Umbranaut
O'er the corpses of one hundred and ten Legionaries they passed, straight to the base of the tree. Every single body was laid out in contorted stance, as if each Cabal had perished in agony, but their positioning was equally spaced with particular care - eleven ranks of ten, conspicuously set before the open atrium where the branches shadowed over everything. An inflicted torment cast into shadow, hidden from the world like a guilty pleasure. Darkness flooded the space; Light too, in vast unequal abundance. Most of all the place reeked of cruelty, a soulless hunger, something ephemeral yet heavy, distinctly weighted. Colossal thorns forced them to wend their way betwixt the bulging roots as loose silver leaves fluttered down around them; there were living things up in the canopy, active neolife born amidst the warring forces of Sky and Deep, and Jaxson worried he would soon have to contend with them.
But first - the evil that lay at the heart of the suffering.
It was at the base of the winged bough they found it. A crystalline crypt hanging from an ivory mast halfway enveloped inside the tree's silver trunk, swaying in the weightless wind like an overripe fruit. Below it coiled a vast creature of every colour, a whiskered scaled thing, a ceaseless serpent, a drake without end - for its long tail slithered about and about the tree's base so absolutely, so seamlessly it almost appeared to be a part of the tree, scales melting into ivory bark. At their wary approach the basilisk raised its slender, pointed head and blinked with six iridescent eyes. A five-pronged tongue flicked out from between its thrice-jawed beak and tasted the air.
A dragon.
"Truly I say," it said in a voice woven from the finest velvet, "you are the purest flames, fed fat and strong on the richest kindling."
Quantis raised a fist and they stopped - they stopped, but not her. She stalked forward, fitting a gilded arrow to the string of her pale longbow. "Dragon!" she called out, terrible and furious. She had good cause to be angry. As had they all. The Hunt may have ended over a century ago, but the dragons had taken their due with mocking laughter - a vengeance clasped in cold, Taken hands, dragging up rotting corpses with endless strings. Architects of a plague without end; tools for someone else's apocalypse. "Dragon!" Quantis shouted again. "Why are you here?"
"Because I was desired," the dragon purred. Its voice reverberated from the floor below, the roots all around them, the very dust in the air. "It is my nature. I go where the will wants me."
Jaxson pulled his Lament across his shoulder and pressed his finger over the trigger. He revved the chainblade, once, and it produced a guttural growl he only wished he could vocalize. The dragon looked upon him. It winked with two eyes and in that moment, that passing weakness, he was reminded of the greatest crime their kind had ever committed against his person.
She used to wink like that. Like there was some joke shared between the three of them. Never to be again.
No. No, straying thoughts and open grief were as a throat laid bare; Jaxson buried the thoughts, the rage and the hurt all the way down and he blanketed them in the motionless tides of the Void. It encompassed him, cladding him in shimmering violet, and with it he forced a state of calm over his being, a directness with his psyche that could not be swayed with wandering whims. A promise: I will not move. I will not relent. You can't make me.
"What have you done?" he demanded furiously - knowing he wouldn't like the answer. Never did a wish end in smiles and celebration; never was a dragon benevolent to the core.
The creature looked upon him with a lazy smile. "I serve," it said, bowing its huge head. "I gift power and possibility. I am peerless, grown strong and wealthy on that-which-may-be. I am generous - I share this wealth. I am a philanthropist. And you, poor lost children in search for their stolen mother, ache for my benevolence. Don't think I don't see it."
Quantis glanced back at them in warning. Don't fall for it. You're better than that.
"Don't be shy - lend me talk of your worldly woes, little ones. Make known your curious concerns." The dragon lowered itself, neck and belly sliding across the ground. Faster than Jaxson expected it slithered - driving over the roots to their left, looping around the way they'd come and then curving to their right. Trapping them within its colossal, endless coils. Their world condensed into a red sky above, obsidian slate below and constricting walls of shifting flesh in every other direction. "I am no devil; the only price I ask is your consideration. I grow hungry. Will you nurture me?"
"No devil," Quantis retorted, "but just as unscrupulous. We know the depths of your gluttony, serpent. In offering you our dreams you would twist them to your form, thus placing ownership to some part of ourselves - our very minds. You are a parasite. We will not become your hosts."
The serpent slowed to a stop. The dazzling lights overhead darkened as the dragon peeked its head over them, gazing down with naked hunger.
