A Hunter’s Journey (Full Story)

Hey, guys. So, I recently finished my short story, and it comes out to about 43 pages. As such, I decided I’d just go ahead and post all of it here instead of having to post multiple things and make people look through them to read the whole story. Thanks to everybody who commented and encouraged me! Bungie, this one’s for you.

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Earth. In all of the dark night sky, littered with gleaming stars and far-off galaxies, this single orb of glittering blue and scarred land mass remained the last safe sanctuary for mankind. Humanity was not alone. The sacred places of the world, from the strongest of nations to the solitary reaches of uninhabited desolations, had been raided, burned to the ground, their inhabitants destroyed. For such was the way of things, and humans were no longer the masters of their own fate. They were dying for a long time, dying and dying in droves of millions, billions- until The Traveler saved them.

Aaren Talon gazed silently at the world- his world- beneath him, staring through the glass viewport on the bridge of his ship, the Crimson.

“All we have is hope. All that hope is rests within humanity. If humanity dies, then so does hope. And the hope of many lies upon you.”

The human blinked once, eyelids flashing over eerily bright blue irises for a fraction of a second. When Aaren’s eyes opened again, the world had changed. Indistinguishably, he knew, but it had- because every second he waited, every passing moment, humanity was fighting, growing, struggling- and it was his duty as a Guardian of the Last City to protect it.

The human straightened himself in his pilot’s seat, using his right hand to reach out and touch a control stick as his left inputted a sequence of coordinates and commands in a small keypad to his left. Talon took one last glance at Earth before he simultaneously hit “enter” on the keypad and threw the stick forwards, jerking him backwards in the chair as the Crimson accelerated. After the momentary disorientation of the speed change wore off, Aaren forced himself up, knowing that in several minutes he’d have reached his destination, and walked away from the bridge, down towards the small armory in the aft section of his ship.

Upon entering, his hands moved of their own accord, piecing together his armor and moving different plates into position on his flight suit. Finally, Aaren pulled his gauntlets over his hands, clipped his cloak on- tugging on the fabric twice to ensure it wouldn’t come off- and reached for his helmet, the wide viewplate reflecting his own image back at him. Talon paused, cocking his head.

Looking himself over once, he saw a man- tall, wiry and muscled, dressed in a padded dust-and gray- colored flight suit, cold metal armor protecting most of his chest, a small electronic readout on his upper left breastplate, while the rest of his outfit was mostly gray leather and cloth, worn and faded, but still decent protection from both the elements and a knife blade. On his right shoulder, a pauldron of bone overlaid with bright metal rested, and his forearms were covered by steel vambraces with jutting crests of wicked points. His lower body was less armored, so as to preserve mobility, while his pants and belt were also stitched with pouches to carry supplies or extra ammunition. His kneeplates were hidden behind some cloth, and his boots rose to mid-calf, where the excess pantleg was tucked in to prevent snagging. At his waist a holster hung from his right hip, the butt of a revolver sticking out, and a belt of ammunition, holding both clips and ammo cylinders. His primary weapon, a long-barreled assault rifle, hung on his back.

Aaren exhaled as he lifted the helmet above his head, and closed his eyes as he brought it back down, the back of the armor piece connecting to the base of his neck, where the wraparound of his chestplate checked the serial number of the helmet, verified its occupant, and accepted it. There was a slight hiss as the armor compressed and scrubbed air filtered into the occupant’s mouth. Finally, Talon reached behind him, and pulled his cloak’s hood over his head. The color of the garment, a dark blue, was not a random choice. It meant something. A guardian’s choice of color always meant something, and in Aaren’s eyes, blue stood for one of the only things left to him- cha’aren. A word from another language, one that had no proper human equivalent.

“It’s not exactly easy to explain,” he’d been told. “But the closest thing it translates to is a will to survive, to gain. A refusal to give in or to die.”

            A single “beep” issuing from his helmet’s headset cut into Aaren’s thoughts, informing him of the Crimson’s halt at his destination. The Guardian turned on his heel, exited the room, and strode purposefully to the personnel airlock, a small cylindrical space, hitting a red panel on the side of a wall. He waited several seconds as he was scanned before it turned green, the door opened, and he stepped forward.  Suddenly, he halted at the lip of the exit, looking at the damp ground before him. The words of his own creed echoed in his mind.

And this is the Hunter’s way,

            to live unchained,

            to die free,

            for glory gained,

            and that to be.

“I’m not saying an argument couldn’t be made for the contrary. Just that that argument would be entirely ridiculous.”

Caren rolled her eyes at her companion, a fellow Warlock who stood a good two feet above her- she swore, Jay should have been a Titan- before she responded.

“I wouldn’t be so skeptical. The Traveler’s power seems to have certain “hotspots”, and maybe they could have useful i-”

“Then it’s a good thing you’re not me, isn’t it? All evidence stands to show that these are just residuals from when it swept in and saved us all. There’s no pattern, no similarities in any of these. And if you’re going to show them to the Council, you’ll need more evidence.”

“I think the Council would agree with me, actually. Warlocks are the most privy to The Traveler, and ergo, we should also be the most eager to seek out its mysteries, the better to solve them and help our cause.”

Jay raised his hands, palms facing Caren, in a gesture of surrender. “Fine. If you want to be stubborn, then be stubborn. But if you look here…”

The tall Warlock bent over a three-by three pedestal in the center of the room the two were in, tapping a few controls before a display of the Earth popped into existence. Jay pulled up a small overlay of hotspots that were dotted across the surface, pointing at one deep in the jungles of what had been Southern America.

“That one right there. It’s, A: in the middle of Vex territory, and B: the place of an old nuclear detonation. Whatever The Traveler did, it was probably a wave-like particle transformation effect, something like our Nova bomb. Some spots… just absorbed it better than others, and besides, this is relatively new information. We can’t trust it until we actually get more scouts out there.”

Caren shoved her index finger at Jay’s chest, which was on level with her forehead, before she made her reply. “Then explain why there’s been an increased level of Vex activity since the hotspots came on sensor. Even if I’m wrong, it’s something worth checking out.”

Jay stared down at her, his boy-like face slightly concerned. “We don’t have the time or troops necessary, and like I literally just said, that’s Vex territory- actually, let me see, they all are. It would take our best operatives, and at least an army. Maybe later.”

“There won’t be a later if I’m right, and you know that just as well as I do.”

Jay spoke his next words with care, raising a hand and flicking a strand of Caren’s midnight black hair from her green eyes. “For once… I hope you’re wrong. Are you really going to take this before the Council of Guardians?”

“I have to. It might mean the future of The City.”

Aaren made a living by entering deathtraps, surviving whatever was there, and then looting them. It was tough. It was also against standard Guardian rules, but Talon thought of rules more as general guidelines than actual pillars to adhere to. However, this one was different- it wasn’t the run-of-the-mill situation, and he’d approached it with some care.

Of course, in this case, care was all relative. Funny, really. How little one can care after all this.

            The Hunter crouch-walked carefully through the underbrush of the ancient forest, moving in the shadows and revealing himself only when necessary. The chrono in his helmet told him he’d been moving along like this for forty three minutes, fifty two seconds. To his right, he heard a noise, the sharp “snap” of a twig. Aaren froze, not daring to look at the source of movement. As his mentor had taught him, staying still was often the best defense- when hiding, movement most easily roots out the target.

But he’s dead now, isn’t he.

            The Guardian gritted his teeth and slowly, ever so slowly, turned his head to the right. Nothing. Talon relinquished the death grip on his hand cannon before he moved again.

This isn’t something I need. Not now.

            He’d led a fireteam, once; commanded a small crew aboard his ship, back when he’d been a proper Guardian. But then he’d been rooted out, and…

One of his own squirmed in his grip. His left hand held the traitor steady, his right leveled the hand cannon at the man’s head. Aaren felt the blood trickle from his mouth, down the side of his jaw.

            “You betrayed us all!”

            “There was money! So much left! Please, Talon, don’t shoo-!”

            The next second, there was only red. Red tinting his vision, red blood flying through the air, red brains splattering the walls of his ship. The man’s entire upper head was gone, the facial region from the mouth up obliterated. Aaren released the corpse, ears ringing and eyes wide.

            Behind him, four bodies were splayed out on the floor, heads twisted at awkward angles or wounds to the chest and stomach still seeping dark red, almost black liquid. The whole corridor stank of iron.

            On that day, he’d renamed his ship. The Fireblade was no more, and Aaren could only think of the color red. The Crimson had taken its place. How fitting, that the color red should re-define him, that his chosen color’s antithesis should-

            Aaren growled, the sound coming from low in his throat. Don’t think about that. There’s only the mission now. The Hunter continued to move forwards, raising himself slightly from where he’d frozen, leaning in silent pain on a tree. Another ten minutes passed. Then fifteen, then thirty, and Aaren suddenly halted, pulling the butt of his rifle into his shoulder and aiming down the sights. In front of him, a creature of bronzed metal, one gleaming red eye set in a large, fan-like protrusion that served as a head- a Vex. The hands held an alien rifle, one pointed directly… not at him. It had stopped only to turn around again and walk back the other way.

The Guardian had been holding his breath without realizing it, and heaved a sigh of relief. It’s only on patrol, Aaren realized, but it’ll be back.

            Talon prepared himself to burst out of cover and begin to run, but as he poked his head around the tree he stood behind, he saw a problem. The forest had thinned out a half-mile back, causing Aaren to move a bit faster, but still provided sufficient cover for the Hunter in which to move. However, here was a dilemma- the last fifty meters of space between him and a large stone structure were completely open, no cover to hide behind. All trees of any sort had been burned down, and the large clearing boasted no small amount of Vex, walking back and forth on the black soil. Overhead, a heavily armed Vex dropship roared across the clearing, deafening Aaren for a few moments.

The Hunter held his position, his rifle still tracking the Vex in front of him. The single word ingrained on the lower receiver glinted in the afternoon sun. Fireblaze. Talon considered both his position and the rifle’s unique talents for a moment, formulating a plan of action. Stealth, more obviously than not, was out of the question. However, taking on a whole army of Vex, followed by a gunship, was not a particularly intelligent idea.

So Tarek was right…

            About a month and a half ago, Aaren had taken a call from an old friend- turned informant. Tarek had rambled on about increased Vex activity in South America, the possibility of some “great and powerful” artifact, and then abruptly ceased transmission. While the Hunter didn’t like the idea of going into what could have been a trap, he’d taken the job- reminding him of his old habit of accidentally “forgetting” to notify the Council of Guardians.

Stop that. You don’t work for the Council anymore; you’re not their rabid dog. As long as it’s done, they gain something, I survive, and I couldn’t care less about what they do. Best they don’t know what’s happened anyways.

            Aaren turned his mind back to the scene at hand, examining the Vex from his position on his stomach. A newly christened Guardian would attack at night, he knew- but the Vex were machines, and regardless of their circuitry, their single eye did not have the same faults as those of a human’s, which effectively ruled out any advantage to be gained by darkness.

