Embrace
[A Destiny short story]
The Titan grimaced as he fought back the phantom pangs of pain. He coughed up lubricant as he struggled to a knee. The helmet he wore had fractured along the faceplate. Where once a skeletal face had been exquisitely etched; showcasing beauty in the macabre, now a large, jagged gash crisscrossed. From the right temple of the helm, it spread, like a fissure. Exposed beneath was the Titan’s exotic, robotic visage. His coloring had dulled and chipped over the years, exposed to the elements and unending battle. The black stripe that once proudly bisected his skeletal visage was now dinged, scratched and punctured. Sparks flickered beneath the protective casing. His twin horns, which sat upon his brow, small and snubbed, were fractured and cracked. His eye socket lain bare, exposed as lubricant leaked from the ruined luminescent orange eye.
Erath coughed. There was no need for the motion, as he did not breathe air, but it was a reflexive mannerism that most exos displayed. The vestigial remains of his once flesh and blood body and life. He remembered what pain felt like. He’d felt it a few times since he became exo or so he assumed. Since his first resurrection, he had most assuredly experienced that dreadful sensation. When the Red Legion invaded and stole the Light, it hurt. Like a dismal ache that never left, it stung. That pain of being severed from the Light of the Traveler still burned in him, hollowing him out and filling him with quiet fear. When the Worm God Xöl let him taste the Deep, he had felt the crushing pressure of that other dimensional plane close in around him. Felt it push upon him, felt it crush his metallic form. He still had nightmares about the experience. And now, as he laid strewn between some barren rock in the reef and a pocket dimension, he felt it again.
The soldier moved his mauled right arm. It was heavy. So very heavy. The armor he wore so proudly, given to him by the Vanguard Zavala himself; those vambraces and pauldrons that were inspired by the lost amor worn by patrons of the Followers of Osiris were absolutely ruined. His one good eye surveyed the stump of his right arm. Sparks of energy and a rainfall of lubricant poured from the gaping wound. Erath felt lightheaded. He struggled for air, as if his chest were caved in. And, indeed, it was punctured by a steel beam. The mimetic savior plate he’d worn for so long, a gift from his dear and departed friend had been pierced. He’d been run though like a hot knife through a sheet of paper. The feeling was profoundly brutal.
The beam that pierced his chest had been broken, severed in two by the Titan himself. He had refused to remain impaled to that abandoned Awoken structure. Erath groaned, spilling more of his precious lubricant from his broken mouth.
“Phe-Phoebe,” he sputtered. There was no response. Dark shapes danced about him, encroaching on him. “Phoebe?” he called again.
His ghost was gone. He had cast her aside before the battle had pitched. Cayde’s death still freshly stung. Sundance was an amazing friend to all, and the perfect counter to the cavalier Cayde. She did not deserve her fate. When Erath heard what happened to Cayde and Sundance, he had followed the Guardian. Trailed that legend. Shadowed that hero. He knew he wasn’t the only one. Many other Guardians disobeyed Zavala, forming a secret movement of sorts that blatantly disobeyed their Commander. Erath had never guessed he’d be one of them. He had always considered himself loyal to the Vanguard, even when they didn’t see eye-to-eye. Erath had been too young to take the field during the Battle of Six Fronts. He and all the other recently exhumed and reincarnated Guardians had been forced to defend the City from within. He’d stood guard over four neighborhoods with 3 other revenants. Together they patrolled their ward, providing peace and comfort to its denizens. All the while, he could hear Zavala, Lords Shaxx and Saladin fight and die.
