Calling on the Arc-light was dangerous, as dangerous as any fancy Warlock Void-work. To invite the storm into your veins was to dance with death. Guardian or not, the body could only take so much. He had seen Hunters become addicted to the power until it tore them apart from the inside. It was not to be taken lightly. “Fine work,” the Titan grunted behind him, mounted aboard the Nomad. “If a little…flouncy.” “It does not surprise me that the concept of elegance escapes you,” Verloren grunted. “And you’re welcome, by the way.” “I know you could have left me,” the Titan replied in a more serious tone. “You did not. Perhaps my comments about honour were spoken out of turn.” “They weren’t,” Verloren assured him. “The day you rely on my honour is the day you die surprised and disappointed Titan. Mark me.” The darkness in his own voice surprised him. He had spoken the words almost as a threat. Did it wound him so greatly to be mistaken for a man of his word? Was it shame that stoked his anger? “Let’s get out of here,” he said. A terrible war-cry echoed through the corridors nearby, a thunderous roar like some ancient dragon roused from slumber to find its horde plundered. “The Kell,” growled Tyr. “Let’s get out of here now,” Verloren said. The Titan thundered through the corridors, fury seething through his circuits. It burned him to run, it was a disgrace to retreat and to leave his brothers and sisters unavenged. He could see them in his mind: little Awen who was so young to be in a war. Mighty Draxx-9, his battle-brother, who laughed as hard as he fought and feared no man. Clever Uriel Muldoon, whom everyone called ‘Muldy’ much to his annoyance. Stern-faced Karliyah, ace pilot and fearsome leader, whose one true love was her hand-cannon, whose name was Cry Vengeance and whose thunder meant death to all servants of the Darkness. Their shades haunted him with disappointed eyes and open wounds. Why do you run, Tyr? Where is your honour? Why do you not avenge us? Did we mean so little to you? He saw again the Fallen Kell, towering over them, swinging a monstrous two-handed shock-blade. From the handle hung finger-bones on strings. About his neck with a necklace made from the teeth of butchered Guardians. He remembered freshly how he had frozen in fear and shame burned him to the core. Anger quickly brought shame to heel and the Titan’s massive hands balled into big metal fists. The doors to the yard had been barricaded but he charged his way through, sending wood and metal splintering. The yard was choked with whirling dust. It tore at the crooked fences and the crumbling brickwork as though the desert had come alive and was determined to destroy the last semblance of civilization. Even Tyr-77, strong as he was, staggered sideways when the wind first hit him, raising a hand to part-shield the battered sensor array atop his head. “The Fallen will not follow us through this!” Verloren shouted over the roaring wind. He revved his Sparrow. He’d decided to keep it since it was so difficult to successfully summon them from their ships. Tyr-77 had still failed to retrieve his own Sparrow but he had a new plan. “Based on your descriptions of the layout of this place,” said Tyr’s Ghost. “This yard is the most likely area for storage of the Fallen vehicles.” “Find them,” said the Titan, simply. Verloren turned his Sparrow on the spot and tossed his grenade into the doorway of the building almost nonchalantly, catching a small squad of Dregs in the blast radius. They squealed as they died. “Here!” Tyr’s Ghost called through the dust. The Titan stomped off in that direction. “I am not certain the Nomad will be able to cope in these conditions,” Verloren’s Ghost warned. A screech of metal and a deep mechanical groan interrupted before the Hunter could answer. “Oh no…” Verloren said, recognising the sound with a sudden terrible weight in his gut. From out of the whirling sand a hulking shape emerged, shuddering with each colossal footstep. The fires from its engines burned bright through the storm and several bright lenses blinked into life on a vast metal face. The Walker trained its plasma cannon on him and he heard the whine as it began to charge. He didn’t stick around to see the blue glow of energy building around the barrel. Instead he turned and kicked the Sparrow into gear just as the Titan arrived on the back of a stolen Pike. He took one look at the looming Walker, fired off a couple of quick bursts from the vehicle’s shock cannons and wheeled around. Verloren didn’t need any more prompting. He sped into the storm. Beyond the scant shelter of the building, the storm was worse than he’d expected. The wind, loaded with sand and grit, tore at him from the side like a giant hand attempting to swat him. He couldn’t see even a foot in front of him. All he could do was pray that he didn’t fly straight off a cliff or into a boulder. He was sure the Titan on the Pike was somewhere close behind, though the roaring of the wind drowned out all engine noise. Every now and then, he thought he could hear the clanking of the King Walker and it only served to spur him on. They can’t follow us through this, he told himself. It’s not possible! The rocket proved him wrong. It slammed into a rocky outcrop just ahead with an explosion audible even over the wind. He felt the heat from the blast and the shockwave sent his Nomad spinning. The Pike crashed headlong into him and they both rolled out of control, straight over the unseen edge of a cliff. END OF CHAPTER TWO