I’m no exo, either. Can’t afford to take any hits. Could possibly pull back, try to pick them off… no, not an option. Too many of them. They’ve got air support, as well. Which means…

            Behind the faceless anonymity of his helmet, Aaren winced. The Hunter took a few seconds to retreat, pushing himself backwards on his elbows before he took the opportunity to move back into his crouched position, backtracking further into the cover of the forest. From there, the Guardian keyed in his helmet mic and muttered a few words, making a single call.

————

Allan Griffost had no particular love for the man named Aaren Talon. In fact, he had no love at all. However, he owed the Hunter a certain debt, and was honor bound to repay it. The Awoken in the pilot’s seat of the Gunslinger Fate allowed a grimace to distort his otherwise perfect features- features which were characteristic of the alien race humans called ‘The Awoken’- as he saw the name on the display readout of his shipboard comms system. Allan debated upon the pros and cons of ignoring the call entirely- Traveler take the debts- but decided against it, eventually relenting and rapping the “accept transmissions” key.

“What do you want, Talon?”

The voice on the other end had changed little since the Awoken had last heard it, retaining the calm depth often characteristic of men who daily gambled their life. Yet here, it seemed tired, almost raspy.

“Allan Griffost. Wasn’t sure if you’d pick up. I want your help.”

“Why should I give it to you?” Allan hissed, knowing perfectly well that he was obliged to fulfill his debt.

“Because I didn’t kill you the last time you betrayed me. Could have, you know. Considered it.”

“…You should get somebody else. I’m sure I’m not your first pick.”

A slight silence before Aaren’s next sentence marked his hesitation… or, as the Awoken was want to believe, his wry amusement.

“You’re right about that. In fact,” the Hunter said, voice suddenly muffled, “you were my last. But nobody else would be stupid enough to follow me down here, not unless they owed a life debt. If it makes you feel any better, I really will blow your brains onto the floor if you double cross me again.”

Allan leaned back, silently cursing his luck as his right hand uncurled and curled in the darkness of the Gunslinger of Fate, wishing he had the option of clicking the transmission off and forgetting about the Hunter. Meanwhile, he stared silently down at a horribly massacred left hand, one which had some functionality, but was scarred in multiple places, missing the smallest finger, and missing large chunks of flesh.

However, he didn’t. And that complicated things somewhat more. Aaren’s voice cut through the silence around him again.

“Captain Griffost. There’s one more reason- and that’s because you’re good. Not the best. But good.”

Allan’s upper lip twisted in a sneer. “If you think flattery will help, Talon, you’re wrong. But I’m listening. Only because I owe you; nothing more.”

“Good. Here’s what I need.”

The next several minutes were spent in a hushed conversation. At its end, the Gunslinger’s pilot cursed for an uninterrupted ten seconds.

“Talon, you’re mad. I’m not risking my ship.”

“You’ll risk your ship if I ask you to, because you owe me a life-debt.”

“I swear by The Traveler, if you in any way damage my ship, I will kill you.”

Aaren gave the barest of laughs before saying, “You already want to. Already tried, already failed. See you soon.”

The Hunter disconnected, and Allan’s next curse fell upon the deaf air. Suddenly, the Awoken stood, pacing the length of his bridge as he considered his options. When he halted once more, Allan smiled.

“Fine then, old friend. We’ll see.”

————

Aaren glanced at his chrono as he flicked a bug off his shoulder, then looked up at the sky. It’s been five minutes. Patience is a virtue. Although it’s not as if he’s halfway across the system…

            When he’d last checked, at least. From his knowledge, Allan had been docked at a bay near Saturn, but for all he knew, the Awoken pilot could have flown as far away as possible from Aaren and let him rot.

It occurred to Aaren that perhaps he was not as confident in his one-time ally’s reliability as he had let on. However, the man did owe him a life-debt, and in this case, Aaren hoped his judgment had been correct. Because the Hunter distinctly remembered the first time Allan had betrayed him.

“Talon. Why don’t we just back away and get out of here? You’re a Hunter, not some ch’katla Titan!”

            Aaren glared at his companion before he looked back at the door in front of him, his weapon’s sights trained at its center. It led into a ruined stone building, which looked about large enough for two- possibly three- rooms. All around them, the same buildings were scattered through what had been a human settlement. Fallen bodies were splayed across the ground.

            “Because I have the lock to the Crimson, your ship is off-world and being repaired, and these people need our help.”

            Griffost cursed the Hunter under his breath, watching the Guardian carefully as he stood with his back to the Awoken pilot. Suddenly, the barest of ideas began to form in his head. On the other side of the door, he knew that three civilians were waiting, being guarded by a large amount of Fallen. What the aliens wanted with them, Allen didn’t know… nor did he particularly care, as charging in would most likely cause the death of both himself and Aaren.

            But then again… the Awoken hadn’t been on good terms with the Guardian for a while- not since the human had grown so oversentimental after changing his ship’s name. And because he knew that more Fallen were on the way, because he could almost see his corpse’s bones whitening under the sun of the God-forsaken planet they were on, he did what he saw fit. What he had to. Something that had been in the makings a very long time.

            Click.

Aaren froze. “Allan…”

            “You can try and save these people if you want,” he hissed, “but you should know that it’s a useless endeavor. So instead, you’re going to give me the lock for the Crimson, and I’m going to leave. Turn around slowly and drop your rifle.”

            The Hunter did as he was told, carefully putting his weapon down. When he looked back up, he saw the exact nature of the threat. The Awoken held a small hold-out pistol in his left hand at Aaren’s head, easily concealable and carried by many pilots.

            “Now the lock. Slowly.”

            In the distance, Aaren could barely hear the hunting calls of more Fallen. Time was not on the side of the Guardian. But more disturbingly, behind him, through the door, he heard the screaming of three civilians, sharp and grating, followed by a sudden silence. Then it started again, slightly weaker. Somebody had died- the Hunter could feel it. Aaren gritted his teeth.

            Too late again.

The Awoken jabbed the gun forwards. “I said, give me the lock.”

            Aaren spat out a curse as he reached behind his back with his left arm, gripping the electronic device that would provide the signature to automatically unlock the Crimson’s controls. Every ship in the galaxy had one, each completely unique, and it was the only way to grant control of a ship- at least for the first time- to another captain, or in some cases, even remotely pilot a ship.

            “Slowly now,” Allan said, “I don’t want to have to kill you, but I will.”

            Aaren began to pull the lock from behind his back, slowly as needed. However, he retained no illusions as to the Awoken’s intentions- he was needed out of the way. Any chance of survival, and Allan knew the Hunter would find him eventually.

            Another scream, another silence. Another start. The Fallen’s noise grew closer.

            Only one left.

Aaren dropped the lock, a small piece of equipment about four inches in length and two in width, into the Awoken pilot’s hand, watching Griffost’s eyes as he gained remote control of the Crimson.

There.

A slight waver, the smallest lapse of concentration. Aaren’s next movements were lightning-fast, and the Hunter knew from experience that he would have only two seconds to make his move- to make the deciding move.

            One.

            Aaren moved his head and neck to the right, simultaneously bringing his left hand up to push the Awoken’s gun hand in the opposite direction. His right reached for the hand cannon he kept in the holster at his side. At one time, he’d been the fastest draw there was. Was he still?

            Two.

            Allan’s index finger spasmed in surprise as the Hunter took action, and the holdout fired a single shot before Aaren’s left forearm pushed the Awoken’s arm upwards and to Griffost’s right. As the gun dropped, Allan’s hand and arm spewed black blood into the air, cut by the jagged steel hooks on Aaren’s vambraces. A finger, severed from the hand, dropped to the ground as the hand opened and the gun fell with it. Aaren drew his head back, depending on the cold metal helmet to make a solid impact, and snapped it back downwards, headbutting the Awoken.

            The human stood over his betrayer, hand cannon pointed downwards and at Allan’s head. On the ground, the pilot stared up in shock and pain, holding his mangled hand. Aaren’s finger twitched on the trigger. He was tempted, so tempted, to fire. His resolve strengthened. Aaren began to squeeze the firing mechanism, tempted to savor the moment.

            And then, another scream. The last one. And deep, alien laughter.

            Aaren released the pressure on his gun’s trigger, suddenly holstering it. The Hunter reached up to his head, unclasped his hood, then removed his helmet. Allan could see the cold fury burning in his eyes.

            Aaren knelt, and then punched the Awoken. Then again. And again. And again, until Allan was only a huddled, bloodied, whimpering figure on the ground. The Fallen’s cries grew nearer. The Hunter hooked his helmet onto his belt, then used both hands to heft the Awoken pilot up, dragging him behind another stone ruin, this one slightly larger. As he did, Aaren heard the opening of a door behind him, and only seconds after, the arrival of more fallen.

            Allan moaned slightly, leading the Hunter to put the cool metal of his right vambrace into the pilot’s mouth, softly enough so as to not cause any permanent damage to the man’s face. The other, already dripping with the Awoken’s blood, was held ready at Griffost’s neck. Aaren leaned close, staring the man in the eyes. Allan saw the calculating gaze behind the unforgiving blue eyes, saw that the rage was no longer there. And that scared him more than anything.

            Aaren spent what had felt like a lifetime there, cloaking the two of them in the shadows with the dark blue of his cape, melding the two colors together and hiding both men. Eventually, the harsh clacking of alien tongues retreated into silence. Aaren waited for another thirty seconds before he drew the hand cannon again, stood, and aimed it downwards. Allan looked up, blood streaming from his face where Aaren’s gloves had hit him. The Hunter pulled the hammer of the weapon back.

            “Just… kill me.”

            Aaren pushed a strand of brown hair out of his eyes as he smiled, a cold gesture that held no goodwill.

            “No, Allan. I’m going to do something so much worse than that.”

            The Awoken’s face suddenly twisted into a mix of absolute terror and anger.

            “No, Talon! NO! Don’t you do it, you son of a- NO!”

            The Hunter pushed the hammer back into its original position, ignoring the protests of the Awoken. Then, he re-holstered the weapon and intoned several words in a different language. Beneath him, the Awoken stilled, crying tears of absolute rage.

            “And now, Captain Griffost, you owe me a life debt. Isn’t it grand that I was raised by your people?”

————

An hour had passed since Aaren had made his call. The Hunter was now sitting under the shade of a large, slightly twisted tree, a kilo and a half back from where he had originally seen the Vex occupation party. Talon had heard of the Vex coming in force, but had not imagined they’d actually take the time to clear out the area around the large stone ziggurat. Upon thinking twice about his situation, the Hunter had rapidly realized that he was outclassed in almost any scenario, and that even with Griffost’s help, he’d be near done for. Aaren gave a small, almost inaudible sigh. He’d wait another two hours before he would be forced to move while there was still daylight. Until then… the Guardian glanced at the gun he held cradled in his arms, then gave it a single visual inspection to ensure its accuracy and reliability. Time crept by slowly. Another hour passed. Then two more hours, and Aaren stood, cursing both his luck and the pilot of the Gunslinger of Fate.

And almost on cue, his helmet mic beeped twice, giving him a short notification on who was calling. The Hunter accepted the call, this time speaking first.

“By the Traveler, what took you so long?”

The sibilant voice of the Awoken pilot answered in its usual condescending verbal sneer.