And yet, as he laid there dismembered and dying, he did not regret his choice. Avenging Cayde and Sundance had been his most sacred charge. Cayde was friend to so many risen and Guardians. Mascot for their peoples, hero to the public. Everything the man did, he did with a smile, with grace and ease. He made adventuring and hero-work look easy. Erath would be lying to say he hadn’t looked up to Cayde as a sort of brother, mentor and dear friend. His feelings towards the heralded Guardian were slightly different. The man earned his status. First among Guardians was he. First to drive the Hive back on Luna, First to put down the Fallen Houses and recapture Skolas, First to unlock the means to become Ascendant and kill a God. He was first, but not last. He forged paths, blazed trails. Threats ended by him refused to die out, though. The Hive pushed back on Luna. Erath had been there to stem their tide. The disassembled Houses arose under new leadership and regrew in strength. Erath had hunted the worst of their flock, aiding to keep them in check. Erath had answered the call and joined the main force that assaulted the Dreadnought. Helping to push back the endless horde and close the paracausal portals. He had even fought The Taken King Oryx, first in his native plane and then in Oryx’s throne world. Yet, the God never lingered in death. And the duty sapped more of him with each new attempt.
Erath had been among those braves who’d taken up the charge of the fallen Iron Lords, rising to be among those called “Young Wolves.” He was among Lord Saladin’s most trusted and privy to ancient arms and legacy. Erath had fought and survived so much, faced insurmountable odds, looked death in the face and laughed gleefully. Not this time.
The Mindbender had proved to be something else entirely. He’d woven his way into Erath’s head, distracting and weakening the deeply scarred Titan. Filling his visions with illusions of past lives lived, yet unlived; loved ones unremembered and remembered. The tragedy and sorrow he experienced as he struggled to fight this villain had proven to be his undoing. And Erath knew it. Avenging Cayde and Sundance had become personal, blinded him, unsettled him. The Mindbender knew this and capitalized on it. He’d raided Erath’s mind from the moment he’d arrived on the Shore. Despite knowing that the ‘Bender did this to his brethren of lesser mental fortitude, Erath hadn’t worried. He’d wrongly assumed he’d dealt with his issues. With the death of so many of his friends and loved ones. Dealt with the lives he’d lived, but would never remember. Dealt with the knowledge that a family, his family, laid in their graves somewhere, unremembered, unmourned. Erath thought himself a wall, but was arrogant to the cracks upon its surface. The Mindbender used those cracks to worm his way within. And now Erath was dying.
A wave of comfort washed over him. A sense of peace. There was comfort in death. He wondered if Cayde felt it? If, at long last, Cayde could put down his gun and rest. He could slip back into Death’s embrace. It would be nice to fight no more. To die no more. One final death was all that was required of Erath. Just one more time. All he need do was to let go and it would all be over. Never mind the memories of his friends and family. Never mind the whispers of lives unlived. Peace in death awaited him. And yet. There was the Mindbender who twisted his way through Erath’s mind. Even now, he could feel the Scorn Baron clawing at his mind. He could feel the thralls slashing him, pulling at his armor, ripping it away. A spark of flame smouldered like the last dregs of a campfire refusing to go out. Defiant of the wind and the dirt and the forces upon it, it belligerently smouldered. And, as the ancient soldier laid there, dying and broken, that spark began to grow. Brighter and fiercer did its embers burn until it began to consume the old Exo.
Erath refused to go out this way. Refused to be beaten by an abominable Eliksni that weaved Hive magic with science and Fallen ingenuity. Erath would not spend the rest of eternity as food for this Ascendant realm, kept in a state of undeath and agony. This realization fueled the embers, growing them into a fire that bloomed into an inferno of righteous indignation and fury. The last of his Light came to him with verve and vehemence. Erath embraced it warmly, like a lost lover or his forgotten mother. The flames broiled from within, bursting without. They seethed from his mangled frame and dismembered arms. They seethed and roared and roasted those thralls that set upon him. Tendrils of righteous fire licked from his eyes as Erath loosed a mighty bellow. The ferocity of his roar was such that the nearby Acolytes dived towards the nearest cover they could find, pushing aside thrall, knight, dreg and vandal. The weak cowered from this mighty incarnate of fury. Cowered from the flames that encased him. Cowered as the flames took shape, as the last of his light repaired his damaged arms so that they might, for one final time, wield that great, fiery maul.
