I hope you can picture the piles upon piles of thralls filled with smoking holes from my MG18, the Knights shattered and scattered about after meeting my Secret Handshake, and the Hallowed Ogres who made the unfortunate mistake of thinking I was out of heavy synth and met my good friend, Mr. Gjallarhorn. I then casually backpedaled across the bridge, picking off thrall after thrall. Bodies strewn all over, falling down. Wave after wave senselessly throwing themselves against my hail of bullets. Thrall after thrall. Thrall after thrall. Thrall after thrall. And then, when all looked lost, and I finally ran out of ammo, I turned, cackling maniacally to myself. Force Barrier. Bang. Bang. A sickly crunch as their skulls caved in under the titanic weight of my fist. I thought about headbutting them in the true spirit of someone donning the helm of the legendary Saint-14, but then I realized Bungie never made a button for that. So as I turned back one last time, bathed in the light of the Bridge to come, I waved to the thralls, still hopelessly pursuing, and, echoing our Lord and savior Juelz Santana, told them all, "I got a little boy to look after," and lifted myself skyward toward the next challenge.