(Links to previous chapters in comments). Miskorix traced a taloned hand across the buckled corridor wall, claws gentling scraping along the metal surface and found its breath quickening. [i]I remember…[/i] Memories of striding powerfully through this corridor filled its mind. Dregs scampered away as it passed. Vandals lowered their heads as its eyes fell on them. The Dreg ran through the corridor, its way illuminated by small glowing lights in the walls. [i]Even after all this time, the power remains. Truly this was the ship of ships.[/i] Vaulting over and ducking under debris, it sped through corridor after corridor, moving up through what was left of engineering and armoury levels. [i]The main shields would have failed on impact, but the secondary fields have largely protected the area around Command… [/i] Scenarios span through its mind as it ran. [i]Only one conclusion, the ship crashed with all systems functioning. Something inside brought it down. [/i] Miskorix ran through the ship without hesitation. It knew where it had to go, it had been there countless times before. It was the place where its master resided. Rounding a corner, it found a circular hatch sealing the way ahead. Intricate emblems in gold, silver, blue and green covered its surface glowing brightly. [i]Command…[/i] Vandal bodies lay crumpled before the hatch. Unlike other Vandal corpses it had passed, these were significantly larger, their armour bulkier and more intricate. Broken halberds with damaged half-moon blades were scattered amongst them together with ornate pistols far superior to those of standard issue. Carefully, Miskorix approached, its breath coming in ragged pants from the race to get here. Stopping next to the nearest body, the Dreg bent down and picked-up the guard’s pistol. Its hand flexed around the grip, its arm felt the weight. It remembered once carrying the master weapon from which these had been made. Even though vastly inferior to that weapon, the pistol felt comfortable. It felt right in its hands. Miskorix smiled. [i]It is time.[/i] It straightened, its smile curling into a grimace as its back protested and bones cracked from being stooped for so long. A gasp hissed through clenched teeth and the pistol almost fell from trembling hands as its back straightened. Throwing its head back, Miskorix screamed. It screamed for what it had lost. It screamed for what it had been forced to become. The scream was one of anguish and hatred. The scream was one that it had smothered for years. On and on it screamed. Finally it was spent and its head fell limply to a heaving chest. Silence returned. [i]Dreg no longer.[/i] Its hand gripped the pistol tighter. Stepping over the dead, it placed its other hand against a slight depression in the hatch surface. Soundlessly it rolled back into the wall and golden light spilled out. The Hunter kept his pulse rifle raised and his eyes on the corridor ahead as the alien scream subsided into disturbing echoes. [i]You really want to walk towards that?[/i] His Ghost asked quietly in his mind. [i]I am Guardian[/i], the Hunter replied simply. Its hand came away from its eyes as the initial glare subsided. Its gaze first fell upon a majestic throne at the far end of the chamber and then at the countless bodies scattered before it. Dregs, Vandals and guards like those by the hatch lay by the dozen. Miskorix stooped beside the nearest and turned the body to face it. Long gaping blade wounds criss-crossed its torso. [i]Guardian.[/i] It gazed around the room, but could not see the Guardian’s body. It was about to start searching when its legs suddenly no longer supported its weight and it fell to the floor. Confusion filled its mind as its arms began to tremble. The pistol fell as its fist clenched and unclenched with a will of its own. The trembling became powerful spasms that worked their way across its body. Helpless, a prisoner in its own body, it lay on the floor writhing for what seemed an eternity before whatever had seized it gradually died. Shakily it pulled itself to its feet. A sharp pulsing pain throbbed in its head. [i]No more delay.[/i] Half-stumbling, Miskorix moved through the chamber towards the throne where the bodies lay thickest. It pulled them off one another, slowly at first, then with greater haste, digging desperately into the dead. Dregs lay on top of Vandals who in turn lay on top of the guards. Parts of silver and green armour edged with blue and gold were slowly revealed as bodies were hauled aside. With a final effort Miskorix pulled away the last corpse to reveal what lay beneath. [i]My Kell.