"You wound me, for I am no leech dear lady. I am considerate," it said. "Kismar the Remora! That is what they call me. I am no parasite, madam, but a mutualist partner. You have such wonderful imaginations, little ones, but seldom have the power to live your fantasies out. But I can grant you these boons. I glean nutrition from it. In generosity I gain sustenance. Is this not noble? Am I not magnificent? See the shine of my scales, the strength of my jaws, the song in my roar; I have granted desires from Mercury to Riis, the lost athenaeum worlds to the death-realms of Crux. Sun-blessed Emperors have treasured my counsel. With queens I have found secret accord and with princely gods I bartered my services. These things I offer to you now. All you need do... is wish it."
Its words grated on his ears - like sandpaper disguised as silk. It made him furious, it made him angry, and Jaxson knew it was wrong because what was anger if not the loss of control? But he couldn't help it because he knew what it was, what it was trying to do and he couldn't help but reflect on everything its ilk had done to him.
They'd destroyed his family. Utterly.
The very least he could do was finish what those before him had started: the erasure of all dragonkind.
"Enough," he growled, taking a step forward. "Who summoned you here?"
The dragon paused. The dragon smiled. The dragon laughed softly - as softly as something so massive could. "Why, you know Him already," Kismar the Remora chuckled. "He is the Prince of Strife, the Father of Nightmares, the Progenitor of Torment - the Final God of Pain. You know Him because even now he lives in your hearts."
"Nezarec," someone whispered. Crow maybe. Or Folkvangr-1.
The air whispered - a hundred voices at once, mixing together so thoroughly not a single word could be made out. It wasn't of the dragon's doing. Jaxson had been watching it, watching its mouth, but it didn't move. Its body ground to a halt, falling still... and the whispering continued for a moment longer before fading away.
"He rouses," Kismar told them. "He-Who-Thirsts. Agony is His bread and misery His wine. He is my patron, my darkest muse. A thousand-and-one wishes I have granted for Him." The dragon's six eyes sparkle. "Perhaps, when He wakes, your demise will make for His thousandth-and-second."
That was all Jaxson needed to hear, because in the next moment, against Quantis's prostests he threw himself against the wall of draconic coils and sawed his Lament through it - ripping up scales, flesh, bone. Kismar cackled, it shrieked with ticklish laughter until he was all the way through to the other side. His armour was drenched in blood and gristle, painted a particular purplish-red; the gore left in his wake sizzled like meat on a spit, halfway cooked to a palatable state.
And then it all just... faded into fog, blanketing everything. He heard exclaims of surprise, the crash of bodies on steel, the stomping of ambushing Cabal - but he couldn't see any of it. The air grew red, running thick with Nightmares, and Jaxson cast himself in a new overshield with grim anticipation.
"You are indeed your forebear's son," Kismar cackled. Its voice carried through the smog, moving fast. "You've inherited his anger, his hate. My Prince adores these things. TOOLS he would call them. Blades by which to shape your world. I, in all my magnanimousness, concur."
He heard it settle somewhere to his right - then fall away only to speak up somewhere directly to his left.
"But it would be false to say that is all you feel," the dragon purred. "I see it within you - how can I not? You weep for lost things. Let me wipe away your tears. Purpose me."
"Shut up," Jaxson snarled. "Show yourself!"
"I could call to him, you know. The man you know as father, adrift amongst the stars. He would need only a glimpse of us here and now to summon him home. The pup he found within the Devil's nest in the company of myself?" Kismar laughed. "He would tear the heavens apart to reach us. To save you. Would you like that? Will you wish it o Guardian mine?"
Yes. No. Yes, no, he wanted to, he didn't, he couldn't-
"I see your resolve," the dragon called. "It falters."
"Where. Are. You?" Jaxson growled.
The smog parted ahead of him. The dragon stood in the open, wearing a new form - a six-eyed wolf half the size of a Fallen Walker, silver quills running down its back. Its fur was as dark as midnight, thick and coarse like that of a bear, while huge sabre canines jutted from its jaws reminiscent of a boar's tusks. A serpent's tail swept across the ground behind it, sinuous and glittering green, and looked sharp enough to split a man in two with a single lash. "Is this shape to your liking?" Kismar said. "How do you want me?"
"Dead."
"Mayhaps we can arrange that." The dragon-wolf bared its fangs, grinning. It stalked towards him with its head down and legs splayed, ready for a fight.