“There were complications. Not everything can be as easy as you’d like… just like you can’t save everybody. Simple facts of life, Talon.”

Aaren closed his eyes for five seconds, not trusting himself to respond in a fashion that would allow him to continue with his plan. Instead, he grinded out four words.

“Are you in position?”

“Yes.”

Griffost cut off the word as if it had a bad taste in his mouth. Come to think of it, Talon mused, it probably did.

            “Then when I give my mark, you move into place.”

“Why couldn’t you use your own ship?”

Aaren smiled, replying only at length and counting on Griffost’s egotism to fill a gap. “I have yours. Besides, you’re a better pilot than I am. I’d get shot down, and you won’t.”

“Fine. What exactly is in there?”

The Hunter rolled his eyes, knowing full well that the man on the other side of the mic would never see it. “I have no idea. Stuff, things. Possibly important.”

 

Caren returned from the Council’s meeting tired. Tired and disappointed, to boot. Of course, she thought, Jay was right. He always is. Maybe I really am wrong about these hotspots and what they are. Popping up so recently… I should have seen it.

The Warlock shook her head, shrugging the matter off for the time being as she sat in the chambers of the Academy, looking at the small geographical perspective of the Earth. On a whim, she pulled up the “Military Expeditions” layout, looking at the angry red blotches of enemy territory, the bright yellow representing allied force territory, and the orange borderlines between the two showing areas of conflict. Small arrows of troop movements- or even the green triangles which meant special forces- were dotted across the landscape.

“Back to the drawing board, huh?”

Jay’s deep voice was tinted with ever-so-faint amusement, but the pure volume of it in the otherwise silent room caused Caren to jump two inches off the chair she sat in.

“But, Traveler, you scared me!” She remarked, turning her head to look at her companion.

The tall Warlock smiled sheepishly, nodding towards his hands, both of which were outstretched and carrying mugs of… something good, Caren decided.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to- honest. I heard about your loss in the Council today, and I… well, I brought some tea. If… if that helps any.”

Caren raised an eyebrow. “You’re funny. But thanks; it does.”

Jay took the opportunity to take the seat next to her in the small, circular room, placing the tea on the table that the Earth hovered above. In the darkness of the room, it gave both Warlock’s faces a strange blue pallor that seemed to enunciate some of their features, deepening the shadows beneath Caren’s eyes and making her appear old beyond her biological age of twenty-six.

“You know I only opposed you for your own sake, right?”

The younger Warlock glanced at her companion, giving him a slight bump with her shoulder.

“You’ve been doing that since we’ve been in training together. It’s hardly new.”

“I know, I just figured that… maybe since we’re the new… whatever it’s called, and all important or whatnot…”

“That I’d be angry?”

Jay pulled the left part of his mouth downwards, creating a slightly comedic, but still unsure expression.

He’s actually… hmmm. This is new.

            “Maybe,” he replied, “and since I didn’t want to be nova-bombed out of a twelve story building…”

Caren snorted into her tea- tea which she found exceptionally good- before she looked up. “Right. And since you asked, we’re the ‘omega team’. There’s a technical term, I’m sure, but you know how much I love those. Just means that out of the Guardians, we’re special.”

Jay sighed, rubbing his temples with one hand. “I don’t know if that’s necessarily good or not…”

Caren leaned just a bit closer. When Jay looked up, her face was all of two inches away from his.

“Trust me,” she murmured, “it is.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Caren saw the world change. In South America, directly in the center of the “hotspot”, a yellow triangle, pulsing red, appeared with a soft, pulsing “beep”. Caren pulled her head back, suddenly looking at the Earth with renewed interest as she jumped up, tea forgotten.

“There! Right there! Look! A distress signal!”

Jay blinked. “What?”

“In the middle of the hotspot…” Caren said patiently, pointing at the triangle insistently, “There is a distress signal.”

Jay’s shoulders sagged a full three inches. “That doesn’t mean anything! Just that somebody got shot down over the-!”

Caren poked him once in the chest to get his attention. “But here’s the thing. This one is from a Guardian. Not some civilian, a Guardian.”

“Which just means that he can handle himself-”

“Jay, I often need you to be my voice of reason, but right now, I really want you to just shut up.”

The large Warlock rolled his eyes, but remained silent. Caren continued.

“Now, let’s listen to this.” She said, and then tapped the yellow triangle once. When she did, a static-filled but coherent transmission began to play on repeat.

“This… is Aaren Talon, Captain… Crimson, request… heavily armed… Traveler is here…need help. Anyone listening… code 012-894.”

Dead silence filled the room for ten seconds. Jay mouthed the name once before he said it. “Aaren. Talon.”

Caren smirked at her friend before she strode off.

“You know where I’m going to go?” she asked over her shoulder.

Jay groaned. “The Council.”

Thirty minutes earlier

 

Aaren breathed slowly, surely. Then, he squeezed the trigger. His first shot exploded from the barrel, igniting in midair, and plunged into the head of the first Vex. The Hunter lept from his position in the trees, squeezing off four more shots- four more kills- before a sudden explosion lit up the battlefield, sending Vex flying.

There we go.

Fireblaze’s unique ability was not only incinerating targets with compressed light that also lit the air- or whatever else it penetrated- on fire in small, contained bursts, but also causing large-scale explosions on occasion. However, Aaren realized as he put down five more Vex, it was not capable of taking on an entire army, and also was the most effective when Vex did not utilize their shields.

Unfortunately, the Vex soon did, and Aaren’s shots soon dissipated on spheres of effervescent light that surrounded mechanical bodies, and the Vex began to fire their own weapons back at him, a maelstrom of oncoming fire. Aaren ducked behind the nearest tree from the clearing, hearing mechanized feet come stomping for him, and gritted his teeth as the lasers tore fist-sized holes in the tree’s bark, putting more holes in the Hunter’s cloak. And then, above it all, he heard the “whirrrrrr” of a gunship.

Oh, Traveler. Aaren burst from cover and ran, keying his mic before screaming,

“DO IT NOW, GRIFFOST! NOW!”

The world around him was transformed into a howling storm of flame, scorching him beneath his armor and sending the Hunter flying into the ground. No. No time for resting. Get up, Talon, get up!

The Guardian forced himself to stand once more, ears ringing, then crept forwards to the edge of the forest, where he squatted and watched the events taking place. On the ground, the remnants of the Vex ground forces, covered in ash and glowing embers, aimed their guns skywards, suddenly forgetful of the Hunter who had attacked them- focusing instead on the Apollo-class starship that had sent two missiles at them before returning to the sky once more, now engaging the gunship while dodging the ground fire at the same time.

Aaren allowed himself a whistle. “But, Traveler, Griffost’s a good pilot.”

The Gunslinger managed to get behind the larger gunship, then fired its forward cannons three times at the Vex vehicle’s rear before pulling up. Within moments, the Vex ship exploded, leaving the Gunslinger of Fate free to strafe the rest of the Vex ground troops. Aaren added his own help as he could, picking off Vex near the edges of the battlefield. Within moments, what had been the possibility of a pitched battle had disappeared with the blaze of missiles and streaking bolts of gunfire.

Allan’s ship landed in front of the ziggurat, and the pilot itself was out within the moment, exiting the fifty-foot long craft within a matter of minutes and walking towards the Hunter, who stood with his gun drawn at the entrance to the structure.

“Talon. Do you need me to come and babysit you, as well?”

Aaren glared at the Awoken, then motioned towards the entrance. “You take point.”

The Awoken returned the angry look before he did as he was told, carrying his own rifle, a pulse-firing affair that Aaren could almost appreciate if it weren’t for his feelings for the person carrying it.

The two entered the structure, traveling rapidly downwards in a small, dark corridor. They encountered no resistance, but also found no new signs of life. Finally, the passageway widened, fanning out into a huge circular room- white and glittering with electronics in the walls. The chamber, which Aaren decided it was, as he put his gun back behind his back, was at least five hundred feet all the way around, and boasted a single pedestal in its center.

Aaren blinked. Hesitantly, the Hunter walked to the console, the pilot not far behind him. Standing in front of it, Talon felt something pull at him, some electrical energy dance within him. Not knowing why he did so, the Guardian removed his right glove, letting the cool of the chamber play over his fingers, and pressed his palm to the center of the pedestal. For a short time, nothing happened. Then, in a sudden jolt, the pedestal pulsed once with a hidden energy, shooting an electrifying arc of heat through the Hunter’s body, and was still. Aaren grunted in pain, withdrawing his hand and re-donning his glove as he staggered backwards, looking around him.

A display flickered into being, enveloping the both the Awoken pilot and the Human. Aaren cocked his head, staring at the hologram, which was forming into some kind of… the Hunter’s jaw dropped as he realized exactly what he was looking at. The very solar system, then the entire Milky Way galaxy hummed into being, small points of light circled or dotted by blinking red strobes.

“It’s not an artifact,” Aaren breathed, “it’s a library of where they are!”

The location of hundreds, maybe thousands of artifacts, was scrolling slowly down the display. The Hunter stared for a few seconds before he finally realized what he needed to do. From one of his pouches, Talon produced a small datapad, and held it to the pedestal. As he did, a display for the control of the pedestal popped up on the pad, giving him two options.

In the next second, Aaren chose to delete the original information left inside the pedestal, instead keeping only the information he’d copied. Before he did, Talon noticed one thing- one vital thing that raised the hair on the back of his neck.

This data cache hasn’t been opened until now. That means… The Guardian stared at the datapad for a moment, wondering about the exact ramifications of what he’d discovered. The pedestal was reading my DNA. Processing… for humanity?

If this is found… humanity as a whole could gain the upper hand in this war. Tucking the pad back into his pouch, the Hunter turned away; back towards where he’d came from. As he did, the room began to glow. Aaren paused, spinning on his heel and raising a hand against the white glare that suddenly filled the chamber. His comms set began to beep, and a message broadcasting from the pedestal filed across his HUD.

“The reliquary is opened by the prophet, the way is shown to the galaxy.”

Talon blinked. Reliquary? Prophet? Wait. ‘The way is shown to the-’

            Oh, Traveler.

            Aaren checked the broadcasting source- finding that it was coming from quite literally everywhere- and then looked for the intended recipients. There were none; the chamber was broadcasting on every possible channel to everywhere, meaning only one thing:

We need to leave. Now.

            The Hunter whirled around, brushing past Allan in his sudden dash up the corridor. When Talon arrived at where he had come from, he ran to the nearest base of the ziggurat, skidding to a halt and checking around the stone block. Sure enough, as he’d guessed, a small device, barely noticeable, blinked red. As the Guardian continued to circle the large structure- most of which, he now realized, was simply for show- he found more of the devices, collecting them as he found them and placing them in a pocket.

This was about to become the world’s largest frag grenade, Talon realized, and we don’t know where the trigger is. Since the Vex couldn’t use it, they might as well have blown it up. But now that the thing is bloody broadcasting to the entire galaxy, there’s nothing preventing them from coming back here.

            The Hunter guessed it was on one of the Vex corpses, but had no real desire to check for the evidence- it would be a needle in a haystack. Wait.

