Here's my entry. Don't have a place where this battle fits in. Perhaps it could be the Battle of Twilight Gap [spoiler]The vandal sat in the shade of the servitor, exhausted, weakened. The servitor was not too far from the battle, refreshing troops who had been weakened. The vandal sat next to two other in his pack, while the nearby dregs sharpened their blades and reloaded their pistols. The purple energy flowed into the vandal, giving him strength. Even with this energy, he was not sure he had the courage to take on the warriors of light that were bombarding his comrades with bullets and rockets less than a mile away. Only the sounds of far off billets and explosions could be heard, slightly muffled by the hum of the servitor. Suddenly, the noise began to get louder. In the distance, he heard a cry of retreat from a captain. The vandal stood up and readied his rifle. Over the ridge in front of him a wave of dregs and vandals appeared, many being cut down by bullets and tumbling down the ridge instead of climbing down it. The vandal's captain appeared on the ridge. The vandal began to head towards his captain, when a sniper round forced itself through the captain's head. His ether mask punctured, his neck dribbled ether, and his lifeless body fell, crushing a dreg. And then, an all too familiar sound. The hiss of a rocket flying through the air. The vandal looked up, and for a split second, the rocket seemed frozen in the air. The vandal noted the sleek design of death, the solar energy bubbling around the rocket, before it collided with the servitor right next to him. The purple energy from the servitor whirled in the the firestorm or the rocket. A sharp pain pierced the vandal's chest, before he was flung backward. The vandal craned his neck up from his position flat on his back to see the large piece of servitor metal sticking out of his chest. He sat in a pool of ether, but as he watched, something strange happened. The purple energy residing in the scrap metal began to seep into his body, surrounding him in a purple aura. This aura began to suck up the ether from the ground around him. The purple aura and the ether combined into a stronger force, and the power began to pull the piece of scrap metal fully into his body. The vandal screamed in pain as he became one with the metal, the servitor's energy, and the ether. But that pain was quickly replaced by a burning feeling. Not painful, but powerful. A pent up energy seemed to build up inside his chest. It wanted to burst out, but afraid of the self harm he might inflict, he tried to control it. A guardian approached. He must have heard the vandal's shrieks of pain, and came over with his hand cannon drawn to finish him off. The vandal stared at him and the guardian cocked the hammer on his hand cannon, and fired a single round into the vandal's chest. But the vandal didn't feel anything. He felt the energy beginning to burst out of his chest. A smile crept across his ether-splattered face as the energy burst out of his chest and consumed the guardian's light. The vandal felt the immense power of the guardian transfer to him. When the transfer was over, the vandal stood up and looked down at the now lifeless shell of the guardian. The vandal noticed an inscription on the guardian's chest plate: his name. The vandal bent closer, and from the guardian's language language was able to piece together a broken name: Randal. -------- Commander Zavala walked through the the dead fallen, surveying their bodies and assessing the battle report. He turned a corner in time to see a vandal jump off a cliff, heading in the direction of the Forgotten Shore. Zavala dismissed it, as one vandal was surelyu not a threat. If only Zavala knew at the time how much he would regret that thought.[/spoiler]