Jaxson wasn't one to back down from a challenge. He hefted his Lament and charged - tearing forth with Arc-amplified speed. He swept wide, chainsword rattling, but Kismar was quick and danced away, lunging back in only when his sword had passed. Fangs closed around his Stronghold bracer but the internal mechanisms of the gauntlet activated, absorbing the force and repulsing it back. Jaxson kicked up with his knee, caught the wolf's jaw and snapped its craw shut on empty space. It backtracked, trying to make some distance between them just as Jaxson brought his Lament back around, but he didn't slash - he threw. The sword - which was a poor noun for it, it was a butcher's tool and nothing grander - thumped, biting, into Kismar's skull before clattering to the floor, eliciting a high-pitched yowl. Jaxson followed after it, he slammed himself against the wolf and caught its jaws in an armlock. One of the tusks dug painfully into his side but he held tight, dragging the dragon down to the ground.
Kismar struggled, fought him the whole way, but Jaxson brought all his augmented strength against the drake; he pushed and pushed and pushed, gaining traction - then Kismar gave in and they fell in a clump. The sudden give startled Jaxson and it was the split-second opportunity the beast needed. It twisted itself around, caught him with a kick of a paw against his chest and sent him sprawling. It was on him not a moment later. Jaxson raised his arms, funnelling his Light into the Void overshield. It was cracking, collapsing, all but about to burst as the dragon rained down everything against him. He scrabbled at the ground, looking for his sword, and he found only flexing Light-spawned growths. Jaxson tugged a root back, snapped it away and swatted Kismar across the face with it. The little stalk came with a piece of something, some little fragment of the broken mast. It burst with a mix of raw Dark and Light both on impact, showering the pair of them in burning shards of half-formed crystal.
Several things happened at once. The overshield dissipated and the wolf's talons shredded straight through his plasteel cuirass, grating audibly on the thrice-layered shirt of chainmail he wore beneath; a violet projectile slammed against Kismar's side and filled his vision with indigo; his Light resurged, gorged on the excess produced by the Deadfall arrow lodged in the dragon's flank. With a roar Jaxson summoned a Hammer of Sol and swung it, hitting true. Kismar's mandible was torn straight from its skull. The beast staggered away from him, dazed by the twofold Supers, and Jaxson didn't wait for it to recover. He rose up, crashed against the beast with a flying knee and landed over it as it toppled; he raised his hammer, twisted it around to reveal the eagle's curved beak and brought it down once, twice, three times in quick succession against Kismar's spine until the dragon stopped struggling. Its ears twitched as he pushed himself away; the accursed thing made a pitiful gurgling sound as he strolled over to fetch his Lament.
Don't, Jaxson told himself. He revved the blade and held it over the beast. Don't even humour it. Just get it done.
With a grunt he brought it down and carved the dragon apart, cutting away the illusion of living flesh to reveal the iridescent heart within - caged by ribs shaped like the shelled legs of an arthropod. Jaxson froze the not-bones solid with Stasis, grabbed hold and tugged them out, shattering them altogether.
"Anything you want," Kismar said - though he wasn't sure how. Its form danced as it attempted to transform before his very eyes. "Ask and it shall be yours."
"Your end," Jaxson said gruffly. He reached inside and closed a fist around the Ahamkara's core.
Kismar laughed without humour. "If that is your wish..."
Jaxson squeezed. Kismar's laughter choked away - and with a brief psychic scream to mark its passing, shattered and died. The crimson fog began to clear, dissipating away like steam. Jaxson straightened up, rolled his shoulders. He craned his head around and watched as someone - Crow, he thought - jumped and tossed an absurd amount of knives in all directions, miraculously missing every member of their team. He glanced at Quantis, still clinging tight to her Shadowshot bow, but she wasn't looking at him. Jaxson followed her gaze up to the tree. To the mast. The crystal crypt - or what remained of it. The amber container was ajar, cracked open.
Whatever was inside had freed itself. Jaxson looked around but he saw no sign of it, nor anything else. The last of the Loyalists were being put to the sword, Kismar was already dead; they were alone.
"Well," Jaxson sighed. He looked down at the piece of root and totem he'd used to batter the dragon down. "Fuck."
It took them a day and a half to hike back to the transmat zone - some of it spent sweeping the area around the tree for additional hostiles. A few Cabal here, a couple of Scorn there, but that was the extent of it. The Pyramid's interior had become eerily quiet, devoid of even vile un-life. Folkvangr, Kane and Quantis took snap-pics of statues and other iconography; they swabbed samples from the Light-spawned neolife and pocketed cuttings of silver bark. Crow and Anrith watched their backs for the duration of the journey. Jaxson's job was to carry back the dragon's remains - of his volition of course. Quantis hadn't said much on the matter, but then she hadn't said much of anything since the fight beneath the tree. The others had been all smiles and oooohs, but not her.
