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Choices in the Dark

By D. R. Grafius / Doran Eirok

The way it was told to me, our moon used to be something that inspired us. Drove us. One of the greatest accomplishments of our race in the time before the Golden Age began was to visit the Moon and safely return home. This we did entirely on our own, without the aid of the Traveller.

The Traveller's coming changed everything, of course. We expanded to colonise the rest of our solar system. We advanced our understanding of science by orders of magnitude, and learned to understand and work with the strange and wonderful energy the Traveller bestowed on our civilisation that we simply call 'Light.' The Golden Age that followed its coming was the brightest time our people had ever seen. The way it was told to me.

All things change.

That terrible, powerful force known to us only as the Darkness, some ancient enemy of the Traveller, and the armies following its call hit us hard. It knocked us down, pushed us back not only to Earth but behind the walls of a single city. the Last City. The Traveller's final sacrifice kept us safe behind those walls and still do to this day, but damaged it into dormancy. The only legacies we are left with are the Traveller's broken hulk hovering in low orbit over our city, as a reminder of what once was, and the lingering wisps of its Light that live on in the Ghosts; curious constructs of machinery and Light, guiding our living and searching among our dead for those it can reanimate as Guardians.

The Light is a powerful force, for it can indeed pull people back from death. Those who are brought back in this way become Guardians; warriors infused with the Traveller's Light, able to use it to protect, heal, and destroy. The Ghosts that act as our companions can even bring them back to life when killed in battle, not that it's a particularly pleasant experience. The last defence of humanity falls to us now. Titans, Hunters, and Warlocks. I am one of the latter, and my name is Deiran Vage.

I remember only flashes and emotions from the life I once led. They are distant echoes to me. I am curious about who I once was, and would discover more of it if I could, but from day to day there is enough turmoil to keep one occupied in the present. I scout the lands that have been taken from us by our enemies, and answer when the Vanguard calls upon us to defend key areas or eliminate important targets. And I end the lives of our enemies, with weaponised Light and with simple bullets.

Our enemies are myriad. The Fallen are a race of scavengers formed of once noble Houses, picking the bones of our civilisation on Earth and the Moon. The Vex are an army of robots, whose dark and confused purpose seems to span across mysteries of time and dimension in ways we've yet to fully understand. The Cabal are hulking brutes that make up a culture consisting of the most unstoppable war machine the galaxy has most likely ever seen. And there is the Hive.

I have been a Warlock for the better part of a year now and have learned much, but I have not learned a better way to describe the Hive than to call them a demonic force straight out of Hell. If pressed, I would not consider myself a believer in the idea of Hell, but for the existence of the Hive. They are monstrosities of a nature that I can only describe as pure evil, despite my scholarly nature usually pushing me to find more worthy explanations than that.

I have tried to understand the Hive better without any great success. All I can know for certain is that they repulse me and terrify me, as they should anyone with sense. So when an order comes down from the Vanguard to infiltrate a Hive temple and retrieve the knowledge and memories from a dead Ghost, and kill every Hive creature that stands in my way, it is an order I hurry to obey.

Thus did I find myself on the Moon, doing exactly as instructed. Many Hive thrall and acolytes had been disintegrated by the explosive orbs of void energy the Light enables me to hurl at them, and many more had been ended by my bullets shattering their shelled bodies.

I had with me a reliable scout rifle issued to me by the Vanguard for past successes, and a long sniper rifle I had once found in the wilds of Old Russia. I suspect it had originally been forged by the Vanguard, and then modified extensively and repainted by the immensely capable technicians at Dead Orbit. As factions went I didn't share all their views, but I never turned down a chance to play with their toys. Both weapons had served me long and well in the past and were continuing to do so on this day.

The initial surge of Hive when my Ghost and I breached the temple doors was intense, but they all fell before me. Continuing into the temple, my progress remained smooth. There were many shadows and pillars to seek cover behind, while the large open area in the chamber's centre left long sight lines to which my rifles were well-suited. In a matter of minutes I was certain I had felled the last of the warriors, and only the wizard presiding over the dark place should be left, skulking somewhere in the deeper shadows. Back by the altar where my Ghost confirmed our objective lay.

