Within these pages, we celebrate the Hive — their gods, their lore, and the dark fascination they inspire. This fanzine is a labor of love, crafted by a community of Guardians who find beauty in the eerie glow of chitin and runes, the weight of ancient oaths, and the whispers of something deeper.
Here, you’ll find art, stories, and musings that delve into the Hive’s rich mythology, alongside lighter takes and original content that reflect the passion and creativity of our community. Whether you serve the Sword Logic, study the scriptures of the Deep, or simply admire the Hive from a safe distance, there’s something here for you.
Aiat
Sword Logic Zine - A Hive-centric Destiny 2 Fanzine
Are you excited to tell everyone about your ghost? Are you looking for an excuse to draw them? Do you want to celebrate Glint? Sagira? Immaru? Then this is the zine for you.
Sign up, guardian !
CARRD
First, I need to say that I really loved the zine. Beautiful work everyone, and congrats!
Is there any chance you'll run a part 2 one day? Maybe after heresy ends? I found out about this zine too late to join, and I would love to contribute next time :)
Hello!
Thank you very much for your kind words. As of now, there is no plan to host a Part 2 so close to Part 1, but perhaps same time next year, if that's something that might interest people. I'm sure we'll have plenty of inspiration from heresy and the upcoming extensions!
This was my contribution to the @swordlogiczine ! I really wanted to depict a scene with my take on Xivu Arath’s design, but aimed for the piece to sit further in a moodier realm to explore her grief and resolve. Here, Xivu stands in contemplation over the waters of Fundament, which I envision to resemble the rocky formations that build up tide pools. I had such a blast working on this project, and am so amazed with everyone’s wonderful work. Please go check out the full Zine! 🌟
My second piece for @swordlogiczine <3 You can find the full zine here
Tresh lore below <3
Tresh is a human warlock, whose skin has turned green because of events we will get into later. Tresh was a student at the Ishtar Academy before the Collapse (Roughly 10 years after Maya and Chioma), mostly studying the cultural aspects of the Vex initially, but then shifting her focus on the hive and their rituals. She has tattoos on her whole body, telling the story of her studies and research, which has helped her piece her past together when she woke up as a guardian. After the events of the Taken King, Tresh grew an interest in the Taken and their magic, deciding to dedicate her research to "un-taken" taken characters. After years of study and practice, she has sacrificed her left hand and forearm, becoming permanently taken, but also using it as a tool to exorcise taken energy from people and other races. The taken corruption is slowly growing, leaving scars all over her arms, slowly spreading wider and wider, also giving her this unusual greenish skin tone.
"Oryx wanted to venture out, deep in thought, and feed on the delicacies of truth.
Well, he got what he wanted. Now Oryx knows death more intimately than any of us. No bringing him back."
My piece for the @swordlogiczine
For @swordlogiczine, with art by @synnthamonsugar
Get the zine here.
And so Hashladûn, spawn of Crota, descended to the selective acid.
And Ir Yût, once beloved of Crota —
Ir Yût who now turned her back on Azavath’s attempt to rebuild the choir —
Descended with her.
By way of greeting Ir Yût sang necrosy into a slab of Hashladûn which was rotting, thus dulling the pain.
Hashladûn was impaled and bled in six places, and her worm raged. She desired power and the love of her father, and feared losing the parts of herself which remained after the first three inundations. The sight of a Hive of her lineage only partially comforted her.
“Thus is the power subservient to Oryx,” Ir Yût intoned, not singing. “How much greater must his power be?”
“Lost Deathsinger, why do you come to me? Crota sent me here to pare my excess alone.” Hashladûn spoke clearly, the acid not having eaten into her throat, but the scales around her mouth cracked as the words emerged.
“The inundations are a matter of addition, not subtraction,” said Ir Yût, and wrenched away one of the great ribbons of muscle near which Hashladûn’s arm was pierced. Hashladûn knew Ir Yût’s words to be a lie, but the inundations had confused her sense of what created pain and what created pleasure. Therefore, she was open to the Deathsinger’s assertion.
“This test proves you can overcome the barriers of the flesh,” said Ir Yût.
“My only barrier was the small size of my enemies, which could wriggle through my claws,” said Hashladûn. A slice of selective acid took a part of her, but because her worm screamed she did not have reason for the scream to emerge from her own mouth.