Erath bellowed again and took a bracing stance. He was lost to the flames, to the Light, to the need to burn this putrid throne world from existence or die with extinguished might. This would be his final gambit. He would burn brightest before flickering out. He would embrace. The furious maul took shape and form. Its haft appearing between his hands, the weight familiar, comforting. Its head burst into existence, one end flat and scarred, the other tapered to a point, sharp and angry. It was the maul of his mentor and closest companion. It was Ariadne’s. From beneath the shattered helm, he grinned such a Cheshire grin. The Light provided!
He leaned forward, putting all his strength into his legs, tensing and releasing. He shot forth like a round from a magnetic rifle. His greaves, those trusty dunemarchers, collecting and storing ambient energy and friction from his charge. His prey was everywhere, his joy: boundless. He launched himself at the nearest foe, the knight who’d ripped his arm off. Erath slammed into the knight with such velocity that the undead thing disintegrated into sparks and ash. Erath threw himself into the nearest foe, a cluster of weaklings. He swung his massive maul, his tribute to Ariadne around effortlessly, melting foes around him, their screams choking in their mouths. His inner flame grew brighter still. From cluster to cluster her careened, smashing his foes and releasing static charges. His prey became electrified gouts of flame before bursting to ash. Those who fled from him, met his hammer. It was a traditional Sunbreaker’s hammer and he flung it about with unerring accuracy.
The Mindbender, whom, until now had been languishing in his presumptive victory began to feel, for the first time, in a while, excitement and fear. Here, at last, was a challenge. A Guardian worth breaking. A will worth bending. “Yes, yes, yes, YES, YES, YES!” He cried rushing forward, his lesser arms moving in mystical patterns to cast Hive magic. The void began to form around this abomination as two wills rushed each other. Whose was stronger?
Erath caught sight of his prey. The fool! He cried with a sneer. At the charge of the Mindbender, his subordinates were roused. They rose from their cover to fire upon the crazed cyclone of fire and lightning. It mattered not. The blasts of energy that weren’t outright melted by the heat of Erath’s inferno did not faze him. Nothing stopped his assault. He decimated foe after foe, line after defensive line of enemies in his charge towards the Mind bender. Gouts of cyclonic flames leapt forth from his mighty maul, travelling in whatever path Erath so chose. His grenades seemed endless and spewed torrents of raging fire forth to hammer and hamper his foes.
The two mighty beings crashed into each other midfield with such force it sent a shockwave that wiped away all the weaker, lesser creatures. Both beings stumbled back before quickly regaining their footing. They each charged back in, loosing mighty channels of void and void energy blasts, blazing cyclones that channeled with electricity struck out from the Guardian’s maul as he threw himself unendingly at the Mindbender. There was no reprieve for the abomination and the thing began to realize this. The more ground he gave, the more furious Erath’s assault became and the brighter he burned. Before long, Erath’s armor had all but burned away. Its only remnants, his trusted dunemarchers. His ragged body exposed, it seemed a brief wonder to the Mindbender how this Exo was still alive. He could not help, but marvel at how absolutely possessed this Titan was by the Light.
Erath felt no pain. Instead, he was consumed by the righteous fire that burned within him. He had slipped into a berserker state. A heightened state of combat that allowed a warrior to shrug off mortal wounds and keep fighting. He waylaid the Mindbender with unbridled, relentless fury. Each mighty blow from his maul hammered the Eliksni abomination, staggering the giant, wavering his resolve. Yet, the Mindbender took joy from this. This struggle. This contest of might and power. He reveled in it and what came after. How he would enjoy the thrall this berserked Titan would make! To twist such a proud warrior and bend him to his will! Oh, the thrill!
The Sunbreaker had other plans in mind. Even now, as he mauled his prey with earthshattering blows, he could feel the fiend searching for a way into his mind, to burrow himself deeper. Erath knew his wall would not last much longer, but he had faith. Faith that the Light would not fail him until the deed was done. Faith that he would not become pawn and food for this horrid creature. He would allow his faith to carry him this day. He burned brighter for it. The two rained mighty blows upon each other, sending out smaller shockwaves of pressure as they carried out their assaults. Magic and void ceaselessly fell upon Erath, yet with each assault, they were rebuffed and returned tenfold. The Mindbender was on the defensive, only able to turn aside the very worst of the Sunbreaker’s tremendous strikes. Their macabre dance torn asunder this throne world.