            Aaren scanned the battlefield for a bright golden colored body, his only guess as to where a trigger might have been. Some Vex were higher up than others, and the aliens often used the metallic colors to represent rank. After a couple seconds of searching, he saw what he was looking for, ran to the dead machine, searched it, and found what he was looking for. The trigger was small, round, and boasted three small buttons that needed to be pushed to prime the explosives, then once more to fire them.

“This should go to the Council.”

Click.

            “No, Talon. It’s going to me.”

Aaren’s blood ran cold.

I forgot what I came for. But now we’re here, and there’s going to be a Vex fleet breathing down my neck.

            The Hunter turned around, pulling the datapad from his pouch. In front of him, the Awoken pilot stood a good fifty feet away, rifle charged and held at Aaren’s chest. The Human regarded him coldly before he spoke.

“We’re running out of time. And I don’t think you can do that.”

“You’re wrong there, Talon. Raised by my family, you may have been. But you were always some son of a human whore, more worthless than anything else. And because of that, you never understood a life debt. Because a life debt can be withdrawn, and it can be ended, only by the death of its debtor, or the death of the man he is in debt to. Take off your helmet.”

Aaren closed his eyes as he did so, inhaling the rich, earthy smell of the air.

In his earliest years, Aaren had always been close with Allan, regardless of the fact that the human had been abandoned by its mother and was not of the same race. In fact, the two were good friends, as foster brothers should be. Then, when Aaren was twelve, their father had died. Aaren had been selected for training as a Guardian shortly after- conscripted really. Allan had never forgiven his ‘brother’ for that, for leaving him in a dead home with a dead life in the wastelands. When Aaren returned, a man of twenty, Allan had taken what was left of his life to the stars, bitter against both the government, The Traveler, and his foster brother, whom he held partly responsible for his woes.

            The two had always worked together, though. Aaren himself had never really cared much for the Traveler, and found his own brand of work more suitable. Often times, the two shared the profit. Then, with the coming of a small crew aboard the Fireblade, Allan had been forgotten once more by the intruder in his life, one who was carefree and prospering, while he remained solitary. The Awoken ignored his foster brother for a long time, even when he heard the reports of the Hunter’s ‘singlehanded’ victory over the Fallen forces in old Britain, one which allowed a stronghold to be built in the ruins of an ancient civilization, and one which lifted his ‘brother’ into the high courts of fame.

            An incident of galactic importance occurred, and the name of Aaren Talon became a myth. He had been betrayed by his own squad, forced to kill them in amazing act of self-sacrifice. Talon then fled the center stage of the world, gained his own crew and ship.

            Then, the crew had died. Allan remained aloof, and the Crimson came into being without his knowledge. Aaren Talon died. Not really, of course, but when the Hunter took on one last mission on his own, one to rescue five important hostages- high councilors and master Guardians, matters shifted entirely. Two had died in Aaren’s pursuit of the forces holding them captive, but most of the Fallen had been decimated. Finally, Aaren had been betrayed. The hostages died, and to those who still knew him, the Hunter Aaren Talon did the same, buried in the deep sands of an alien planet.

            The two men didn’t speak often after that, but Aaren had placed as much distance between himself and his brother as possible as he searched for his crew’s betrayer, and often used the man for a menial task that he himself wouldn’t do. Their relationship rotted along with the bodies of the innocents that Allan’s betrayal had caused.

            Aaren realized that he had never intended for things to happen as they did. However, happen they had, and as he opened his eyes to stare at the man who owed him a life debt, and who now intended to see it gone. A life debt, Aaren realized, was only useful in Awoken culture because it was assumed that, from one man to another, a life spared would be treasured. In this case, it was not.

The Hunter remembered his purpose in coming. The thing that had driven him for such a long time. What he’d only realized eight hours before coming into orbit.

“Allan, I know what you did.”

The Awoken raised an eyebrow, proud features triumphant.

“Oh?”

“You killed my crew. You were the one who paid Resen off. Who planted him.”

Genuine surprise lit Allan’s features as Aaren said the words, putting the weight of his sorrow behind each one of them. Then, slowly, it was replaced with the hardness of loss.

“Of course I did! And it took you so long to realize. So I waited; I waited such a very long time for you to find it out and bring me back, just so I could see the look on your face before I shot you. I always figured you too honest to simply shoot me in the back.”

Aaren shook his head, a slow snarl shaping his lips. “Maybe in the old days, before you murdered everybody I cared about.”

A small chuckle from the Awoken. “Now you know how I felt. The human child, so weak and defenseless, taken in and lifted up while I was left behind in the dust. You never even expected me to survive.”

“It wasn’t something I could help!” Aaren roared, allowing emotion to creep onto his face. A tear filled his eye.

“And now you can’t help that I’m in control here! Drop your weapon!”

             Aaren unslung Fireblaze, flung it to the Awoken in front of him, who deftly caught it in one hand, steadying his own rifle with only his right arm. However, the rifle that Griffost carried never wavered. The Hunter reached for the hand cannon at his side, unholstered it, and tossed it in the opposite direction, slowly enough to satisfy the Awoken across from him. When he looked up again, Allan nodded once.

“Any last words, brother?”

Aaren cocked his head. “Yes.”

Allan motioned with his weapon for the Hunter to continue. Aaren did so, deadly serious.

“I’m giving you a chance to surrender. To run, never show your face again, and leave here alive. Will you take it?”

The Awoken blinked once, then smiled, even white teeth shining. Then, he laughed, long and hard, while never once taking his eyes from the Hunter in front of him.

“You know that I’ve killed your crew, you know that I masterminded your entire life for years, from disappointment to disappointment, and you think you have something, anything, that can harm me now, when you’re unarmed, and I have the option of killing you on a whim? You’re an idiot. Goodbye, brother.  I hope you burn in Hell.”

The Guardian had time to think, to word one last accusation in his mind.

You’re stupid. You’ve been played from the moment I called you out here. Because I knew that you wouldn’t kill me until you saw my pain- because you’re a delusional sadist. And because you depended on the fact that I wouldn’t kill you the moment I laid eyes on you- as I once would have- because you were unarmed, you thought you had the advantage. Now you’ll pay for that.

Aaren knew that what happened next would take only a half a second. One half second that could decide everything.

One quarter.

Allan pulled the trigger. It was a sloppy shot, Aaren noticed. But it didn’t have to be perfect. At the same time, the Hunter leaned just to his right, just enough to make the Awoken have to adjust his aim, and applied pressure to a button on a small control piece he’d been holding in his left hand since he’d been planetside. The first three pulses of light singed his left arm. Allan’s sights centered on Aaren’s chest, and the Awoken began to pull the trigger a second time. He never got the chance.

One half second.

Fire streaked from the sky. Aaren was blown backwards in a rain of ashes and embers, hot sand burning his face. Blood red light illuminated the sky for a second, and when the fire vanished as quickly as it had come, only the Hunter remained alive, spread-eagled on his back. Allan was no more, any trace of the pilot blown away on a light wind. The remaining Guardian made no attempt to move, feeling suddenly drained of energy. However, the Hunter’s eyesight was unimpaired, and Aaren stared up into a sapphire blue sky, one in which his last gambit had worked. As the ship lock for the Crimson rolled from his left hand, the ship to which it belonged hovered in the air far above, a barely perceptible dot. Aaren dared to breathe an incredulous snort of laughter, remembering his own preparations.

Aaren gave himself a mental kick as he realized his mistake.

“The man’s not an idiot…” He chided, quickly reboarding the Crimson in search of his shipboard lock. Ordinarily, the Hunter would have disabled it on any mission, but this one was special, and he would take no chances. Talon programmed the small device for only two actions- first, to hover above his location on the first activation of the button. On the second, to key and fire a single missile at a target to be identified by a tracking chip on the butt stock of Fireblaze. Satisfied, the Guardian set the ship on alert and exited once more.

Aaren moaned as he realized the full extent of his actions. “Bloody shame… waste of a good rifle.”

The Hunter didn’t remain on the ground for much longer. Aaren soon decided that it was necessary to rise, collected his revolver, and donned his helmet before clicking the Crimson’s lock control one more time, resetting the device and giving the electronic order to return to its original location.

It was a long trek back to his ship. However, as Talon settled back into the pilot’s seat of the Caesar class fighter, he decided that it was entirely worth the digression. Only one problem remained in his mind- that of the Gunslinger of Fate. With his own, slightly smaller ship already in good shape, there was no real need for the Gunslinger, and even if he’d have wanted to take it with him, Aaren didn’t have the necessary traction equipment on board. The Hunter briefly considered returning to the site of his confrontation with Griffost and blowing it up from orbit, but saw no reason to- the ship itself being a fine piece of machinery, regardless of its owner. Eventually, Aaren simply decided to leave it to whoever would find it.

Aaren smiled cordially. “Sorry. I did what you asked. Where’s the ship?”

            The human in front of him returned the smile, equally friendly in both action and speech. Before him, the Hunter stood with his helmet under his left arm, hood tossed back and long hair slightly tousled. His blue cape fluttered in the wind, kicked up and tugged along with a passing cloud of dust. The trader took a few seconds before he answered.

            “Well, Hunter… looks like I forgot to bring your ship with me to my new base. Please, my apologies. You’ll have to get some other craft before you go flying off.”

            The Guardian cocked his head, brushing back his cloak with his right hand to reveal the grip of his hand cannon. So doing, Aaren tapped a small rhythm with his fingers on the butt, staring evenly at the trader.

            “Not a smart move, Jeff.”

            The red-haired trader better known as Jeffery the Red shrugged, not-so-discreetly revealing his own weapon at his side- a pulse pistol with at least three more shots per clip than his own. Not that it mattered; if things got ugly, it would only take one shot.

            “Tell you what, Guardian. I don’t particularly like you, but for some extra coin, I might be able to, ah, remember where I put your ship.”

            Aaren discarded the smile. “That won’t happen.”

            The Hunter glanced around him, scanning the ruins of the old Middle-Eastern region where Red ran his shipyard operation. As it had happened, the Guardian had been forced to drop his old ship, and the trader had offered him a ship, free of charge, if he’d clear out the hostile threats in the area he worked in.

            So far, there hadn’t been much business either way. The shipyard was mostly empty, and the Jupiter class attack shuttle the Hunter had requested was not present. Of course, what were present were workers. A lot of them, some casually ambling over to where the Hunter stood discussing business with the trader. Suddenly, something caught Aaren’s eye.

            “Tell you what, Red. I take that Caesar class light frigate and leave; you and I don’t have a disagreement.”

            The light frigate was more of a crewed fighter, really, remarkably plain and unpainted, but from what Aaren could see, it looked to be in good shape. The Hunter noted a distinctly unhappy shake of the head from the trader, who dropped his good-natured façade along with his hand, which trailed to the handle of his pistol.

            “Sorry, Hunter. She’s not for sale; you’d best leave here before you get yourself hurt. I’ve heard that these parts can be dangerous for a lone Guardian.”

            “And I’ve heard that you’re a lying snake who needs putting down. Which should I go with, d’y’think?”

            The trader stared at Aaren, who met his gaze with an unblinking glare. Overhead, the sun shed heat upon the two men, causing sweat to bead slowly on the Hunter’s forehead. From the corner of his eye, the Guardian caught the movement of approaching workers.