It was then that I made my mistake.

I knew of the wizard deeper in the temple, but I thought she was the last enemy there. I missed the two knights. Hive heavy warriors, big and armoured, who liked to work with either grenade launchers or massive swords. They must have been hiding in a shadowy nook I'd missed, or come out of a side passage behind me.

I was shouldering my scout rifle to take aim at the wizard when the grenade blast impacted right behind me. It knocked the wind out of me and threw me forward, overloading my shielding. Before I could regain my balance the second knight struck, this one catching me in the stomach with his sword. There was a sickening crack as my world erupted in pain, and I fell to my knees. That blow was swiftly followed up with a sharp kick to my face.

I found myself sprawled on my back, my weapon having skittered away out of reach somewhere and my brain and lungs both failing to keep up with events. Before I could even begin trying to right myself, both knights were looming over me and stomping their armoured feet down on my arms to hold me in place. While Warlocks don't tend to armour ourselves as heavily as our Titan brethren, my left arm still had the benefit of a reinforced pauldron. The knight's foot pinning that arm did only that, his claws grinding against the metal. My right arm however was less fortunate. There, the stomp ground deeply into my arm with enough force to break bone. This time I had just enough air in my lungs to scream.

The knights held me there firmly, and when my awareness next cleared the wizard was hovering just above me. Her scaly claws began to glow with whatever unholy mockery of light animates the Hive, and with a deliberate, almost delicate slow care she pressed her claws into the armoured material of my coat, and then into my flesh beneath it. Whatever that glow was, it made her claws slice easily through my armour and my body, searing their way downward.

With an agonising slowness, she shredded the front of my torso open, tearing away first my coat and then my body. There was an almost surgical care about the way she did it; it was not the rending of a wild, feral animal, but the practised delicacy of a scientist dissecting a rare specimen. The intention seemed to be more borne out of curiosity than sadism; the fact that it was such a horrific torture was merely a secondary perk to the creature. Tearing my body wide open seemed to only be the beginning, as she then began to slowly pull out the contents one by one.

All of these thoughts were processed and considered by some deep and detached core within me; a calm, immensely rational and scholarly space. whatever part of me it is that made me best suited to become a Warlock, I suspect.

The rest of my awareness and being, and by far the greater part of it, was screaming in absolute agony until I had no breath with which to scream, writhing desperately under the scaled feet of the knights and the searing claws of the wizard. My world dissolved into nothing but pain and horror. And the deliberate care with which the wizard performed the dissection on me made the experience last I know not how long. There was only the pain and the abject terror, and I knew nothing else until some immeasurable time later it faded to darkness.

***

It was cold, and black, and impossibly peaceful after what I had just endured. Just for a moment. Then there was a pulse of Light and reality snapped back to me as my Ghost brought me back, reshaping the Light that sustained him and I both and depositing my body, whole and reborn once more, beside one of the large rock formations outside the temple door.

I cried out and huddled against the rock, tucking my legs up close to me and wrapping my arms around my stomach. The memory of her scaled claws inside me and tearing me to pieces was hauntingly fresh. I huddled there, panting heavily and trying to process the knowledge that I was healed and whole again, that my body was intact and safely encased in my pressurised armour once more.

It took a little time. My Ghost waited, recognising that I needed a few moments, before finally speaking.

"I have a transmat link established with the ship, if you wish to abort the mission. I would not think less of you if you decided to do so. You could return to the Tower, rest and recover and wait for the fear to subside."

I considered it. Very strongly. I was a wreck. I'd been dead before, of course, several times, but usually by weapons fire or a plasma explosion of some sort. It hurt of course, a lot, but my Ghost always could bring me back and I'd carry on. This however was totally different. I'd never been through something like this; not just the pain, but everything about the manner in which it was inflicted upon me was horrifying and malicious in a completely new way. When the Fallen or the Cabal killed you, it was war. The Hive was something fundamentally different. Something that challenged your philosophy, and made you believe maybe there truly was such a thing as Hell, as demons, as pure and absolute evil. Everything about them went past simply being 'the enemy' and deep into being simply 'wrong,' no matter what metric you used or what perspective you came from.