[/i] Wounds that had once wept dark rivers of blood tarnished what had been a magnificent suit of armour. Metallic horns, one broken with jagged edges and half the length of the other swept back from the sides of a metallic green helmet trimmed with gold and detailed with light blue crystal veins. The Kell’s chest-plate was in reversed colours and hung askew as if partly wrenched from its body. Blue pauldrons edged in silver were dented and gauged as were the rerebraces and vambraces that had once been the same colour as the helmet, but were so badly scarred to be almost entirely dull metal. Fallen corpses still lay across the Kells lower body, but Miskorix did not bother to move them aside. Pulling his dagger free, the Fallen sawed through the helmets’ neck seals, interior atmospheric gases escaping with each puncture, until with a violent jerk it came loose. The face below had been carefully preserved by the sealed helmet. If it were not for the dull glaze in its eyes the Fallen could have been mistaken for still being alive. [i]My Kell…[/i] Miskorix raised one leg and stamped down onto the Kells face, snapping and crushing bone. [i]Failure.[/i] Again and again it stamped on the Kells face until only a wet ragged mess remained. The pain in its head intensified and it dropped to its knees as blossoms of white light burst in its vision. Hands shaking, it searched the Kells armour until its talons found a small clasp in the arm-pit of a lower limb. It clawed at it, desperately trying to open it. It could no longer see and the pain that filled its mind made it hard to think. Finally the clasp gave way and Miskorix plunged its claws into the flesh underneath, quickly finding the small pointed capsule it had known would be buried there. Ripping it from the Kells body, Miskorix reached under its lower amputated limb and tore a hole in its armour then rammed the object into its own body. It gasped and fell onto its back, nerves in the bloody flesh around the embedded object sparking violently. Heat built in the wound, growing from an uncomfortable warmth to an unbearable burning agony. Miskorix howled as it felt its skin blister. Suddenly the terrible inner fire flooded its body, rushing along its arm across its chest and stealing its breath, scouring its veins and filling its mind with searing oblivion. When Miskorix finally came to and opened its eyes it found its mouth full of blood. Rolling over to clear it, the Fallen moaned as it then found its limbs painfully tender and barely able to support its body. Collapsing onto its stomach, it panted furiously and tried to calm the heart pounding violently in its chest. Slowly it felt strength returning, though it felt as weak as a Fallen that had just gone through the breaking rituals of debasement and amputation. [i]All the Kells had ways to protect themselves[/i], it thought as its heart slowly eased. [i]A personal teleporter, a hidden weapon, always something for the time another sought to rise up and take its place.[/i] It reached under its arm and felt the lump within its self-mutilated flesh. The object shifted slightly, burrowing deeper. [i]All toys. All fallible. Not my Kell. Not my House. Only my House could do this. Only we could fuel life from the essence of death.[/i] As silence returned to the control room, it heard the sound of slow, careful footfalls coming from the corridor. Taking a deep breath, it began dragging itself across the floor. With each painful flex of muscle it felt its weakness abate until it was able to push itself to its feet and stumble away. The Hunter stood in the doorway staring at the bodies filling the chamber. [i]There[/i], his Ghost whispered in his mind, directing his attention to where a panel had been torn loose from the ceiling at the far end of the room. The Guardian measured the distance as he slung the pulse rifle across his back. Suddenly he surged forward, two swift long strides taking him across the floor before he jumped and then jumped up higher again as if somehow finding purchase in the air around him, sending his body soaring up and into the ceiling space. He landed in a crouch with a light crunch on metal debris and looked around the void. A broken body lay nearby within the ceiling space, limbs twisted at unnatural angles and the hilts of several shock knives protruding from its torso. It was wearing a Warlock’s helmet. The Hunter activated its communicator. “Cayde-6”. “Yes Hunter”, the Vanguard replied after a moment’s pause. “We have found the body of a Guardian”. The Hunter’s Ghost materialised and glided over to the body. Blue light swept over the Warlock as it scanned. In The Tower Cayde-6 shook his head. “I have not ordered any Guardian… ”. He looked to the other Vanguards. “Zavala, Ikora, have you ordered any Guardian into the Australian zone?” In the dark ceiling space of the broken Ketch, the Hunter’s Ghost turned back to its Guardian. “I have her name”, it said. Cayde-6 looked at Ikora.. “Who is Eisca?” The Hunter Vanguard asked slowly. “Seal it” Commander Zavala ordered. Ikora gestured sharply and suddenly every Guardian within the room was lifted off their feet and hurled outside. A metal barrier fell from the ceiling sealing the chamber.