#titan out of solar system arc

[actually-titan]

*ominously appears behind you*

--@deimos-moon-of-terror

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH-

HOW DID YOU EVEN GET HERE-?

[messier51]

Regarding your post about solar eclipses on other planets - I know other planets get solar eclipses, too, but do any other planets besides earth get total solar eclipses?

Yep! I mean, that's why I worded that post specifically that way, and included links to the wikipedia articles about solar eclipses on the gas giant planets in our solar system.

So, a total solar eclipse happens on earth because the angular size of the moon as seen from the surface of the earth is (usually) larger than the angular size of the sun, right? (We see an annular eclipse when the moon's angular size is a little smaller than the sun's, depending on the relative distances of each since orbits are elliptical and those aren't constant.)

Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus and Neptune are all quite a bit farther from the sun, so the angular size of the sun is much smaller, and have fairly large moons. All of Jupiter's galilean moons are large enough and close enough to the planet that they're large enough to fully occult (cover) the sun and therefore produce total eclipses.

Similarly on Saturn:

Seven of Saturn's satellites – Janus, Mimas, Enceladus, Tethys, Rhea, Dione and Titan – are large enough and near enough to eclipse or occult the Sun, or in other words to cast an umbra on Saturn. At this distance, the sun covers only about 3 arcminutes in the sky of Saturn. In comparison, the seven major moons of Saturn have angular diameters of 5–10' (Mimas), 5–9' (Enceladus), 10–15' (Tethys), 10–12' (Dione), 8–11' (Rhea), 14–15' (Titan), and 1–2' (Iapetus). Iapetus is Saturn's third largest moon, but is too far away to completely eclipse the Sun. Janus, a very close moon to Saturn, has an angular diameter of about 7', meaning that it can fully cover the Sun.

and Uranus:

Twelve satellites of Uranus—Cressida, Desdemona, Juliet, Portia, Rosalind, Belinda, Puck, Miranda, Ariel, Umbriel, Titania and Oberon—are large enough and near enough to eclipse the Sun.

and Neptune:

All of Neptune's inner moons and Triton can eclipse the Sun as seen from Neptune. All other satellites of Neptune are too small and/or too distant to produce an umbra. From this distance, the Sun's angular diameter is reduced to one and a quarter arcminutes across. Here are the angular diameters of the moons that are large enough to fully eclipse the Sun: Naiad, 7–13'; Thalassa, 8–14'; Despina, 14–22'; Galatea, 13–18'; Larissa, 10–14'; Proteus, 13–16'; Triton, 26–28'.

and also Pluto, really:

Charon has an angular diameter of 4 degrees of arc as seen from the surface of Pluto; the Sun appears much smaller, only 39 to 65 arcseconds. By comparison, the Moon as viewed from Earth has an angular diameter of only 31 minutes of arc, or just over half a degree of arc. Therefore, Charon would appear to have eight times the diameter, or 25 times the area of the Moon; this is due to Charon's proximity to Pluto rather than size, as despite having just over one-third of a Lunar radius, Earth's Moon is 20 times more distant from Earth's surface as Charon is from Pluto's. This proximity further ensures that a large proportion of Pluto's surface can experience an eclipse. Because Pluto always presents the same face towards Charon due to tidal locking, only the Charon-facing hemisphere experiences solar eclipses by Charon.

So all of these planets (modulo the lack of surfaces/living beings, but like, that's also pretty special to Earth completely separately from eclipses) experience the nighttime-like darkness caused by the umbra (shadow) of the eclipse (occultation).

Now, as a few people have pointed out in the notes, the ring of fire deal IS pretty special, which happens because the angular size of the moon and sun are often SO similar. (Maybe Iapetus is similar enough with the solar angular size sometimes depending where Saturn is in its orbit, but at a few arcminutes instead of half a degree you can imagine the effect being somewhat less amazing. Then again, I bet solar occultations by Saturn's rings are pretty amazing, so I'm not going to hold that against the planet.)