            This could be bad if they’re armed.

The seconds stretched to hours as Aaren looked evenly into the other man’s eyes. Overhead, a carrion crow circled lazily beneath wispy clouds.

The Hunter moved, tossing his helmet into the air before him.  Time slowed as the trader’s eyes flickered to the movement of the helmet. Aaren’s hand moved of its own accord, making contact with the handle of the hand cannon, fingers curling ‘round the grip as the Hunter began to shift his body, curving to the left. In front of him, Jeffery mirrored his actions.

            Aaren drew the hand cannon from its holster smoothly, guiding the barrel towards his target with a practiced ease. As the gun inched towards the trader, Red’s own pistol came into play.

            Traveler help me.

Aaren’s left hand pulled the hammer of the hand cannon back, costing the Hunter precious time. The Hunter realized in the flash of a second that he wouldn’t be the first to fire.

            Aaren turned his body’s movement to the side into a full-fledged roll, throwing himself to the side just as Jeffery’s first shot burned past his ear. As Talon dived, his weapon came up, adjusting to the sudden inertia of the Guardian’s movements. Aaren’s left elbow hit the ground first, but the pain of the skid didn’t register. Instead, the Hunter’s only focus was that of his weapon’s sights lining up on his target, ensuring that in all the time he had left, he didn’t make an unseemly jerk on the trigger, and firing. As he did, Red’s own hand was still adjusting, readying for the second shot.

            He never got to fire again.

            Aaren completed the roll, re-holstering his hand cannon as he came back up. The Hunter heard a dull “thump” to his right as Red fell, a large hole drilled cleanly through the right side of his forehead. A slow murmur ran through the shipyard as the workers’ employer fell. The first movement afterwards, Aaren expected. A tall man, shirtless and wearing a tattered set of gray pants, lifted the rifle that the Guardian could easily tell had been issued to him by Red- a seller of many wares.

            The revolver lept to Aaren’s hand, and this time the Hunter had no need to worry about which of them was faster. The hired gun fell before his rifle even touched his shoulder. Aaren glanced around at the other workers. One simply backed away, another removed his hand from the pistol he held at his side, letting it drop, but most simply stared. Aaren gave a casual nod at them, satisfied. The Hunter kept his hand cannon up as he retrieved his helmet, donning it using his left hand. After the headpiece sealed to the rest of his suit, the Hunter motioned towards the Caesar class ship.

            “I’m going to take that ship,” he announced, “And I’m going to leave. As you’re all unemployed, I suggest you simply take the rest of these crafts and go… unless any of you would like to try to stop me.”

            “Maybe… shouldn’t have shot him.” Aaren croaked, his eyes still closed. The Hunter gave a gurgling laugh as he remembered how the Crimson had first come to him in what seemed like a lifetime ago. Talon forced his eyes to open, slowly taking in the scene around him. First, the glass windows of the Crimson’s bridge were smashed to pieces, and earthy foliage poked its way into the ship. Second, fires were burning all around him, eating away at the electronics.

Aaren was galvanized into action, immediately running a check on the ship’s vitals only to find that most of the ship was highlighted in a dark red on his console display, signifying the total shut down of that area. Engines, thrusters, anti-grav, and life support was fading fast. Suddenly, the Hunter looked at himself. From his abdomen, a small sliver of glass protruded, piercing just below his rib cage. Blood stained his armor, dripping on to the floor below him and staining the gray leather he wore red. Talon cursed, knowing that he had to get to the ship med bay to find an at least temporary hold-together on the wound.

But first… The Guardian keyed what remained of his console, activating his radar and external cams. The Crimson was downed in a forest of some sorts, from what he could tell with the one remaining camera, and although his radar was completely useless, the Hunter pivoted the cam to its right to check for any other information.

A curse lept unbidden to his lips. Through the static distorting the image, Aaren could barely make out the forms of Vex slowly advancing on the ship. A lot, more even than there had been at the ziggurat. Talon debated upon his course of action for a half a second before he remembered exactly what he was holding in his pouches- the key for humanity to win this war… or lose it.

Aaren flicked the mic controls on, speaking as clearly as he could while using his S.O.S function. Regardless of his own feelings, his own wants, humanity’s needs weighed more than his.

“This is Aaren Talon, Captain of the Caesar class light frigate Crimson, requesting heavily armed backup. Vital data from the Traveler is here, and Vex forces are advancing on my position. I need help. Anyone listening, please respond. Identity verification- Guardian’s code 012-894.”

The Captain of the Crimson paused just before he hit “send” with a feeling of finality. After spending so much time hiding from the rest of the universe, it was time to come out into the open. The Hunter stood, feeling the pain of his wound as the shock wore off and grimacing in return to the aching of his body, no doubt from various other injuries the crash-landing had caused him to incur, and limped as quickly as he could towards the med bay.

The room had never been used much, only occasionally for the odd cut, but it was fully stocked, as Aaren had once intended to run a fireteam of sorts from the ship. First, the Hunter removed the glass shard, grunting slightly as he pulled it from his body. Then, as blood began to rush onto the floor, he forced himself to grab a bottle of what was commonly known as med-freeze, forced the nozzle into the wound, and squeezed the container’s trigger.

Freezing cold foam rushed to fill the wound, gluing together the substance of his body and chilling the cut. The feeling of bitter ice inside Talon’s body was distinctly painful, perhaps more so than the actual glass had been. The med-freeze would hold the wound together, nothing more. Prevent loss of too much blood and fill the gap, but it would do no real healing, and it would melt away over time. Eventually, if Aaren used too much, it would make the wound worse.

There won’t be another chance to use it, though.  

Aaren piped on more than he should have of the binding agent, ensuring that he’d have a little extra protection from bleeding to death, and returned to the armory, grabbing two different weapons and as much ammo as he could to compliment his hand cannon before leaving the room once more. The wound didn’t bother him as much, and a cold pit in his stomach soon replaced the pain. Finally, the Hunter took one last trip through the Crimson, stopping in different places. Outside the ship, he heard the Vex approaching. Aaren smiled as he put his helmet on, drew his hand cannon, and opened the personnel airlock. A Vex stood outside, no more than a meter away, its head turned to the side as it strode past the Hunter.

Aaren raised his hand cannon and pulled the trigger.

The Vex’s head flew through the air before it landed several feet from the body.

“You want me?” Aaren roared, activating his external speakers and amplifying his voice.

“You have to catch me!”

The Guardian turned his back to the air lock and raced to the bridge, ignoring the fires now burning liberally along the passageways. He left the external cam on, watching as the Vex forces turned away from their path towards the front of the ship and pounded towards the air lock. Talon could hear them board, listened to their odd electronic stuttering. The first Vex’s head appeared on the stairs to the bridge, the eye just cresting the horizon of the floor.

Aaren fired the sniper rifle he held once, and the huge burst of light that emitted from the barrel left a charred hole where the glowing red visage had once been. More Vex came. The human’s expert marksmanship greeted them, again and again and again, until finally, Aaren could tell that the Vex were all over the ship, not a single place lacking their noise. The Hunter stood, changing weapons, and fired his hand cannon seven times, taking out the Vex coming towards him through the chokepoint where the stairs led to the bridge. Then he holstered his revolver and ran, diving through the shattered windows of the Crimson’s bridge as bolts of light sailed over his head, ran down the nose, and jumped to the ground eleven feet below. Aaren rolled before he continued running, sprinting for his life.

Hunters were always trained to be fast, and neither the tall warriors called Titans or a Warlock could have gotten so far as Aaren did in such a short amount of time. When the Guardian finally halted, it was to throw himself into the cover of a fallen tree. Then, Talon removed from his pouch a small circular object, and clicked the three buttons on it twice.

The Crimson exploded with the heat of a supernova, blinding Aaren momentarily as the small detonators he’d lifted from the ziggurat and then lined his ship with exploded. Pieces of jagged metal flew arced into the sky, and from miles away, a plume of smoke rose.

There goes the original information cache.

The Hunter forced himself to stand, his heart pulsing in his ears, and began to run in the opposite direction, away from the oncoming Vex. There had to be more of them, and the creatures were, in all likelihood, smart enough to realize he’d gotten to the information. Aaren vaulted over a log, looking for the nearest place to hide.

Oh, that’s bad.

The forest around him began to thin, and Talon saw conspicuously large gaps in the treetop cover, through which he could just make out the glint of bronze ships hovering above.

By the Traveler… this isn’t just some patrol fleet. This is an invasion force in the making.

Vex began to fall through the air, delivered safely through antigrav fields controlled by the time-travelling aliens. Aaren drew his hand cannon, firing indiscriminately as bolts of sizzling plasma arced past him. The Guardian dodged from tree to tree, sprinting through the miniature explosions of wood, rock, and flame caused by his enemy’s weapons.

The Hunter ran ever faster, now discarding the ideas of cover in favor of crossing as much ground as possible, looking for something solid, some place that he might make a stand. However, as the world blurred by, Aaren noted that by his side, a rocky cliff appeared, blocking off a route of escape should he need it. A flicker of trepidation in his stomach magnified his concerns- if the Vex managed to find a way to intercept him on his left, the Hunter could easily envision his dead body draped over some rock fallen from the red granite cliff, blood spattered around a wreath of spent clips.    

I need a better position.

And even as the words formed in Talon’s mind, the woods thickened once more, water glistening on the thin-veined leaves of tall trees which provided ample protection from the prying eyes in the sky. The beleaguered Guardian gave no more than the shadow of a passing thought to the fact that Nature had seemingly obliged him- more important to him was the steep uphill slope that suddenly appeared to Aaren’s right, climbing upwards to a gentle plateau just out of the Guardian’s eyesight. Its side offered multiple shields in the form of clusters of small rocky outcroppings, while trees and saplings peppered the landscape and offered an easier climb. Talon hesitated for a full second, weighing the costs of his options- in the first, he could run, going further into uncharted territory, or, by the second, he could climb the hill, and use the advantage of height and his natural mobility to pick off Vex troops. In one scenario, the Vex could outmaneuver him, surround him, and then kill him, and in the other… the end result is the same.

The Hunter decided upon the second course of action, using the green limbs and malleable branches to propel himself forwards in huge leaps. Behind him, the Vex had fallen away somewhat, giving Aaren ample time to reach the crest of the hill and… behind his mask, Talon blinked once, staring at the picture in front of him. The old-earth bunker was built into the very side of the cliff- walls cracked, covered in plant life, and the entrance’s iron doors sported multiple holes from various projectiles, but to the Hunter who once again heard the cries of Vex soldiers behind him, its dank halls echoed the call of safety.

Aaren forced himself to enter the bunker, closed and barred the doors behind him, and unloaded his sniper rifle from his back, turning around to survey his surroundings. At his back, a tunnel led deeper into the bunker’s system, any part of which might be some maze, while to his immediate left and right, elongated slits had been made in the stone to allow the ancient defenders of the place to fire outwards and into their enemies. The Guardian gave a grim smile as he placed his rifle to the stone slit, realizing that in all likelihood, the old Earth defenders had most likely suffered the same fate as he- and that if no help arrived soon, he would die just as they had- alone in the stifling darkness.

