The darkened hall was a desolate ruin, pitch black save for a few dim points of light. A faint etheric glow emanated from those sconces still affixed to the ornate pillars spaced along the walls that had not yet run dry of their power-sources. However, instead of projecting an air of welcome, of brightness, the space was somehow made more threatening by their dim contributions. Faint shadows surrounded those light sources, foreboding and still against what must once have been beautiful floors. This sanctum had remained unchanged, undisturbed for longer than anyone alive knew. In fact, most of the living had no knowledge or memory of this place, and those that did would likely not dare to enter, save for a few notable exceptions. The sound of footsteps on dusty stone heralded one such exception. Faint at first, growing ever louder, breaking silence that had held for uncounted years, they approached. In the absolute darkness of one of the hall’s far corners, something large stirred before becoming still once again. “...I really hate when you take me to places like this.” The faint voice was accompanied by a lightsource, the glow of which grew steadily stronger at the top of the stairwell that must have once been the vast room’s entryway. As the arch framing the stairs grew brighter, a figure crossed the threshold. “The list of things you hate could keep a scribe writing for a lifetime.” came the reply, filtered through a helmet’s voice-modulator. This figure was clad in armour made of what looked to be dark purple carbon-fiber with metallic gold trim which, while slightly battlescarred, was clearly well cared for. It looked around, scanning for threats, a rectangular indigo visor the only thing visible from beneath its hood. After a moment, it turned to the lightsource, a small Ghost inhabiting what looked to be a shank-like shell. “You know... You’re pretty hateful for a tiny piece of our big, humanity-loving machine-god. You should be friendlier. Other Ghosts are friendly.” If words could smirk, these would have. The face that spoke them likely did, but all that could’ve been seen, were there any actually there to witness, was the faint glow of its helmet-visor. The little Ghost did not seem amused, instead shaking with irritation, aggressively floating closer to the Hunter he accompanied. “I hate that you always throw that in my face.” it said, clearly annoyed. “Not all Ghosts are bright little rays of sunshine here to fawn over you Guardians day-in and day-out. You’re all too high on yourselves if you ask me! I should just leave and let you fend...” The figure held up a hand, cutting the little machine’s rant mid-sentence as something large moved against the room’s far wall. A low, gutteral growl cut the still air like a knife. “Quiet. Light down fifty.” The ghost dimmed its lightsource as the Hunter reached down, drawing the large black-and-gold hand cannon magnetically affixed to his hip. “You woke something up. This one’s on you, Glitch.” “Me?!” the Ghost hissed, floating up and down in a way that was reminiscent of someone stamping their feet indignantly. “You’re the one who told Zavala we would take this one on. You’re the one who said “An old legend of ancient sleeping evil? Yea. Like we haven’t dealt with one of those before...” to him and dragged me away from watching the Guardian Games for this nonsense!” The cloaked figure dropped into a crouch, lessening its silhouette as whatever was against the back wall shuddered and rose to its feet, twitching unnaturally. From the stairwell, roughly a hundred meters away from where it was rising, it seemed very large and unfriendly. “Well, we’re in it now. Transmat into storage before you get me a final death.” “Hmph! You’d deserve it! Some student you turned out to be. Saladin would be so disappointed in you. Cayde would be too!” the Ghost replied before fizzling away from the Hunter’s side. “Hurtful, Glitch. Real uncalled for.” Their conversation was punctuated by a roar. The shape rising to its full height at the back of the hall howled and charged at the Guardian. It was a Hive Ogre, it was angry, and it apparently did not appreciate having its beauty-sleep interrupted, but something about it seemed odd. It ran spasmodically, lurching this way and that, not with the usual purpose-driven lumbering gait of its brethren. “Alright you big b*stard” the Hunter muttered, breaking into a run towards the charging monster. “Come get some.” Were any there to watch, they would’ve witnessed the cloaked figure rise from his crouch to become a purple and gold blur of movement. As he and the Ogre charged each other, the walls came alive. As if cued by the Ogre’s bellowing, an incredible amount of Thrall began to screech and squirm their way out of what could now be seen as large areas where the stone had broken away. The Ogre launched its optic blast, lighting the hall in a way it had never been lit before. A deft sidestep took the Hunter out its line of fire and there were eight sharp rapports in the darkness. The Ogre staggered and five Thrall nearest to the Hunter exploded into ash as he flipped the hand cannon to one side, dropping its drum and loading another. Eight more sharp snaps filled the air and the Ogre stepped back again, its charge fully interrupted as a few more Thrall burned away beside it. “Gotcha.” the Hunter said, grinning from beneath his helmet’s faceplate as he leaped up, braced himself momentarily against one of the room’s pillars before pushing off into the air and launching a volley of explosive solar knives at his targets. The resulting explosion in the hall’s confined space as his light-fueled knives detonated would have likely knocked a regular person unconscious. It was something he used to finish fights. He had no doubts it would finish this one. It didn’t. “...or not.” Swearing under his breath, the cloaked figure dodged behind a pillar just in time as the Ogre roared in rage and charged again, nearly unphased by the fiery barrage. One of its massive hands gouged a chunk of stone out of the already crumbling pillar, barely missing the Hunter who dropped low and sidestepped again. “Alright, gonna make this a tough one eh? Here we go.” he growled through clenched teeth, breaking into a full run away from the pillar. The fight lasted for what seemed like hours. The misshapen beast charged, the Hunter evaded, his hand cannon clapping back eight rounds at a time as he fanned the hammer. Thrall were exploding everywhere. It took everything he had to bring it down, and he found himself down to his last drum of ammunition, which rested empty, smoking red-hot from within the chamber of the large pistol as the Ogre finally fell to its knees loosing its death-knell. His beltknife dispatched the last few Thrall before silence found the hall once more. After a few moments, peace returned, and Glitch re-appeared in a fizzle of light. “Took you long enough.” the Ghost said, clearly still upset. “Something wrong with that one.” the Hunter replied, motioning to it as he holstered his weapon. “It moved, strangely... Didn’t die well or easily. The couple times it hit me, I felt cold, even through my armour.” The small machine floated its way over to the rapidly disintegrating body of the Ogre, studying it. “It feels wrong. Very wrong. You should report this to the Vanguard. Something’s happening here just like everywhere else. Maybe this is what Caital and her Cabal are so stressed about...” it said. “Yea. Maybe. Let’s get the hell out of here.” They departed, the hall falling silent once again as their absence filled it. Somewhere in the darker recesses, hidden from the dim glow of the sconces, something shifted, its unseen leathery skin and claws moving over stone before becoming still once more.