It was starting to worry him
"Not sure Ikora's people will be happy about that," Crow had said, nodding to Kismar. Jaxson was having trouble balancing the body on his shoulder. It wasn't a question of weight, not really; he could lift it well enough, Arc-strength and synthoceptic augments providing. Mostly it was the distribution of that weight he struggled with. "Interference with a crime scene and all that."
"I mean, it's a 'crime scene' of my own making," Jaxson shot back, smiling tightly. "I killed a dragon. Screw them."
Upon reaching the LZ Anrith broadcasted a subsonic digi-flare, summoning a Cabal Harvester from the huge fissure in the pyramid's sky. Four Awoken Galliots escorted it down, hanging above with cannons readied while the transport docked. They filed in as quickly as they could. A pair of reluctant Legionaries helped Jaxson heave Kismar inside. The dragon occupied almost half of the ship's hold, but Jaxson was still too busy riding out the sweet taste of victory to care about the cold looks the others were throwing his way. He braced against one of the handholds and closed his eyes, drawing deep breaths in and out.
He killed a dragon.
He killed a dragon.
Somehow it didn't seem real. Maybe that was it, maybe it was all some elaborate illusion - but he could feel the dragon's fur under his hand. Still. Cold. Dead. The tales a couple of older Risen had regaled him with didn't do it justice. Not the dragon, not the deed, certainly not the sweet emptiness he felt in the aftermath. For the duration of the flight he said little. He was content to wait. To see how things played out.
Because what else was there to do?
An honour-guard awaited them in the Eligos Lex V's hangar - Cabal and Vanguard officials both. A Servitor scanned them one after the other as they disembarked, relaying its findings to a pair of House Light Splicers. One of the Eliksni gestured to a Centurion, who boldly stepped forward and saluted with a fist to his breastplate. "Lightbearers," he gnashed in flawed English. "Follow."
A dozen Ascendant Guards closed ranks around them, rifles in hand. Jaxson wasn't sure what their purpose was: to protect them? Or everyone else? They were led through the winding halls of the flagship, up a series of elevators and passed checkpoint after checkpoint without so much as a word to the Cabal standing guard. Soon enough they arrived before a set of gargantuan doors - which grated open at their approach. Beyond it, inside, was a huge war room dominated by a massive holotable with a platform in its centre and steps leading up. Around it stood the heads of all the great powers of Sol: Cabal Primuses bearing the Empress's colours, Fallen Barons both House Light and neutral, Vanguard officials, Awoken Paladins - and the four heads of state themselves, each of them flanked by their own people.
Caiatl herself was situated at the other end, Saladin to her right and another tusked Cabal on her left. Zavala was stationed nearby, accompanied by Osiris and Fenchurch Everis himself. On the other side of the wartable was Mithrax, with Variks, Eido, and a Prime Servitor in attendance. Further down was Mara Sov, and though Jaxson counted almost all the living Paladins amongst her retinue, only Petra Venj stood shoulder-to-shoulder next to her. In between the Queen and the Kell were those whose loyalties were stretched between or beholden to neither - little petty kings and queens of outer orbits, from the remains of the Old Houses and leaders of new pirate crews. One Baroness wore the colours of Kings and another of Winter - Reksii of Old Paris and Grayris of the Ananke group, simply mercenaries and privateers not presently in league with House Salvation.
There were over a hundred souls present. Each of them responsible for thousands more at the very least. Jaxson stalled upon entry, because the gravity of their situation returned with a vengeance - and he struggled for breath, to keep his calm. The Void could only help for so long.
But Quantis - she was an anchor, a focal point amidst the clamour of panic and crush of hopelessness. She stiffly strode ahead, up to the podium and nodded once in Zavala's direction. "We entered," she said without any sort of preamble. Everyone fell silent. "We found Cabal - Calus's 'Loyalists'. Suspicions were correct."
"Where. Is. He?" Caiatl growled. Her eyes glimmered like fire.
Quantis shrugged with one shoulder. "Dunno. Most of them weren't vocal. Could've been clones or... I don't know. They almost seemed dead. Like the Scorn they threw at us. Except... for one officer. Leader of the bunch. Jaxson killed him."
Jaxson took a deep breath and followed her up. "Valus Oma'alos," he reported. "He spoke of the Witness and Calus both."
Some of the Cabal muttered. He heard whisperings of traitor and lost legion, followed by hedonist.
"He wielded Darkness," Jaxson grimly continued. "Pure Darkness of an elemental type we've never encountered before."
"What else did you learn?" Osiris pressed urgently. "Why did the Witness leave the Pyramid behind?"
