The storm that shrouded the Red Legion’s invasion finally dispersed as the second day began. Guardians that remained put up fights, futile efforts; harvesters deployed headhunters atop skyscrapers and warships continued to bombard The Last City. Houses collapsed, shops and restaurants burned, hope dwindled. In ten hours, the last bastion of humanity turned to ruin. Dawn had finally returned; the rays of the sun first fell onto [i]The Immortal[/i], then the Traveler felt the warmth.     “Dominus,” a voice declared. Ghaul turned from his viewport to the Cabal that dared enter his chambers--Consul. “The barrier worked just as I said it would, construction of the cage will commence soon. The City is yours, and soon, the planet. You have upheld the Red Legion's status, and once again proven why you--not Calus--were meant to be emperor. It is time, Ghaul, to follow in our tradition. Shall we set foot on our newly annexed soil?”     “Indeed, old friend,” Ghaul’s voice thundered in the chamber. “But first, I wish to visit ‘The Tower’.”     “As you command, Dominus.” The two hulking Cabal walked out of the bridge of Ghaul's ship and walked to the hanger.     Ghaul, Consul, and two Blood Guard stepped off of a harvester. The previously pristine plaza of the Guardians’ home was anything but: craters riddled the ground, and oil and blood filled them up; weapons and bodies were scattered about, both human and Cabal; debris covered any location previously unscathed. The Traveler was Ghaul's goal, but the destruction of this monument was his delite. A Blood Guard took a rod and handed it to the Consul, who then passed it to Ghaul. The Dominus thrust the shaft through solid concrete, but not before it pierced the body of a fallen titan. Once the pole was in place, the banner of the Red Legion unfolded and swayed in the wind.     “If I may--why here?” Consul asked.     Ghaul looked at three nearby pillars. “Records state the entire arsenal of every Guardian are stored in these… computers. Matter converted into data. I want psions down here to discover how that is possible.” Consul gestured to the Blood Guard to call down a harvester as requested.     A series of grunts and groans caught Ghaul's attention. He spun around to see a man in a white robe crawling over slabs of concrete. “A survivor. I'm impressed,” the Dominus stated as he picked up the man by his skull. The man wore an iconic symbol on his robe, and a mask custom made for him. “You bear the Traveler’s sigil?”     The Speaker growled as he looked at the Cabal. His disgust was enough to say everything he was thinking.     “You will get to stay aboard my ship,” Ghaul said as he threw the man at a Blood Guard. “Prepare him for [i]The Immortal’s[/i] atmosphere,” he ordered.     “As you command, Dominus,” the Blood Guard replied. They took the Speaker onto a harvester and it departed for the command ship near the Traveler. Meanwhile, another harvester hovered near the courtyard of the Tower and several psions were deployed.     “Learn everything you can about these machines, then report everything to my ship,” Ghaul demanded. The psions bowed, then swarmed the pillars. Ghaul and Consul boarded a ship, then they were carried to the streets of the world below.     The Dominus took the first step, gravel grinding under hit boot. His smooth, white armor was a stark contrast to the ruin of the environment; Consul followed behind him, his worn and faded red armor seemed to blend right in. “The Traveler. From down here, I now see why humans worship it.”     “It's an idol. Nothing more than a machine, but these humans are too cowardly to force its hand; instead, they only accept what it is willing to offer,” Consul said as he crushed a malfunctioning ghost in his hand.     “That… was Connie… you bas*****!” a hunter declared as he stumbled over his own feet. Ghaul and Consul watched him amusingly. The hunter dug a hand cannon out of some rubble and aimed it at the two beasts. Ghaul tensed up, but Consul--he just eyed the Guardian. [i]Click.[/i] The hunter looked at the gun, his last bullet already spent.     Ghaul relaxed as his mentor approached the helpless Guardian, who was drawing a knife. With one powerful grip, Consul crushed the person’s clavicle and seemingly paralyzed him. The hunter dropped to his knees from the pain, forced to look into the soulless visor of a foreign helmet. Consul punched the hunter to the ground, and after placing his titanic boot on him, took out a ceremonial blade and freed the ATS/8 ARACHNID helmet from the rest of the body. Consul took it, and the core of the ghost named Connie, as souvenirs.     “They still possess the spirit to fight,” Ghaul said, almost admirably.     “Futile,” Consul snapped. “The very breath they take--futile.” A Blood Guard approached Consul with a hologram of a device with two large wings. “Dominus, the Almighty has arrived.”     “Good. Establish heliosynchronous orbit, but do not activate the weapon.”     “As you command, Dominus. Shall we return to your battleship?” Consul asked.     “Indeed. I have a prisoner I wish to speak with,” Ghaul replied.