Pockets of Dark energy apparated into this reality, forming gelatinous pools of murky energy that moved of its own volition. Those tendrils reached out and toward the Light, grasping vainly at nothing. Erath knew it would be the end of him if he got caught in one of those pools. So, he leapt above them. Each one he could not sidestep, he jumped over only to bear down his maul with ferocious might. A cascading streak of solar energy invariably appeared and would careen recklessly towards the Mindbender, burning all in its path. The ensuing cyclone that formed upon its connection was glorious! It burned away the ‘Bender’s will and armor. He became desperate. In his desperation, he gathered as much of the void to himself as he could and released it in a mighty explosion.
Erath took the brunt of the blast head on and was sent flying backwards. He bounced upon the ascendant terrain like a ragdoll, his solar flames snuffed out. An overwhelming wave of fatigue washed over the Titan. He could feel the end upon him. Erath could barely move, let alone keep his eyes open. Yet, Ariadne’s maul remained, clutched in his hand, smouldering darkly and undiminished. The exo heaved and hacked, his body battered by grievous injuries. His unfocused gaze had fallen upon that maul. He watched it for a time, unable to move. Comfort and solace greeted him as he gazed upon it. He could hear her in his ears; feel her touch upon his shell.
Great void portals popped into this reality. Many and massive, they crushed the air around them with their unnatural gravities. Entities spilled forth uncountable. Many were knights, both brave and true and cowardly. Their sins mattered not to the Mindbender. He cared not for those who had defied the Sword Logic. He cared only that they were strong and would fight for him. Warped fallen joined him. Vandals and disgraced Captains all. Scattered among the horde were the Scorn. Those unnatural, undead and twisted Eliksni. How they unsettled this Titan.
“Just a little bit longer,” he declared between gasps, a triumphal glare upon his broken visage.
The Sunbreaker summoned every ounce of willpower he had and order himself to stand. His body obeyed and the flames returned, rekindled and renewed. A guttural cry broke the frenzied battle chatter, disrupting the bickering of the circling Hive Knights and calculating Captains. The visible mirth that once lit the Mindbender’s face fell away. Massive, grotesque creatures fell from the biggest portals. The thundered as they landed, wailing with excruciating pain. Their scarred and tormented forms moved in constant flux. Ogres. Erath’s glare became a wicked grin. He gathered all his courage, all his might and threw himself, maul and all into a spin. Knights melted to ash before him, creating space for him to move. He came out of that spin into a vicious charge, sparks of electricity forming in his wake. The Titan slammed into clustered prey that stood between him and the Mindbender. Fire and lightning mated happily, burning away all opposition.
Before long, pitched battlefield had risen in intensity. Every rifle, every spell, every ray of vicious energy fell upon the charging Titan. The worst of it, Erath’s flames absorbed, spreading the trauma across him. He was upon the ‘Bender, maul swinging wildly, voice echoing across this throne world, ash and ichor falling upon him like soot in the rain. The Scorn Baron recoiled, but found no reprieve. Yet, Erath’s flames began to diminish. They grew less wild, more focused. His body became more exposed as he became consumed, once again, by his berserker state.
Erath was overwhelming the Mindbender, hunting him across his extraplanar dimension. Each time, the Mindbender tried to summon assistance, Erath was there, upon him crushing his focus. It went on this way for what felt like eons. Finally, Erath bludgeoned the Mindbender to fiery ash and within an instance found himself once again upon the mortal plane, within a crashed section of the Dreadnought that had washed upon the ‘Shore. The fires had fully extinguished in an instance and Erath collapsed upon his knees. The skeletal frames of his arms remained, but were charred to beyond recognition. He gingerly raised his hands to his battered eyes, to gaze upon them one final time. A gust of wind revealed they were ash and he watched, through blurred vision as his arms wafted away, carried upon that breeze. Erath sighed heavily, the relief and triumph existing his wrecked frame. He closed his eyes and let go.
>>Embrace the Praxic Fire!<< He heard his old friend decry and sneered.