Jaxson opened his mouth to answer but Quantis beat him to it. "We encountered a dragon onboard," she explained. A murmur swept down the table. "Dead. Jaxson again."
"Before it died it hinted-" he started to say.
"You cannot believe a dragon," one of the Barons snapped. Grayris. Her warhelm lay on the table in front of her but she still cut a fearsome sight - pale setae tied back in a tail and one of her mandibles replaced with a toothy steel prosthetic. "They speak truth-lies only."
"The Lady Grayris is right," Mara cut in with sweeping imperious grace. "An unfettered drake will only ever feed you poison."
"A fettered one doubly so," Fenchurch quipped.
Mara ignored him. "But even so," she said, sparing Grayris a look, "it would be foolish to disregard its words outright. Please continue."
Jaxson inclined his head. "It told me, in a roundabout way, that the Pyramid belonged to... to Nezarec."
Another wave of whispers ran its way through the room.
"Nezarec... Nezarec is gone," Mithrax said hoarsely. "We secured his remains."
Jaxson grimaced. "The dragon-"
"It was a trap," Quantis interrupted, taking over. Jaxson was all too happy to let her. "The place was flush with Light. We were bouncing Supers off each other way too easily. The dragon guarded a crypt beneath the Tree of Silver Wings - which we know is a medium for paracausal energies. The Traveler's beam filled the place with life. I think the Black Fleet were counting on it, because when we killed the dragon whatever was in the crypt was gone."
For a moment, one precious moment, there was silence. Then the whispering from before returned - except it wasn't whispering anymore and every dog of war was bellowing, screaming at the top of their lungs, singing curses, threats and promises the way of invisible foes.
"You can go now," Quantis said softly, discreetly shoving Jaxson back towards the stairs.
He muttered a quick "thanks" just before he left. This wasn't his party. Jaxson beat a hasty exit, putting the din of it all behind him. The doors closed shut at his back, locking the whole debacle away. The air was sweeter outside. He couldn't imagine why that was.
Jaxson took up roost in the hangar for the duration of the talks. Ghost regaled him with gossip sent by some of the other Ghosts still trapped inside - like who was currently threatening who, what plans of action were being proposed, the particulars of the gaudy cloak Variks had thought to bring to the meeting, that sort of thing. Quantis's debriefing was primarily led by Fenchurch - a stand-in for Ikora on behalf of the Hidden. A less controversial choice to hand the reigns to than Osiris himself. After all, the Phoenix had few enough friends. It was a gruelling process all the same. With so much at stake he supposed it was warranted.
They had to be sure.
He returned to the Harvester. The rest of the team had filed away - save for Crow and one of the shuttle's Legionaries, seemingly waiting for his return.
"Dragon," the Cabal said in thick, imperfect English. "Off."
"Yeah," Jaxson said quietly. "Sure thing boss."
He slipped into the dropship, circled around the carcass and pressed his hands against it. "Am I good?" he called.
"You're good," Crow replied.
Jaxson shoved with all his strength, forcing Kismar out and dropping the body onto the hangar floor. What followed was a little more difficult; he had to tug the damned thing by the tail to clear some room, straining his shoulder in the process. Crow tried to help, he really did, but the guy wasn't built for it.
"Just over here," Jaxson said, gesturing to a spot out of the way of the busy crews and the countless gunships docked within. Not quite out of sight; they'd already drawn enough attention as was. Precious little they could do to hide the damn thing, let alone swab up the mess on the floor left in their wake. A grisly business. Whoever mopped the ship had their work cut out for them.
When they'd finished Crow all but collapsed on the ground, heaving for breath. Jaxson strolled around the remains and clapped him on the shoulder. "It wasn't that bad."
Crow shot him a funny look. "Sorry that we can't all be built like a brick wall. I swear you're part Cabal."
"That's just a state of being," Jaxso shot back, smiling. "One even a scrawny kid like you could manage if you put yer mind to it."
"'State of being'," Crow scoffed. "Yeah, sure." He fell quiet. "It's... not just that."
Jaxson sat down next to him. "I know."
"The hell are we doing?" Crow paused. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Hedging our bets."
"I meant that seriously. This shouldn't be here. We- I shouldn't be here with it." Crow looked ahead, jaw clenched. "This isn't right."
Jaxson breathed in deeply. "No."
"You agree?"
"Sure."
"But why-"
"Because I'm desperate enough that right'n'wrong don't mean squat anymore."
"Even so-"
"He's right." Ghost compiled over Jaxson's shoulder, but his optic was trained on Crow. "Glint will tell you the same."
Glint manifested in Crow's lap. "I wouldn't go that far..."
