The Guardian had been so scared in that skirmish. Frightened for Eris, for Germaine, for what either might become, if that old friend, Grief, came knocking again. If only the Hive knew what would happen when their prey was scared, back against the wall. As that beautiful form hit the ground, momentum carrying it into the arms of the one who held the Ward, the Guardian's Light was ripped out of them. Not by force, but by shock. He too retreated into the shimmering purple wall. Without seeming to think about it, Germaine moved, taking the safety with him, diminishing it as he went, careless for the civilians he left behind. The Guardian could save them, he could... But he didn't want to. He wanted the Hive gone, and all else was secondary. That strange aura surrounded him again, pervading his very soul. When he reached for the Dark, this came with it. Once, it had been almost invisible. Now, it was as a storm cloud, left hanging for weeks, ready to burst. He did not banish it, not now. The blackness settling over his mind numbed him, dulling the screams of agony from the humans, filing everything. All except the Dark. Control. That was what he needed, and calm too. He breathed, and Deep. He was drowning, thrashing like a stray minnow on a beach. Dark. He suffocated in it. DROWNDROWNDROWNDROWN Jim had been a hunter once, specialising in catching rabbits for his family. Then the fallen had attacked, but the Guardian had saved them. That brilliant, stalwart figure had delivered them into the embrace of security, and given them passage to the City in his personal ship. So why was he walking away, as Jim's family, the same people the Guardian had protected, were slaughtered before his eyes? Slaughtered hardly seemed like the right word. At least slaughtering had a purpose. This had nothing of purpose about it. Those horrific creatures even laughed as they cut down Jim's friends, a strange, chattering sound, like false teeth rubbed together. For a moment he opened his mouth, to call to the hero, beg for justice. But he could not leave this bush and have a chance of survival. No, that figure was no hero, the way he sauntered around that corner, for that man was a vile, cruel murderer, no better than those he fought. Then Jim realised the horrible, horrible truth. The Guardian was just... not there anymore. He hadn't moved, he was sure of it! Feeling panicky, Jim tried to scratch at his neck for his tie, given to him by a kindly lady in a library. But there was a knife there. No, not a knife, but not a blade either. He looked up, and for one moment, one fear-stricken moment he saw the face of his assailant. It was Dark, like liquid night. Germaine, still clutching the body of his would-be. Almost would-be. Light, but he hurt. Still clutching the body of his almost would-be fiancé, he hauled her into the transmat zone, and sent her to his ship. He knew where to bury her. He set her down, careful not to injure her - That was silly. She was dead, and he had to accept that. But he turned around and saw, to initial surprise, then to nail-biting faer, that the threat was gone. Indeed, all of Midtown was gone. All that remained was a neat row of organized viscera near where a Vault had been. The shadow - no, the thing that wore those shadows, walked in the Ascendent Plane, among the large portion of Midtown it had stolen. Stolen, to put here. Why? Why had it ended those civilians, why had it ripped Midtown from where it should be, and why was nothing trying to stop it? These questions ate at the shadow-thing, demanding to be answered. But it had no answers. No, that was untrue. It had one answer. It knew what it wanted to know about the Precursors, and about what it was. It took a deep breath. Young Wolf was on the Moon, burning his way through the Hive left there. As far as he knew, he had come straight here from the City, though he couldn't remember his journey. In his absence from the haunted rock, the enemy had grown numerous. It mattered little for him. He would break them. As hordes of Acolytes roundef a corner in the Hellmouth, he chuckled. A grim, mirthless chuckle, to send fear into his foe. They came face-to-face with him, finally able to meet the greatest murderer of the Hive, their greatest champion, as they viewed it. He smiled, and the massacre began. He worked his way through that unholy gouge in the rock systematically, burning everything with his Light. The rocks melted wheen he drew near, and he intended to melt the rest of the cursed place too. But first, his Vengeance. He made this place holy in his eyes, filling it with Light, and the will of the Gardener. Even on the surface, New Lights earning their first badge would see his grandeur, and know if his presence. Perhaps he made himself a target like this, but the bigger a threat that came to face him was much the same as a small one. They all burned, eventually. As his Guardian cleaned his sword, a ceremonial gesture, Ghost worried, deep beneath the Scarlet Keep. His Guardian, his friend, was not himself. Neither was Ghost. He longed to talk to him about it, but when he had tried during... Whatever had happened there, the Guardian had pinned him down. Tied him to a rock with the Darkness, and removed his vocal parts. Then he had incinerated them with that terrible, cold fire. Ghost had been scared for his Guardian before, but not of him. Never of him. Now, his Guardian sat in the dark, waiting for something, anything to fight. All the while completely oblivious to what he had done. As Drifter sat on his bed, the one Eris had made him get, he fondled the ring she wanted to give him. She was gone now, buried in St Petersburg, where she has been born. The indentation where she had slept the night before was still there. He longed to go to sleep, then wake up with her beside him, as if was all a dream. But he couldn't. He was practically holding her in his arms. She should have been safe. She should have been. But she was gone. He had experienced loss before. But not like this. Never like this. Once, after Eaton, he had tried to kill himself. He made his Ghost tie him to a plank, then send him off to sea. For a whole week, he had drifted, barely on the edge of consciousness, yet incapable of sleep. He felt rather like that now. She had given him hope. Hope for a future, one he thought could not be crushed. Without hope, what was he to do?