I truly hope that beacon reached somebody.

As he looked down his scope, Aaren remembered the last time he’d done this, the last time he’d fought hopelessly against an enemy force. The first Vex soldier appeared over the crest of the hill, awkwardly clambering over a large boulder. Aaren gritted his teeth as his sights centered on its single eye. The Guardian exhaled, forcing breath from his body and steadying his aim.

Aaren pulled the trigger.

The Fallen’s head exploded in a mix of yellow gore and brain tissue, splattering its comrades as the decapitated corpse fell sideways and into another’s arms, knocking aside the rifle it held. That one was next.

Aaren re-aligned his sights in an instant, firing again. The momentary lapse in concentration cost two more Fallen their lives, the high-impact pulse sniper’s rounds traveling cleanly through skin, muscle, and bone before entering another body. Then, the surprise was lost. From hundreds of meters away, Aaren clearly saw what passed for shock become replaced by ferocity on the Fallen’s faces as they scrambled for cover in the skeletons of an old Earth city. The Hunter took the opportunity to pick off three more before they began to return fire- only in his general direction, and never accurately, but the fact of the matter was that as long as they advanced, the hilltop on which Aaren laid quickly lost strategic value.

 Talon fired a few more shots before collapsing the sniper and clipping it to his back, pushing himself upwards and into a crouch before he raced back into the browned tall grass behind him, leaving no trace of his passing but the swaying of the reeds. The Hunter had seen enough, gotten all the information he needed to. Before he’d left, he’d watched as at least a hundred Fallen swarmed from the ruins of the old Earth town. They would try to find him, he knew, but in the end, to no avail. Aaren glanced at the setting sun, sending its last rays of bloody light on the ruined landscape where once civilization had walked, and knew that while the numbers were not in his favor, the night was on his side.

The Fallen eventually gave up searching for him, returning to their camp after a few hours. The Hunter guessed that they would still maintain an alert, possibly using patrols to ensure their boundaries weren’t breached. Aaren rose from where he had been, buried under a foot and a half of yellow-white vegetation, his near-black cloak shedding bits of straw and grass. Overhead, the moon hung silent, a spectral phantom hidden beneath clouds of gray, shining only the barest light over what had been Britain. And so, as the creatures of the night whispered in their own tongue, Aaren became what the Guardians had made him- a Hunter, master of shadows.

He’d been right. A single patrol of three Fallen walked next to the hill he’d been on top of, weapons held at the ready.

They’re expecting me.

The Guardian gave a grim smile from where he crouched, shoulders pressing on the hard stone surface of a rock not twenty feet away. As the aliens passed on his right, Aaren reached both hands down to his hips, where two hand cannons were holstered. The Hunter stood as he drew them both, and two firing reticles materialized on his helmet’s HUD, turning red as he brought the weapons to bear on the Fallen.

Talon squeezed the triggers.

The patrol fell in an instant, pierced by high caliber sabot rounds. Aaren wasted no time in standing still, knowing that the roar of his revolvers would bring more Fallen running in only a few seconds- and if he had his way, only a few would get to the place of his ambush.

As the night stretched on, the Fallen forces gradually sent out more patrols in increasing numbers, scouting out the wide, lonely plains that surrounded the small town. Each time, more of the aliens fell- some from well-placed bullets, while others that went to investigate a strange noise never returned.

The Hunter hung motionlessly on the branch of a tree, draped in a straddling position with a long-bladed knife held in his right hand. Beneath him, five Fallen walked slowly, heads pressed to the stocks of their weapons. They took no chances in covering each sector of their small circle, taking in every movement.

            Except, that is, for the one above them. Aaren rolled off the branch, knife blade pointed down. When he fell on top of the first Fallen, it punched through the nape of its neck, into the back of the skull, and was then drawn out. Blasts of light whizzed through the night sky, the rough popping of automatic gunfire directed at the blur of movement in the midst of the Fallen.

            Aaren jumped, slashing the knife down and across, cleanly cutting open a Fallen neck before turning, whirling around the next alien and holding it as living body shield. Blood splashed to the ground as the Hunter stabbed the next one, pulling his knife up and outwards, and readied himself to take on the next target.

            And standing in front of him, two swords drawn, was a Fallen Captain. Aaren dropped the knife, instead reaching for his hand cannons. The first sword swung low, so the Hunter leaped backwards, then swerved to his left as the second chopped down… and straight into the Captain’s closed fist, the third arm making contact with his head as the fourth held him steady.

            Aaren reeled, his world spinning. The sniper he held kicked backwards as if in reaction to his pain, sending another Vex trooper backwards, down the hill it had climbed up, and to its death. Four more took its place.

The Hunter had been fighting for some time now, killing and killing until the world seemed only to be his reflexes telling him to aim and shoot, aim and shoot- reload, and then continue in the deadly pattern. The time-traveling aliens had long since began to come in force, but up until now hadn’t been able to get any further than a few feet from the bunker. Aaren reloaded when he had time, doing his best to keep all his weapons ready to fire, but often failed to do so before the next wave of Vex crested the hill. Now, the situation had worsened.

As blood sprayed from his chest, it occurred to the Hunter that all it took was a single moment in which he lost concentration, just the smallest split second, and death would gladly take him. And yet, Talon felt no wish to die.

The iron doors of the bunker exploded inwards, spewing shards of molten iron into the air. Aaren had time to guess at the cause- possibly a rocket launcher- before he fell backwards, clutching at his newest wound, a bloody hole located just below the left side of his collarbone. The Guardian reached for his hand cannon, pulled the weapon from its holster in an uncoordinated spasm of limbs that seemed to sap his strength. Aaren was dimly aware of the fact that the Vex were going to pour into the breach in his defenses, and managed to put his back against the wall, feeling his body go numb. Pain suddenly seared his stomach.

The med-freeze is done, Aaren realized, and the wound’s open. Not much longer.

            As the first Vex entered the bunker, Aaren pulled the trigger. The armor piercing rounds he’d loaded took the first trooper down, its mechanical body crumpling in the door frame. Behind it, more Vex stampeded onwards, aware of the fact that their enemy was weak, near death, and in possession of the most important information the galaxy had ever seen. The Hunter coughed blood inside his helmet, tasting iron as he fired towards a Vex. A sniper round beamed past his head, into the darkness of the tunnels to the Guardian’s left. As more Vex fell, Aaren found the strength to bring his AR to bear, holding the weapon in his lap and squeezing the trigger. Hopelessness draped on his shoulders like a dark cloak. A Vex burst through the doors already firing, and Aaren felt a round go through his arm. The shock and dizziness of blood loss lost to the sharp pain of multiple injuries coming into play. The bronze alien fell just feet away from him. The doorway to the bunker began to be clogged with the sparking, smouldering corpses of Talon’s enemies, and yet more always came.

Why continue? A voice asked, insidious and venomous. Why fight, only to die like a dog? Better to simply let go now.

            Aaren could. The darkness closing around his vision was a comfort, a kindness to shut out the pain of the world.

The Fallen Captain’s foot snapped up, kicking the Hunter backwards and sending him flying. Harsh words in an alien tongue grated on his ears, even as Aaren’s vision returned to him with small flecks of black and red dotting the world around him.

            The Guardian dived for his knife- only to be met by another backhand, sending him flying back the other way. Somewhere along his contact with the tree he’d been lying in wait in and his drop to the hard earth below, his helmet cracked from top to bottom, a shard of glass falling out of the viewplate.

            Aaren’s limp frame was lifted into the air by two arms, pinioned at the shoulders while two more held swords which thirsted for blood. The Guardian swooned between states of consciousness, In only a few seconds, he’d be a headless corpse whose blood would water the ground. There was no way out, Talon realized. Better to give up; simply close his eyes and wait for the end.

            A throaty chuckle from the Fallen Captain, and the moment came.

            Cha’aren. A will to fight, to live. Never give up.

Aaren’s right hand lifted almost of its own accord, clutching a small spherical object, which the Hunter jammed into the Fallen Captain’s chestplate.

            Cha’aren.

             The Fallen Captain loosed him, using its bottom two arms to scrabble uselessly for the grenade Aaren had dropped in its armor. The Hunter fell, landed on his feet, and managed to scramble five feet away- all but forgotten- before the blast lifted him off his feet and propelled him three meters away. The Hunter laid there, prostrate on the grass, staring at the blue tatters of his cloak. He wouldn’t lose his will to live again. Not ever.

            Aaren’s eyes flickered open. The darkness that clutched at his vision receded. The Hunter mustered the last of his strength, and a single word lept to his mouth, his roar boosted to unnatural levels by his external speakers.

“Cha’aren!”  

Aaren reached to his belt, unclipped a grenade, and threw it from where he sat. It arced outside, over the pile of corpses in the doorframe, and into the enemy forces gathering on the hill, exploding with deadly force. The Hunter stood, roaring his defiance at the Vex aliens as he gripped his rifle once more, standing unsteadily with blood trickling in rivulets from his body. Overhead, something massive roared into orbit, blotting out the sun for a moment, but the man known to the world as Aaren Talon stood tall, a rock upon which waves of oncoming aliens broke.

           

Caren rode fate itself to victory. As she had entered the council chambers, it became known to her that the Council of Guardians had already intercepted a signal- a message that had come long before the distress beacon the two Warlocks had picked up- and, due to its contents, chose to block it off from transmission throughout The City.

            The female warlock brought her jaw back up, realizing she’d unconsciously allowed it to drop as she’d heard the transmission. A voice, deep and solemn, echoed through the Council meeting hall.

““The reliquary is opened by the prophet, the way is shown to the galaxy.”

            In front of her, a long semi-circle table curved around the chamber, three places evenly spaced in the raised structure, allowing a single representative from each Guardian class to tower over her. In the midst of the other two, a Titan sat, wearing a soft ceremonial robe that belied its owner’s combat prowess. The Titan, silver hair clipped short, gazed downwards at Caren through unclouded grey eyes.

“And so, Warlock Caren, we have been debating on what to do with this signal. It appears to be in the midst of a large Vex strike force- one we would have to dispatch if we were to gain the upper hand, and one with which we would be hard pressed to find the means to do so.”

Caren bowed her head respectfully. “This is true, sir. However, in light of our recent findings, and the transmission from Aaren Talon…”

A stony silence filled the room. Caren watched as the skin around the Hunter representative’s eyes tightened, the Elder giving a slight grimace. Before the Titan’s Elder could speak again, she cut into the conversation, her voice slowly gaining volume as she continued.

“Aaren Talon died years ago in the second battle for Marynx. After his squad betrayed him, attempted to kill him to save their own lives in what they saw as the end of the world, he was forced to put them down, rather than turn against them. His sacrifice in the conflict took the entire Hive contingent with him, and the interplanetary core itself was shattered. The detonation of the sub-satellite allowed Earth to mount the counterattack that saved The City, and you would mock him?”

Caren blanched in the face of the Huntress’ growing anger, feeling a bead of sweat roll from her forehead.

“Elder, I meant no disrespe-”

“Then perhaps, specialist Caren, you should think before you speak!” She snapped, eyes flashing.