"You wouldn't?" Ghost looked between the three of them. "I'm not the only one who feels it, right? The Light's... running thin."
"The Traveler's gone," Jaxson grunted. He stared off into empty space. "It'd be weird if it didn't."
"Yeah, gone. And how did that happen?" Ghost sounded on the verge of panic. "It's bad. It's really bad."
"But we know what happens when we cross dragons," Crow whispered.
Jaxson shot him a look. "You do."
Crow grimaced. He closed his eyes. "That's not fair."
"... No. It wasn't." Jaxson sighed. "I'm just... I'm just making sure I have something else to fall back on. Something that isn't Dark."
A moment passed. A minute. Longer. Then Crow abruptly stood up, dusted off his pants and said, "Hope that works out for you." He left, Glint with him.
"He's not wrong either," Ghost murmured. "This is dangerous."
"It's dead," Jaxson reminded him.
"And? What are we even going to do with it?"
Jaxson noticed that a couple of Cabal and some Eliksni were casting strange looks his way. "Get this out of sight."
"Ikora knows by now."
"Don't care." Jaxson raised a hand to someone he judged to have some amount of authority: a Centurion in Caiatl's traditional blue. The officer reluctantly trudged over. "Hey," he greeted. The alien grunted back in its own guttural language. "There any place I can undress this thing?"
"Oh," Ghost whispered. "Oh no."
They gave him a room big enough to trundle the trolley inside, then locked it after him. It was sparse, lacking much in the ways of decor, but it was all he needed. Jaxson stripped his armour down to a worn biosuit and tidied it away; no sense in getting his gear dirty. He disarmed, leaving only a sidearm on a nearby table. In the stead of a carving knife Jaxson brought his will to the forefront and manifested in his hand a dirk of pure glittering Stasis, the blade a deep blue veined with faint red channels just beneath the crystalline surface. Alongside it he wielded a handheld spectral analyzer provided by Ghost. Every time he pointed it in the dragon's vague direction it pinged off the charts with ludicrous readings: causal, acausal, paracausal, looping over and over again.
"Little late on the quarantine," Ghost sullenly remarked.
"Not so sure it's coming from the top," Jaxson said. "Probably just some Bracus worried about a wish outbreak."
"Well, they should be."
Jaxson grunted. He braced the knife against the dragon's belly and, with a quick inhale, began the grisly work in full. He began by excavating the organs, many of which served no apparent purpose to his eye, and set them aside; they were degradable, the trappings of lesser witchcraft. It served for little other than to ensure there wasn't a second crystal heart inside. He'd heard enough tales of deceit from those who partook in the Great Hunt and beyond. He wasn't fool enough not to make sure. Jaxson moved from there onto the 'valuables' - the bones, the pelt, the glass-cut eyes themselves. It was slow, grueling, gruesome work but it was easy to lose himself in the ironic mundanity of it all. All the better to distract himself.
Because he needed something to do. Anything. Whatever kept him from thinking about the Tra-
"Whatcha got there kid?"
Jaxson flinched. He craned his head around. "Drifter," he said evenly. "What do you want?"
The Drifter leaned against the vacuum-sealed door and stared past him, smiling broadly - but it didn't reach his eyes. He wasn't even trying. "You're a brave sucker," he said. "You got your ol' man's grit."
Jaxson chewed his cheek and resumed his work. "'Spose."
"Thought they were all dead. Yer stealin' his thunder."
"Wouldn't have had to if he were here to do it himself."
Drifter nodded sagely. Jaxson watched him on the edge of his vision. "Them stars hooked him good. S'like a siren call. Hard to resist."
"His place was- Look, what do you want?"
Drifter didn't say anything for a moment. "What makes you think I want something, brother?"
Jaxson snorted. "You always want something. Pretty sure you came looking for goss, right? They're not about to let you in. I'm surprised Caiatl's folk even let you on-board."
"What makes you think they did?" Drifter's smile widened. His teeth were too white. Too clean for a man so rough.
Jaxson shrugged. "Alright, but that don't change things. You came to me because you know the Ghosts are yapping. And, last I checked, you and yours aren't on speaking terms."
The smile disappeared. "That all?"
"But now that you've seen this, you're wonderin' how you might get a cut."
"Wounded!" Drifter bowed over, cradling his chest. "But guilty."
"Least you're honest." Jaxson paused. "I'll make you a deal."
"Oh?"
"I'll give ya its skull."
Drifter whistled. "Now we're talkin'. What's your take, brother?"
"Augments," Jaxson replied. "I want augments."
"Physical?"
"What? No, I'm not crazy."
