got it," they flickered around, pulsing with dim Light, "Mm… We got something about a klick to the east. Partially wooden, but mostly rock - likely a cave."
"Cave it is, then. Thanks, darling."
Local wildlife was noisy the whole way to the cave. Bugs and birds competed for the privilege of gnawing away at Seven's practiced patience. If Nock's stories were true, though, that was a good thing. When the objective came into sight, Sev's eyes flitted around and up to his radar, as his paranoid habit demanded. As he drew nearer, he noticed the absence of wilderness noise.
Red tinged the edges of the radar. Seven sunk low into a wider stance, adjusting his grip on Sorrow. What should have been the open maw of a cave was half covered by a wooden façade and front porch in dire need of some repairs. Pretty standard for ruins of old settlements. What wasn't standard was the Cabal chatter coming from a gaping hole where the door should have been.
"Red Legion," Lazarus hissed.
"Anything else?"
"Two smaller beings. I-It's fuzzy. I can't make it out."
Sev paused.
"… How many Cabal?" he asked.
"One Legionary, two war beasts."
"I think I like those odds."
"What?!"
"I need to save whoever's inside."
Pop, slide; 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 with 9 in the chamber of Traveler's Chosen. Seven continued to inspect his weapons as his Ghost materialized in front of him, whisper-shrieking, "Are you nuts?! This is your last life-"
"I know, sugar, but…" he sighed, "I need this."
"You need your head examined," Lazarus's optic narrowed.
"What can I say? Someone's in trouble."
As Seven finished his inspection, Lazarus opened up their shell and poured what Light they could over Seven to reinvigorate him, then vanished. "Be. Careful."
"I will."
The wood line was close enough to the façade that Seven could get a good look at the back of the legionary just inside. Whoever it was huddled around, it sounded like it was laughing. In one of its massive four-fingered hands, the legionary gripped the leashes of its war beasts. They snarled and snapped at the object their torment. Three designations in the shape of the Red Legion insignia appeared just above them.
"Marked," Lazarus whispered.
Seven slinked along in a slow strafe. He switched out Sorrow for his sidearm. Even a Titan wouldn't just spray 'n' pray with hostages just behind the enemies. He needed to draw them outside. A pinecone, laid just next to his boot, was just the thing for the job.
From the far-left side of the cave, Seven lobbed the pinecone into the woodline where he had been before. The legionary perked up, along with its war beasts, who suddenly tugged at their leashes in the direction of the sound. Seven took aim from behind a tree trunk crawling with ivy. The animals dragged their master out into the open and the Warlock's aim unevenly followed. For a moment, he was back in the City.
His heart pounded. He swallowed despite his sandpaper tongue. Seven grit his teeth. He leaned against the tree for support. His focus shifted to the facts.
Cabal were a warrior race, but their massive army called for mass-produced armor. Said armor tended to have the same kinks across the board. Of course Legionaries had the same weakness on their backs as any other Cabal, but they also had a wider seam between their helmet and body armor than Centurions. Phalanxes had the same problem but their shields made up for that. That's why whenever they're popped right around the neck-
Crack!
With a single shot, the Legionary's helmet popped off. A mist of depressurized air burst from the top of its suit. It released the leashes as it collapsed. It was dead in moments. The war beasts turned to charge on Seven.
Pop-Pop! And one went down with a yelp, but that bought time for the other to pounce. One misplaced shot whizzed past the beast before it leapt full tilt. Its full weight came down on the Warlock, sending them both to the forest floor. Razor sharp teeth tore past the tattered leather of Seven's right gauntlet, into skin and muscle, down to the bone.
He grit his teeth and growled through the pain. His left hand produced one of the Hunter knives. With a wide, wild swing, the knife dug into the animal's neck. It yelped, then went limp. Seven gulped deep, labored breaths, heaving the beast off of him.
Lazarus appeared, "Let's get you patched up."
Bone cracks faded, muscle mended, and skin stitched together, leaving not even a scar as a memento. Seven stood unsteadily. "Appreciate it," he smirked, "Little Light."
"Don't."
A small, more genuine smile took the smirk's place. That felt almost normal – well, aside from being unable to incinerate all three of the Cabal in a blaze of solar wind. The Warlock rotated and stretched his newly healed forearm, then turned to the cave. Inside was mostly cavelike, except for some scattered camp supplies that looked like they had been there for a good, long while. The cave itself was shallow, more like an indentation in the mountain than anything that may run deeper.
A dead Psion lay hunched against the cave wall, an arc blade jutting from its torso. Not too far from it, another dead Legionary, helmet gone, with deep arc burns in its legs and torso. Near the body, the culprit. Seven knelt down and picked up a shock pistol. Lazarus quietly gasped, "Fallen."
Something dragged the ground behind him. Seven whirled around. Sorrow's aim pinned its target against the wall. A Fallen, vandal by size and extra arms- scratch that, only one extra arm. Its lower left arm had been docked.
Slighter build, bigger eyes, and higher vocalizations suggested female. She growled. Her upper left arm hefted a wire rifle up to aim in Seven's direction. The other two arms were preoccupied with a small bundle pressed close to her. Through her chittering and Eliksni commands, Seven heard chirping that came from the small thing she had.
Lazarus piped up, "She has a hatchling with her!"
Seven's grip on Sorrow ever so slightly eased. "Velaask," he tested.
The effect on the Fallen mother was immediate. Her head tilted, eyes scanning Seven. She spoke, but entirely in Eliksni. "Got any idea what she's saying?" he asked.
"The obvious. 'Stay back,' 'I'll shoot.' She is requesting mercy, though. Not often you get that out of the Fallen," then, as if they had a nose to scrunch up, indignantly added, "She called you 'dead thing.'"
"I'm gonna do something stupid now."
"Again-?"
Seven's helmet evaporated as he lowered his gun inch by inch. Lazarus shrieked, "Are you nuts?!"
"I don't think she wants a fight. And you know we don't either," he said.
He didn't lower his guard completely, and neither did the Fallen, but they had both marginally lowered their weapons. The tiny chittering from the hatchling drew the mother's attention. The wire rifle slumped in her arm as she mumbled to it. Lazarus trailed behind with a translation, "Be still, little one."
Seven's weapon lowered further. "Velaask," he pulled a hand away from Sorrow to point to himself, "Seven."
The mother side-eyed him. Once again, her head tilted, perhaps in curiosity, "S-S-sehh-vhh…?"
"Points for effort," Lazarus snarked.
"Hush."
"Don't hush me-" the Ghost was interrupted by more Eliksni speak.
She was inching closer to the cave mouth, her four eyes never leaving Seven and blinking in pairs. Lazarus said, "She's wondering out loud if this means she can go."
Seven slowly stood, lowering Sorrow completely. She must have caught the hint because it was only then that her aim relented as well. She turned around and skittered away, leaving Seven with his thoughts. It was easy to forget that the Fallen were more than pirates and soldiers, that there were women and children among them. They had their own Collapse that they called the Whirlwind, only they didn't get to keep their home world like humanity did.
"Scan for resources, bud."