“Then you are ignorant of the love|hate between the courts,” said Ir Yût. She hooked a claw under another ribbon of muscle, and Hashladûn bled onto her hands. “I left the song to Azavath because Azavath wishes to conquer the Pit. She may succeed. But her ambitions are small. We sing princeling songs when we could cry a queen’s chorus. You have seen the melamu upon Him. What is Azavath to this?”
The words distracted Hashladûn from the selective acid reshaping her shoulders. She said, “You speak truth, but what is there to be done? I will not turn against Crota’s court unless he wills it.”
“You do not have to. Only remember that I appeared to you in your time of confusion, and Azavath did not.”
“Do you hate her so badly?”
“I love the deathsong so fondly. If Azavath clashes against Crota’s power, the knowledge of the song may be lost forever. Azavath builds a chorus in a crater and says the enemy will not bomb that place again. You, meanwhile, will love your place in Crota’s court until it hurts you badly enough that you impale yourself on your grief.” Ir Yût looked impassively over Hashladûn’s flayed back to her impaled limbs. “I stepped away from my pride of place in Oryx’s court in order to preserve what remained of my loyalty. If I had known more about what was happening, I would have left earlier.”
Hashladûn hoped she would never fall so low as to intentionally turn her eyes away from the courts, from the struggle. Still, Ir Yût had once been powerful. If she had thought it the best decision, maybe Hashladûn herself could use the same tactics. Another wave of acid swept over her. Parts of her were washed away. She nodded.
Ir Yût looked at her once more, defiant, seeing perhaps what the terrible consequences of pushing strong Hashladûn would be. She disappeared. Pain blinded Hashladûn and she could not see where the Deathsinger had gone.
And Hashladûn took the memory of Ir Yût’s words for herself, to gleefully hide from Azavath. But she also took the memory to forget, like a scrap of meat between teeth is forgotten until it crawls back out of the crevices of the mouth. Because the priorities of Hashladûn were of the melamu and the fist.
Thou still undissuaded Blade of Fundament,
Thou God of the Rotting Slain,
War Dominant, who canst thus express
A rage fueled intensity more fervent than thine?
What indempotent legend haunts behind thy shape
A deity? Mortal? or both? You who laid waste
In jungles of Torobatl or Old Riis?
What lies or weakness are so exposed? What aspects?
What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape?
What howls and shrieks! All life surcease!
Heard melodies are sweet, but those which kill
To you are most sweet. Your Deathsong sings strong;
Not just piercing to the ear, but listeners unmade,
Songs to rend the spirit. Arias of no tone:
Cruel warrior, beneath thine sword, thou canst not leave
Thy song. Bold Knight. Never, never canst thou ascend
Not while thy flesh from thy bones be un-ripped;
Though tithing, beyond thine goal—yet, you still grieve;
Your king. Thine thirst cannot be slaked. For ever
Wilt thou test thy strength, all other aspects stripped!
Ah, happy, happy claws! that can still shred
Through viscera and entrails, charnel, sinew;
Happy, happy melodist, unwearied,
For ever singing Deathsongs ever new;
More happy bile! more happy, happy blood!
For ever warm and still to be enjoy’d,
For ever chanting, peroration not yet sung
All Edged Truth transcendent! Beautiful to know.
Truth which leaves hearts bifurcated and impaled,
Burning foreheads and parching tongues.
Who are these coming to the sacrifice?
Lightbearers and lightless sharpen themselves,
Through you. You are the whetstone against
Which they hone your blades! Sharp enough to kill
Your Brother, Oryx, your Sister, Savathun. And yet,
Blasphemy! Blasphemy! They do reject thy brother's throne!
Your Sister turns to the sky! You are forlorn!
And yet from the remnants of these Heretics rise
One more terrible than all the rest, One who was broken
And yet survived. Sword dripping! Eyes from thine offspring torn!
Most Blasphemous challenge to your pure faith
You who have removed all that can be removed,
No longer of Light, but Darkness, Many-Mouthed Hunger;
Her snarling form, dost tease you out of thought
Challenging eternity: Perversion of your Truth
Thine brood this generation did waste,
Yet She remains, in midst of other woe
And thou dost fear the sharpness of Her words:
“Beauty is truth, truth beauty”—that is all
Ye know in death, and all ye need to know.
Aiat.
If you enjoyed this, there's more! The full zine is here:
Sword Logic Zine by Sword Logic Zine
Welcome, O Guardian
Within these pages, we celebrate the Hive — their gods, their lore, and the dark f