"Heh, yeah. Not crazy," Drifter chuckled. He knelt down and ran a hand along Kismar's flank. "Not crazy at all..."
"Augments," Jaxson repeated. "For my armour."
"Bone?"
"Mmm... I don't know, that gets weird."
Drifter nodded. "Sure does. Knew a feller who grafted knucklebones over his own. Draconic, wouldn't you know it. Packed a mean red hook. Got his wish and then some."
"How'd he go?"
"Hm? Oh he started punching up the wrong pack." Drifter reached over and tapped Jaxson between the eyes. "No amount of fists can fix a bolt between the eyes. Man picked the wrong profession. Ain't no Striker stolid enough for a Fallen marksman at five hundred yards. All he did was expose his getaway card."
"This isn't like that."
"Oh, I know. Believe me, kid, I know. But all the same I'll need specs. What's your game?"
Jaxson pursed his lips. "I'm not sure yet."
Drifter hummed. "Best be quick. Vanguard ain't big on dragon voodoo. Praxics sure ain't."
"Then where's that ban for that fucking Hunter who keeps throwing tripmines?" Jaxson complained. "No end of throttling's enough for him."
"Fighting fire with fire, I love it. Still won't mean jack when the Hidden seize your goods."
"Then maybe you should shut up and pitch in. Make this quicker."
"Pitch in? Me?"
"As if you've never worked around a dead dragon," Jaxson scoffed. "You want a cut? That's your in."
"Prettiest bargain you've ever haggled." Drifter sauntered over and hunkered down next to him. "So. Armour?"
"Armour," Jaxson agreed. He nodded to the neat piles of bloodstained plate over in the corner of the room. "That's my gear."
Drifter eyed it appreciatively. "Diciest get-up this side of Mars. I love it."
"Care to improve?"
"Kid, don't threaten me with a good time. Let's get to it."
Whoever the Drifter used to be, in his Risen life or before, he was a handy craftsman. Jaxson was beginning to believe it was a prerequisite for all Dark Age survivors; Shaxx, Saladin, and Ikharos were all the same in that respect. Always tinkering, always molding old tech and alien influences towards their own purposes. Whatever made their lives easier and those of their enemies harder. Nothing more effective than making your enemies' arsenal your own. Dragonbone, though, was a tad harder to graft than Legion-plate or the Black Fleet's doohickeys.
Drifter inspected his bracers and pauldrons first, but decided: "Too much going on here as is, kid. Centre too much on your arms and all it takes is a snip to lose your bite."
"I mean, if I lost my arms there's not much left for me to do at that point," Jaxson deadpanned.
Drifter snorted. "Still. Gotta conserve that power all across. Maximize yer potential, not yer output. Like a puddle of water - keep it level."
"Worst analogy ever."
"Oh just you wait, hero. You haven't heard the last of it. But you get it, yeah?"
"Yeah, I get it."
"Good." Drifter held out his cuirass, looking over the rent steel where Kismar's claws had torn through. "Too vital."
"Ah yes, the place where all my important organs are located. Too vital."
"That's exactly what I mean, kid. Don't get snarky now. Not when Drifter's giving you his best."
Jaxson sighed. "Not my arms, not my shoulders, not my torso. So where? Am I supposed to walk outta here with bone-shod booties?"
Drifter beamed. "That's a great idea."
"Oh you fucking..." Jaxson trailed off and shook his head, exasperated. "Fine." But he paused. "There's another thing?"
"Oh?"
Jaxson pulled out of transmat the piece of debris he'd wielded against Kismar - iridescent root and strange hollow metal thrumming with Dark and Light both. A pretty bludgeon altogether. "Little piece of victory."
"Looks like a helluva knick-knack," Drifter mused. He took it in his own hands. "I see, yeah. Want me to mess with it?"
"... Why not." Jaxson motioned to the dragon. "But this first."
"Alright, alright."
They worked well into the night - or what would've been night on Earth. The Eligos Lex V didn't have an artificial night-day cycle to compensate, or maybe the Cabal kept longer hours. Jaxson wasn't entirely sure on that count. All he knew was that when they finished up he was so tired he could barely stand in his armour, particularly beneath the new weight. His sabatons had been all but replaced, carved from lacquer-smooth bone and dotted with three emerald eyes apiece, running from the midway down his calves and stacking up to his knees. It made him feel... weird. That feeling only intensified when Drifter grafted extra bonemass here and there, gilding his plate in strange ivory. At the very end he cut a length of pelt, lathered it over Jaxson's shoulders like a Fallen Captain's fur mantle and let it droop down over his back as a cloak. No hood, so not entirely pushing that Hunter boundary - that was a target he did not want painted on his back. Not for all the dragon-magic in the world.
