Enjoy! and you know who you are, but the one that keeps down voting my stuff kindly leave a reason. I am always open to suggestions for improvement. But i can't adjust anything if you don't tell me why you don't like my writing. [b]Some Time After Crota’s End [/b] A comet sailed through the darkness, its blue and white light ablaze with exotic and alien fire. It modestly hurled through the void, arching slightly along a wide axis of orbit. From the darkness, a slow a metal casket lit up alongside the comet. Despite the massive size and gravity of the comet, the Dreadnaught pulled the cosmic entity toward it quickly and violently. Colliding with a plate, the comet exploded into a furious fire of gas and ice shards. The black chiton plating of the Dreadnaught remained, barely creaked. The threshold of the ship was clouded in a translucent haze. Piles of ancient bone littered the floor while pools of manifest darkness incubated Light Eater Ogres. Tro’orox hung his head low, humbled and in reverence. The Knight was silent as it approached the massive outlook into the void. Six Knights stood before him as the Wizard sisters, Ir Anuk and Ir Halak led him forward. Two Knights, The Vessel and Estchar, Sword of Oryx, he knew well. Ascendant Hive with worms far more powerful than his. The Light Eater Knights, simply drones, protected this realm alongside the others. The haze thickened as rumbling echo reverberated across the hall. “Knight,” Oryx commanded, his voice shaking the bones and rippling the pools. “I am unworthy my king!” Tro’orox fell to his knees. “Rise Knight, and gaze upon my magnificence.” “Liege,” Tro’orox slowly raised his head. “Tell me,” Oryx said. “How did you define your existence?” “I was born of a lesser brood, mere descendant of Xol spawn. The Brood Mother instructed me that I was Tro, but my worm was special. It fed on the erasure of existence. As my worm fed and grew, it desired more. A hunger unfitting of simple Thrall, then Acolyte was insufficient.” “Knight,” Oryx interrupted. “Why does your worm hunger for such destruction?” “My king,” Tro’orox held his tongue slightly. “If… if I may be so bold. My worm does not seek destruction. Death lacks a desirable taste for my worm. It feeds by erasing very existence itself. Domination of the body, decimation of the being, and death of all. The Wizard above me adorned me with the honor of Orox.” “Curious, Tro, I am familiar with this. An ancient denomination for hunter. Orox the existence. A hunter of existential being.” “A name I adopted with fortitude my king –” “Silence!” Oryx shot. “Knight, you’ve adopted nothing!” Tro’orox fell back down averting his eyes shaking in his armor. “Stand Knight,” Oryx demanded. “Stand before your king and master!” He complied breathing deep slowly accepting, in his mind, imminent death. “You did not adopt a name, you embodied it. Countless slaughtered in such a manner my Sword was impressed.” Tro’orox stopped, petrified. “True, not every Hive is given right to be Hallowed. Fewer given chance to Ascend. Hated, is a lone title.” Tro’orox eyes widened. “Become my judgment, exercise my adjudication over the dark and the light. Become my instrument.” “My king!” Tro’orox reveled. “It would be no greater honor or pleasure than to serve under your given title. “Then travel to my dead son’s realm. Claim it for the Hive before my arrival. Become, The Hated.” [b]Present Day [/b] The church sat empty atop a hill far outside the city, but within the walls. Lorelei pushed open the doors, the heavy wood creaking on its own weight. Echoes resounded in the long hall and flecks of dust hovered in the air. Light of day gently warmed the building and colored the ground through stained glass. Thick vines covered in seductive crimson roses deceptively hid the sharp thorns along the stems. Lorelei took in the old forest smell. Walking toward the podium, she took a seat in the pew a few rows short of the front. Fleeting memories scurried around her mind as she bathed in the light. Her black and red dress absorbed the light warming her body. “Are you Lorelei Fletcher?” a disrupting voice called behind her. “Who wants to know?” she inquired agitated. “Emissary to the Queen, I am here to give you a message.” The awoken guard stood at attention momentarily before walking forward. Pulling an envelope from her satchel, the emissary turned it over to Lorelei. “How did you find me?” Lorelei asked taking the envelope. “Variks, The Loyal, instructed me.” The Awoken bowed once more before transmaterializing from the church. Lorelei opened the summons. Why does the Queen want to see me? She thought to herself. *** An icy mist floated through the scattered rocks and debris of the asteroid belt. The local stars reflected off the celestial haze as shades of deep blue. There was a warmth among the rocks, the last place the light touched. Beyond the Reef was a dark space, a void of shadows and giants. Lance slowed his approach maneuvering around the husk of a giant bulbous ship. The remnant of the Golden Age was stripped clean and used for parts long ago. “I wonder if the Queen gives hugs,” Charlemagne fluttered about the cockpit. “It’s been ages since we’ve seen her.” “Don’t expect much,” Lance said slowly arching his ship away from a cluster of rock. “Just don’t be a dick.” “For your benefit or mine?” Lance laughed as the Charlemagne’s blue eye turned a shade of pink. The Reef came into view. Docking lights highlighted a safe path into the bay, and Lance let go of the controls once the tractor beam took over. It pulled his ship into an open space, and he transmatted to the Vestian Outpost. He raised a brow at the bustling movement of the Queen’s guards and scouts. Petra was dictating movements and checking over multiple holopads. Lance waived to Master Ives as he hurried through the bustle of Awoken, summons in hand. “Present summons,” the guard drone demanded. “Here,” Lance held up the paper. “You may pass.” Lance entered the throne room. Vast lengths of crimson banners clung to the ceiling and walls. A Kell’s throne, taken from an unknown Ketch, sat center stage, empty. “Oh no,” Charlemagne started. “She isn’t here.” “Still trying for that hug?” “Yes, but I also have no desire to speak with her brother either.” “True.” “Petra tells me you did not accept my gracious gift,” a voice echoed through the room. A young Awoken stepped around the back of her throne followed by Vandal guards. “Your grace,” Charlemagne announced a little too enthusiastically. “Lance… has a good reason.” He turned to Lance. “You do, don’t you?” “Suck up,” Lance whispered under his breath. “Well,” The Queen said taking her seat on her throne, and her guards standing at attention. “I’m listening.” “I’m not going to the moon, end of story.” “Lance,” Charlemagne nudged. “We agreed you wouldn’t be a dick.” “Why?” The Queen interrupted. “Does the reason matter?” “No,” The Queen mused. Her foxy grin and narrowed eyes cast a shadow along the ground. “What you think is simply a courtesy.”