I had a much deeper appreciation for this fact now.

My Ghost let me mull this over for a moment, before continuing. "Or, you could stand up, reload your weapons, march back in there and end that monstrosity. Then when you go back to the Tower you'll be able to do so knowing that you don't need to hide and wait for your fear to subside. You'll know that you rose up and conquered it."

I didn't say anything. Didn't even react for a few more moments, just taking in his words and absorbing them. And then I smiled. We were linked so closely, my little Ghost and I, through that strange bond we shared through resurrection and the Traveller's Light. He knew me through and through, and he knew exactly what I needed to hear right then. Thinking back, I'm convinced that his words, his exact words and at exactly that moment, were what made all the difference in the choice I made then and how I've developed as Guardian since.

I stood up. I inspected and reloaded my scout rifle, my Ghost having used the transmat to recover it when he restored my body. I then slung it across my back, pulling out my sniper rifle and making sure its clip was full. I gave my Ghost a single nod, turning and striding out from behind the rock and climbing the steps to the temple.

Inside, on the far side of the main chamber, I could see both knights and the wizard. They stood more or less still, perhaps frustrated that my Ghost's restoration of my body had robbed them of their new toy. They hadn't seemed to realise that I might be coming back.

Bracing myself against the door of the temple, I raised my sniper rifle and sighted down the scope at the back of the wizard's head.

***

Three sharp cracks of thunder echoed in the temple.

The first bullet shattered the protective shield the wizard had gathered around her. The second penetrated the side of her head as she turned toward me, lodging deep in her skull and triggering a shriek of pain and rage. The third exploded through her face, cutting off that shriek abruptly as the damage found whatever dark core qualified as her life force and shattered it.

Her form went abruptly limp and fell to the ground, suddenly so much dead weight of rag and bone and dust, as the release of dark energy ignited the fragmenting remains. Within seconds, nothing was left of the horror but smoke and embers.

The two knights were slow to comprehend what had just happened, leaving me ample time to throw a scatter grenade between them. They dove to either side with a roar, and the explosion left them disoriented and damaged enough that finishing both of them off with a few rounds from my scout rifle was a simple matter.

The temple was quiet. Not wanting to be caught out again I scanned the corners and shadows carefully as I returned to the altar, keeping my weapon at the ready. Equally cautious, my Ghost scanned the chamber several times before finally speaking. "That's it, we're all clear."

I sighed. I wouldn't let myself relax completely until we were back on the ship, but the danger seemed to be past now. I collected the dead Ghost we'd come here for, holding it up while my own transferred over the last lingering sparks of data and Light from its remains.

"I've got it. Let's go home." I nodded my agreement, relaxing while my Ghost activated the ship's transmat and teleported us both back to it. From there it was a simple and familiar matter to break out of lunar orbit and start the short jump back to Earth.

I relaxed in the pilot's chair, pulling off my helmet and then closing my eyes. Dying was never pleasant, even if it was a frequent occupational hazard of being a Guardian. Even so, the experience I'd just endured was one I imagined would stay with me a long time.

I had to smile to myself, though. If I'd chosen differently... if I'd turned and fled, abandoning the mission and running back to the Tower to hide and feel sorry for myself, it might or might not have made a difference in the larger scheme of our struggle against the Darkness. The importance of the dead Ghost's memories were something the Cryptarchs and the Vanguard would have to discern. Right now I had only the more personal significance of my choice to go on, and that was noteworthy. I had faced the Darkness. Not the massive, all-consuming evil that knocked us from our Golden Age and damaged the Traveller into dormancy, but a much more personal face of it. Something primal and intimate; a deep and crippling terror that all animals know in their core. I had faced it, been swallowed and owned by it... and I had come out the other side, still able to find my courage and determination, and still able to finish my mission.

There were some enemies I would face that would be too much for me. There were missions I would have to abandon, battles I couldn't win on my own. But I was now certain that in the future, if I ever had to make that decision, it would not be my own fear that chose the path for me.