"Last thing's the wish," Drifter murmured, looking Jaxson up and down. "But I reckon I'll leave it to yer indiscretion."
"What 'bout yours?" Jaxson retorted.
"Mine? Ho ho, well, I'm good but I'm not that good. Half the ship probably knows, kid."
"Not what I meant."
"I know. But I ain't digging what you're selling."
Someone slammed their fist against the door three times in quick succession.
"Guess that's me finished," Drifter laughed.
"Don't."
"That wishing business is rough, but kid - it's nothing you can't handle." Drifter shot him a grin and flicked his coin into the air. The wolf's head disappeared with a flash of transmat. "What're you going to do with the rest?"
Jaxson grimaced and summoned a flaming Hammer of Sol. Drifter eyed it with distaste.
"Ah," he said. "Not keen to share?"
"That's not it."
"No. Just the trust issues you tell yerself you don't have."
"Like you're one to talk."
Drifter snorted. "Ouch! That's cutting, kid. Good thing I know you don't mean it."
"If you're going, go."
"Alright alright." Drifter tipped his head. "Thanks for the cut, kid. I'll be seeing ya." He dissipated with a flash of transmat - something the ship's security jammers should have blocked.
"Yeah," Jaxson said quietly. "Be seeing you." He swept his Hammer out. The chamber filled with cleansing flame, burning everything until only he remained. Jaxson extinguished the fire, pulled it back into himself and walked over to the door. He tapped it with the head of his hammer. Something grumbled from the other side. "Yeah," he told them. "I'm done. You know what that means."
It opened. On the other side stood a handful of Cabal and a pair of Hidden operatives - and Osiris himself. For a moment no one said a thing; they took in the sight of him with something like dismay, surprise, envy. Jaxson clipped the silver hammer to his belt and crossed his arms.
"You're audacious," Chalco Yong said. She flicked her cloak back. A Hunter's tick. Something they did when they were annoyed, Jaxson understood. "Making the rest of us look bad."
"Then the rest of you should step up your game," Jaxson retorted. He looked to Osiris. "What?"
Osiris blinked, then took a deep breath to steady himself. "Young Wolf," he said. "I have need of you."
"No shit." Jaxson raised his chin. "What's the mission?"
"Calus," Osiris said grimly. "His forces are encroaching upon Neptune. The Empress is withdrawing her civilian fleet to the inner system, but the Loyalists haven't yet given chase."
"Neptune? Why-" With a jolt he remembered - and on the inside Jaxson grew very, very cold. Rasputin's dying secret. Savathûn's secret treasure.
Nefele Stronghold. "They know where it is?"
"I don't know," Osiris admitted. "But if they haven't found it yet, it stands to reason they will soon."
Jaxson chewed his cheek. "We have the forces?"
"The Coalition commanders are drawing a defensive screen around the core system, but the Cabal Ascendancy is keen to see Calus brought to heel. Commander Zavala and Misraakskel have agreed to lend resources and personnel towards this venture." Osiris paused. "I thought it prudent that you be informed."
"I'm in."
"Good." Osiris turned on his heel and began walking away, his robes trailing after him. He still cut a graceful and pompous sight. But even that was a shadow; he used to be radiant. He used to have wings. "Come with me."
Jaxson followed. "Who else? Saint?"
Osiris's expression tightened. "The City needs him."
"And what about you?"
"I am not frail," Osiris said sharply. "I do not need protection."
Not even someone to stem your worst impulses? Jaxson thought, though he didn't give voice to it. "Do I have my own team?"
"Saladin will accompany us. His Iron War Beasts fall under the command of Primus Tha'arec and his Thunder Warriors legion. There are New Age Iron Wolves set to follow - your cohorts, I understand."
"I don't know them."
"Aren't you yourself an Iron Lord?" Osiris shot him a look.
Jaxson tried to keep a straight face. "So they tell me."
"Quantis Rhee will doubtless reinforce us when her debriefing is through. For the time being we'll have to make do with those we have."
"What about Crow?"
"No."
"Osiris-"
"No. I will not discuss this."
Jaxson glowered. "Fine. But I'll need to make some calls."
"You can make them in transit. This cannot wait." Osiris slowed. "Young Wolf, we are at a loss. If we can find every leverage against the Black Fleet, we must take it. We cannot tarry under any circumstances."
"I understand."
"Then cease complaining. We must depart at once."
AN: Huge thanks to Nomad Blue for editing and feedback!