“I was the one who trained Talon. I knew him, and cowardice was, is, and will not be included in the Hunter’s Creed. For him to willingly abandon our cause for any reason is nothing less than the opposite of what we strive for- what he died for. In fact, I saw him die- saw him crumple to the ground, bleeding to death because of his own fireteam, after he delivered the information on who had attempted to betray The City. When it came to light that it was his own team that had defected, he did not hesitate to do what was right. Leave a hero in his grace.”

It was a lesson every child knew, and the Warlock specialist allowed her head to hang. If judgment is to come from them, it is best not to anger them.

Finally, the Elder of her own faction lifted his head. The Awoken Warlock was surprisingly youthful, and the tenor of his voice portrayed the confidence with which he carried himself.

“With all due respect, Huntress Asaj,” he began, his words smooth and calming, “I believe you’ve allowed your personal attachment to Guardian Talon to cloud your judgment. If he is indeed alive, then he has important information for us, and as we all well know, it is impossible to fake a Guardian’s identification number.”

Caren gave the barest of smiles. Ah, the point on which I make my stand.

The Warlock Elder spoke of the single thing that held the identity of a Guardian- everything that they could possibly want to know about Talon would be contained within an ID number. The number would be transmitted with every distress call or high-security information drop made by a Guardian, and after it was verified by the Council Security servers, the number was immediately changed and threaded back to its owner. Combined with the mandatory ID code changes which occurred every two years, the number was nigh- impossible to guess or hack. It was even more difficult to obtain the number, as the actual code itself was contained in the neural overlays in each Guardian’s brain. If its carrier died, the neural overlay would immediately send a report of the Guardian’s last moments, status- sometimes importing the data to the Council itself- and then detonate, taking the ID code with it.

The interesting thing was, Aaren’s neural overlay never sent the footage of his last moments… or his ID. Most Guardians- and historians, for what it was worth- agreed that this was because the detonation of Marynx not only immediately killed the Hunter before the neural overlay could send the data,  but also disabled all transmissions in the nuclear fallout that had taken place directly after. There had been occasions- rare, though they might have been- that nuclear explosions had burned the connection long before the overlay had time to send. Radiation interfered with the connections as well-  all the more possibility that Talon had died.

And yet, Caren mused, the smile still tugging at the corners of her mouth, when the distress call was sent, it not only came directly to the Council of Guardians, but also delivered the ID number with it.

The rough voice of the Titan broke into the Warlock specialist’s reverie as he made his own point. “…The call is true, then we have every right to be concerned. I won’t play around here, Elders, if Aaren Talon is not only still alive, but also has information on the Traveler, we should head directly to the fight.”

A two on one verdict, then?

Asaj’s eyes narrowed on the Warlock specialist before her as if she’d heard the thought  herself. After several seconds of silence- the other Councilors glancing between the Warlock they’d admitted and the Huntress amongst their own ranks. The cold gaze of the elder Hunter caused a small winter to bloom within Caren’s stomach, icicles forming in her heart.

“Very well,” Asaj said, the apprehending gaze never leaving its target, “You may take a strike force. Find the man who sent this message. Bring him back unharmed. If he is lying, kill him. If there is no point in staying there- if it even resembles a trap- then you are to return. Enough Guardians have died. I do not wish for you to join them.”

Yeah, Caren thought, right. You’ve a funny way of showing it.

The events that had followed became a blur of motion, voices, and multiple contradictory thoughts. Was she correct? What if it wasn’t actually Talon?

And yet, here she was- aboard the command deck of a Hydra class Dreadnought, large enough to store hundreds of smaller fighters, dropships, and other vehicles. The City was now far behind them, and Caren’s strike force cruised smoothly over the Earth, covering thousands of miles in the space of minutes.

All the better to avoid any more attention. The Earth is hostile, after all. If we were to come under fire…

            Jay’s calm voice cut into her thoughts, its cadence reassuring. “Worried?”

Caren shook her head, staring straight ahead and through the glass viewport at the ship’s bow.

“Not at all.”

“Liar. You’re biting your lip again, just like you always do when you’re upset about something.”

The female Warlock grimaced before she gave her companion a single exasperated glance, crossing her arms and watching the crew members in the bridge go about their work. Hundreds of them, all sitting at small consoles and doing their assigned jobs, were spread out on either side of a large walkway that ran down the center of the room and to the commander’s hub, where a small faction of higher ranking members were directed by the ship’s captain- a tall, grey haired man with deep set brown eyes- Admiral Smith. Currently, his lips were pressed into a single grim line as he stared at a readout in one of the consoles.

A voice rang out from one of the crew consoles, tinged by the slight sharpness of fear. “Admiral! We’re approaching the site of the SOS signal, but our scanners aren’t showing their main force concentrated in that area!”

Smith spun on his heel, directing his attention towards the man who’d spoken up. “Then where are they?”

“Sir… a single capital ship and a cluster of smaller destroyers are located around a hilltop where an old earth bunker is located. The Vex troops are… in the thousands, sir. We can’t see the exact site; it’s covered in a treetop territory, but they’re dropping in through a clearing about a quarter mile south of there.”

“How far out are we?”

“We’ll be in range within the next ten seconds! Orders, sir?”

“Ignore the fleet, flatten the ground around that bunker. Destroy the Vex ground troops, order frigates Saturn, Sun’s Wrath, and Death’s Blade to attack the capital ship. As soon as you’ve done what I’ve asked, I want the remaining destroyers gone! We’re sending in a task force on the ground, keep the fire off of them.”

“Sir, if we ignore the capital ship, it migh-!”

“Do it, ensign!”

Aaren fell, gasping and groping at the walls, into the darkness below, feeling himself tumble down the stairs like a ragdoll. The pain of his body crashing into the hard stone around him barely registered. Instead, the Hunter yanked his hand cannon from his side, aiming and firing back up the stairs, towards the red glare of Vex eyes.

It won’t be long now. They’ve taken the bunker. But they can’t have it.

            Talon activated his helmet’s infrared and night vision capabilities, casting an eerie green light on his surroundings. Around him, another room opened up, wide and circular, completely empty- and with no exit. The Guardian absent mindedly wondered if, long ago, this had been the place’s command center, deep beneath the ground and safe from whatever attacks might have been thrown at it.

No longer.

            The Vex had forced him back from the entrance to the Bunker long ago, pressuring him into slowly losing ground as they backed him into a corner. His other weapons, ammunition spent, laid discarded in various rooms or littered along the stairways.

Aaren pulled the trigger once more, but was greeted only by the “click” of an empty weapon.

Then this is it. Stand, Hunter. And face death like a man.

            The Guardian groaned in pain as he forced himself up, staggering backwards and thudding heavily onto the wall. His hand acted of its own accord, griping a long knife that hung across his back and pulling it from its sheathe. Two feet long and wicked sharp, it boasted a recurved tip which tapered into a deadly point, and could easily be a short sword.

The first Vex came down the stairs, and Aaren roared as he swung his weapon, sending it crashing through the skull of the first trooper. The second was met with the hook’s tip, which cleanly pierced its single eye and sent the circuitry inside fizzing to death.

Then, coming into the room, Talon saw a Vex which, unlike the others, was a bright silver-gold, larger than most, and hefted a spear that crackled with electricity. Aaren would have cared, had he not been near death. The first stab from the trooper was a small feint that the Hunter attempted to block. His sword flew from his hand as the tip knocked his weapon from him, and the butt flew around to bash Aaren’s helmet, throwing the Guardian backwards and shorting out his HUD with a sharp “pop”.

The blackness of the bunker was overwhelming. Above him, he watched the red eye of the Vex leader grow closer, halting just above him. Aaren fought to move, but found that his muscles would not obey him.

Light. Blinding light. Multiple flashes of it, showing in nightmarish detail the Vex being torn to pieces by the sudden barrage of light. The silhouettes of humans, Guardians, entered the room, yelling. Aaren felt his cracked helmet be removed, heard a voice yell something incoherent, and then fell into darkness, allowing his body to slacken as it was lifted into the air.
______________________________________________________________________________

Caren watched as Jay picked the fallen Guardian up, her fellow Warlock nodding once when he was ready to move.

“Is it really him?” she asked, turning and running back up the stairs.

“Either him or his evil twin.”

The two bolted for the entrance to the bunker, the ground suddenly trembling beneath them. Caren emerged from the bunker to see a world in flames, a team of Guardians standing back to back as they fought off what was left of the Vex ground force. A dropship hovered on the ground, its bay door open. The comms system in Caren’s helmet crackled to life.

“Come on, Guardians! We’re almost out of fuel!”

The Warlock ran to safety with the rest of the fireteam, covering the last few steps until she could finally jump to the drop ship. The only one missing was Jay, who still struggled through the bunker. Caren took potshots at the Vex that were left, ensuring that her fellow Warlock would be safe. Far above, she saw a Vex capital ship explode in stitches of flame, gouts of smoke drafting through the clear blue sky.

If we don’t get out of here soon, the wreckage will hit us. Come on, Jay. Where are you?

            As if answering her thoughts, Jay appeared in the doorway of the bunker, the bloodied form of the Hunter in his arms. The tall Warlock ran as best he could with his burden, trudging towards the dropship, until after what seemed like ages, he, too, was on board.

The pilot gunned the engines before lifting off, the staccato of weapons fire still beneath them. On the deck, a medic administered to the man who they’d rescued- the man Caren couldn’t quite believe was Aaren Talon. His blood stained the floor, trickling from multiple wounds. Jay stared down at the helmet he held in his hands, dotted with spiderweb fractures in the viewplate and cracked down the right side.

“Will he make it?”

The medic looked up from the Guardian he was working on, concern written on his features. “Not sure. How he’s still alive, I have no idea. He’s sustained structural damage and blood loss like nobody I’ve ever seen before. But… he was carrying this.”

He produced a single white datapad, tossed it towards Jay, who caught it deftly in one hand.

Aaren’s eyes fluttered open.  The world around him was a blur, massive and nauseating. The Hunter shut his eyes and opened them again, noting the slight change in clarity. Eventually, as his vision cleared, sharpening into defined shapes, Talon remembered the events of his last mission.

Where am I?

            The Guardian took in his surroundings as best he could with his eyes, not daring to move his head. Above him, a sterile white ceiling- to his left, the still form of a human, looking intently at him.

“Aaren. We were expecting you to wake up soon.”

The voice that cut into his thoughts was cold and emotionless- almost to the point that the Hunter suspected the lack of emotion hid an overabundance of them. As such, Talon responded in kind, immediately sure of whom it was he spoke to, as well as how to reply. A warning bell rang through his mind. When he was sure that neither his voice nor his body would betray him, he managed to twist his head to his immediate left.

Three people sat on a large couch which curved around his hospital ward, making a semi-circle of sorts. On his left, a large glass window overlooked The City. The first two, he had no recollection of meeting, though they were clearly Guardians. The third…

“Huntress Asaj. How pleasant to see you again.”

            The councilor looked near exactly the same, untouched by time except for the slight lines formed above her brow, marking the troubles and stress she had taken on with the role of becoming the head of her chosen faction. As usual, her eyes seemed to bore through his skull, intensely serious in their diagnosis of the sights taken in, never missing a detail. Aaren met her gaze evenly, betraying no feeling in his own expression as he contemplated his next action.

No weapons. Too weak to risk hand-to-hand, and even then…

            Asaj was the perfect Huntress. She’d been around long before Talon had even been enlisted in the Guardians, and even as a Councilor she took her own missions. Safety and comfort were for those less inclined to lead.

In fact, she’d been Aaren’s role model for a while, personally mentoring him, ensuring his survival on several occasions.

            Aaren squeezed the trigger of his long rifle once more, feeling the numbing kick of the rifle against his shoulder as another Hive fell to the ground. Without warning, a blaze of fire streaked through a hellish red-orange sky and over his head, giving the Hunter cause to duck into the protection of the trench he knelt in. Aaren allowed himself the barest of smiles as he realized that backup had arrived. Around him, the corpses of Guardian and Hive alike were littered in the trench- to those who were still alive, the Fireteam Leader gave a single motion which set them scrambling out of the trenches and towards safety.

            The Guardian glanced back up just in time to see another alien leap eight feet into the air and come crashing down on top of him. His weapon torn from his hands, Aaren made no attempt to reach for his knife, instead jabbing savagely at the head of the Hive which now straddled him. Serrated teeth barred, the skeleton-like alien caught the Hunter’s fist and forced it back to the earth- directly on top of his other fist- and lifted one clawed hand to tear the Guardian’s throat out.

            Foreign blood spattered Aaren’s viewplate as a single round pierced the alien’s head and displaced globules of black-green brain tissue. The downed Guardian shoved the Hive corpse off of himself and stood, vaulting over the side of the trench and running weaponless save for his hand cannon towards the origin of the shot- an Albatross class troop transport, its side bay open. Asaj, wearing the distinctive gold-tinted pauldrons of a Councilor’s armor, stood ready with a rifle in hand. Before him, multiple Guardians knelt and fired short, controlled bursts at any alien foolhardy enough to show itself- some from Aaren’s Fireteam, others part of the Praetorian Guard, those who protected the Council. The nose cannon of the Albatross swiveled around to provide Talon with withering cover fire.

            Asaj greeted Aaren warmly, her black hair blowing in the wind behind her. Forgoing any formalities, the Huntress Councilor immediately granted him a rare smile and motioned him closer, clapping him on the shoulder with one hand.

“Alright, Talon. Do you have the intel?”

            The Hunter nodded once, reached to his belt to pull a small datapad out, and handed it to Asaj.

            So many died for that. And yet, perhaps, worth it.

Several months prior, Aaren had been operating in the Marynx system and found evidence of some sort of alien-human cooperation, leaked information. The Hive had attacked Earth in force soon after, swarming The City by the millions. The casualty levels had long since ceased to be tracked. Since then, Asaj had been directing him personally, ensuring his success in finding the traitor. It had all led up to this mission- the infiltration of the Hive-controlled Marynx planet and the retrieval of a downed Fireteam’s information. According to the brief, they’d begun to send a transmission- top priority, no less- to the Council, but had mysteriously lost signal in the heart of a Hive base. Aaren had been sent to find their evidence and bring it back.

            As the datapad was handed off, Aaren saw Asaj’s expression change minutely. Sorrow entered her features.

            “How many casualties?”

            Aaren grimaced. “Six men down. But the charges are planted in the planetary core- we need to get off this rock before the planet explodes.”

            Asaj nodded. “I’m sorry. Have you seen the intel?”

            Aaren shook his head, gestured at the pad. “Too heavily encrypted, needs Council approval.”

            Asaj grimaced. “Right. Aaren?”

            The Fireteam Leader cocked his head. “Ma’am?”

            “I’m sorry.”

            Aaren didn’t have time to draw his weapon- Asaj was too fast. The Councilor dropped her rifle, primed her own hand cannon, and discharged it into his stomach. To his right, he saw his Executive, Ren, bring her rifle to bear- before she, too, was shot- once in the head. Aaren registered the faint color distortion of irradiated rounds. The Praetorian Guard dispatched of his Fireteam in seconds. Talon was faintly aware of falling backwards and onto the blood-soaked soil. Asaj bent, rummaged through his supplies, and drew forth a detonator- the detonator that controlled the charges set within the Hive base dug deep into the core of Marynx. For a moment, she looked at the Guardian, a simple gaze of deep sorrow.

“You and your team are now public enemies, Aaren. Such is the reward for bartering with the Hive.”

The man to whom she spoke coughed blood onto the inside of his helmet, the action racking his entire frame. Still, he managed to twist his mouth into the forms necessary to speak. His left hand writhed uselessly at his side, pulsing into a fist.

“Why…? I didn’t… you…know…”

Asaj nodded. Behind her, the Praetorians entered the transport. “I know, Aaren. And because you deserve to know, I’ll tell you this: though you may die an enemy in the eyes of The City… you live as a hero for those who will come. We will never forget your sacrifice. Not like they will.”

 She then returned to the Albatross, and the transport was gone within seconds.

            The confusion in Aaren’s mind muddled his thoughts, made it hard for him to see straight or put together a coherent idea. It would only take minutes for the Albatross to make it out the range of Marynx’s blast.

            Aaren’s left hand unfurled.

            The ship lock fell from his open palm. Somewhere overhead, the continuous whir of a ship grew closer.

            Talon had never been one to follow the rules. They were there for the purpose of bending, and he’d always found it useful to bring along his own personal fighter, the King of Spades. Nobody had ever known- not his fireteam, not the Council. Talon made his own way for his own reasons. The transport was fast- faster than an Albatross.

            Aaren forced himself up, crawled over to the body of his lieutenant. Ren’s face wasn’t visible through the viewplate, but Aaren reached to the back of the helmet and removed a small chip. His elbows buckled as he found what he was looking for in her pack- a med kit.

            The Hunter barely made it to his ship- was only just able to punch in the coordinates of another planet and bandage his wound before he fell unconscious.

            When he woke up, the world had changed.

            Marynx had exploded, and with it, his squad’s legacy had vanished. The broadband updates from the Council told him all he needed to know: he had became a hero, while his squad had been the source of a betrayal of The City. He had killed them, and they had caused his death. Asaj gave her most heartfelt commendation of Talon.

            The Hunter removed the chip he’d taken from Ren’s helmet- a systems diagnostic which auto-ran every five seconds. As Aaren suspected, entirely fried. The irradiated rounds which the Praetorian Guard were using had fried all suit systems- meaning the final Guardian tag was also out of the question. No proof remained except Asaj’s word.

            On the surface of Old Pakistan, Aaren destroyed the King of Spades. As he wandered the ruins of Old Earth, Aaren constantly replayed the events of what had happened. Constantly pondered why it had happened. Until he came upon the only solution he could.

            “We will never forget your sacrifice. Not like they will.”

            Aaren considered the phrase his every waking moment- until he knew the exact ramifications.

            Asaj was his betrayer. And she’d played him for a puppet.

Aaren motioned to the two Guardians at his side, backpedaling for time to figure out some semblance of a strategy.

“So… who are you?”

The first, the taller of the two, stepped forward. “I’m Jay, this is Caren. We’re… specialists in the Warlock faction. We were the ones who found your distress beacon.”

The shorter of the pair shook her head before elbowing Jay. “That’s rubbish, and you know it. If it were up to Mister Apathy, here, you’d be dead.”

Talon blinked once, eyes focused intently on their faces. “It might have been better off that way.”

Asaj shook her head before patting Aaren’s shoulder. “Nonsense. What all do you remember, Aaren?”

The Guardian recoiled at her touch, looked her in the eye. There, he found nothing but a cold, calculating stare that picked apart every minute fiber of his being.

“I remember everything.”

Asaj stood.

Aaren knew what would happen next.

One second.

            Asaj reached behind her back, the two Warlocks didn’t notice anything. In his head, Aaren cursed their complacency, even as he threw aside his bedsheets, tensing his body for the spring.

Too slow.

            Aaren leaped at Asaj with a roar, screaming his defiance. Yet the gun was in her hand now, drew from her back holster and pointed solidly at the Warlocks.

One shot was fired before Aaren made contact with the Councilor.

Caren’s head vanished in a spray of blood. Jay, still in his original position, only then caught up with the events at hand.

The gash in Aaren’s side opened up with a meaty rip as the Hunter swung his fast at Asaj. The fist was caught, twisted, and the gun Asaj held was pointed at Aaren. Talon kicked the Councilor in the throat, waited for the reaction, and used his left hand to strip the gun away, tossing it behind him.

Asaj’s vengeance was not long in coming. The gunshot wound in his stomach was hit, followed by a solid punch to the face and an elbow to the side of the head.

Aaren fell like a cut tree, smashing into the floor. Asaj lifted her foot, and Aaren knew with finality that he had failed.

Asaj’s chest rocked forth, then back. A single hole appeared in her Councilor’s robes. Jay dropped the weapon he’d picked up, and fell to the floor, tears streaming from his eyes. Aaren ignored him temporarily and watched as Asaj slid backwards, leaning on a wall. As her back slid down it, a track of smeared red was left behind.

Aaren sat up and watched Asaj slump to the ground across from him. Years of emotions bombarded him, and yet he knew only one question to ask.

“Why?”

Asaj looked up, her face- still beautiful- twisted in pain. She knew of what the Hunter spoke- of Marynx.

“Because… we are doomed… to fail. The Hive… the Fallen… they offered me a trade. The information… for a small… small society.”

Aaren lost his composure in an instant, his reply flecking the Councilor’s face with spittle. “You betrayed everything we stand for!”

She smiled serenely. “It was… you were… the hero. The founding pillar of our society. It would have been… beautiful. It was… is… the only way… to preserve humanity.”

Aaren growled from deep in his throat, his eyes flashing with the dangerous power of a storm. “How many.”

“Of us? Too many. You’re lost, Aaren. You have lost.” Suddenly, she screamed in pain.

“End it, Talon!”

Of course.

            She had brought irradiated rounds once more. To prevent the neural overlays of all three Guardians from sending. One more necessary evil. The rounds caused extreme pain to their targets by nature.

Aaren snapped her neck with single, definite twist. He felt no satisfaction in doing so. In fact, he felt nothing except a cold void. The Hunter pushed the corpse of the Councilor off him, sat back against the bed. Behind him, he was faintly aware of sobbing.

So that was why. Asaj has a following. Those who believe that they’ll be spared in return for the information. What else are they leaking? Who else is it?

Jay cradled what was left of Caren in his arms, waited for hospital security to arrive.

Aaren looked out the window of the ward. The City stretched out far and wide before him. But what caught his eye was a large, gigantic, solitary statue. One that stood, chin up and staring to Aaren’s left, directly before the hospital plaza.

Aaren looked directly at his own face.

His statue.

At its feet, a base of bronze bore an inscription. The Guardian blinked once as he began to read it. Suddenly, he stopped. He had read the inscription before, in many different places. He knew the inscription by heart. As he felt the shock fade away, registered his blood dripping to the floor, as his sight faded away, he mouthed it once more.

And this is the Hunter’s way,

            to live unchained,

            to die free,

            for glory gained,

            and that to be.