In no way do I think this makes total solar eclipses less awesome, or think that the excitement is misplaced. It's a pretty amazing special event! It's also one that won't even exist for the earth forever, since the moon moves a few centimeters away from us each year. But as an astronomer I think it's cool that there are eclipses (and occultations and transits of the sun by moons with smaller angular sizes!) on other planets too! Though, the post I made was mostly a kneejerk eyeroll complaint about a silly factual error that might just be because the OP of the post I was annoyed by was thinking about some other facet of our solar eclipses as being unique than how it was worded. Since we can't go to any other planet to watch eclipses (that would add a whole extra layer to astrotourism), our eclipses on earth are pretty special. If you ever have the opportunity to see one, I wholly recommend going! It's really amazing.

In conclusion: here's an Io solar eclipse on Jupiter taken by the Hubble Space telescope:

[Image in black and white shows Jupiter's volcanic moon Io passing above the turbulent clouds of the giant planet, on July 24, 1996. There's a large black spot on Jupiter which is Io's shadow. The smallest details visible on Io and Jupiter are about 100 miles across (about 160 kilometres). Bright patches visible on Io are regions of sulfur dioxide frost. Io is roughly the size of Earth's moon, but 2000 times farther away.]

And here's the April 8th eclipse of the sun by the moon on Earth as seen by the GOES satellite:

[A gif of the earth showing the GOES EAST view of North and South America on April 8th over the course of the total solar eclipse. A shadow of the moon passes from the left to the upper right side of the view of the earth.]

[beanie-the-bag]

If ya don't mind me asking, what r ur thoughts and opinions on Earth?

Earth is one of the most well-developed characters in this show for obvious reasons. I love how he’s portrayed. His pride overshadows his insecurity almost as a defense mechanism, and when it shows through it causes so much destruction.

His overall situation really makes me feel for him. He tried so hard to have life, and when it finally worked the dinosaurs were wiped out by a meteorite. Then when it worked again, humans instead started to destroy his surface. He does everything for them and in return they treat him like garbage.

As seen in “The Earth’s Redemption,” he has pent up frustration toward the earthlings and projects it onto others. I think that’s one of the reasons he was so stubborn about the whole situation with Titan, Mars, and Venus. If you really think about it, almost every problem in the solar system comes down to the earthlings. Earth was arrogant because of them, which caused the whole moon revolution. I think guilt would play into it for that reason.

Earth has internalized that he’s special, and when that finally came into question it made him get defensive and actually think about it. On the road to realizing he wasn’t one of a kind, that frustration and guilt bubbled up and led him to almost destroy the earthlings because he thought if they were gone everything would be solved. Those two things worked as fuel for his insecurity.

His arc is very well-layered and complicated, and it’s one of the best parts of Solarballs. Honestly, this is better character development than most multi-million dollar projects from Hollywood Studios.

Overall, I love earth! I think he’s relatable in some aspects and very well-represented. I hope he and the moons can make up and be friends.

[maccreadysbaby]

you like destiny 2? You????? Like destiny???

IF YOU LIKE IT SO MUCH PUT BENTLEY AND ASTEN IN IT 🔫🔫🔫

Oh MAN this is the whackiest crossover I've ever done and I'm STOKED about it... also there's a little synopsis of destiny under the cut for my bentley followers that have no clue what I'm on about. bentley and asten would not even be remotely similar in this au, therefore there's actually TWO little stories in this post, one for each of them... yeah I went a little overboard but ITS FINE IM HAVING FUN *unintelligible weeping*

Project: Killcode Drabbles

tw: destiny typical violence, gore, emeto, cursing (only in asten's)

wanna read the extended fic? here’s the table of contents!

⚠️ THIS IS NOT PART OF BENTLEY’S MAIN STORYLINE, THIS BENTLEY & ASTEN INSERTED INTO AN AU (ALTERNATE UNIVERSE.)

Hi! here’s the briefest of overviews for my Bentley peeps that have no clue what Destiny is:

(I’m sorry destiny is so detailed you can’t actually be brief about it, these are the things I think are fundamental for understanding these pieces)

Destiny is a first person shooter/space travel rpg set in a time when the world has collapsed and the remaining facets of humanity live largely in a city called The Last City on Earth. In order to protect humanity from (a lot of) invading alien forces, the Traveler (a giant floating ball that helped humanity stay alive during the bad times) released hundreds of thousands of small robots called Ghosts into the solar system — these Ghosts were to find one specific person among the dead, resurrect them as a Guardian, and give them the Traveler’s magic (called Light) so they could protect humanity. (Basically, the Traveler makes the Ghost, and the Ghost raises their specific Guardian from the dead and gives them epic superpowers in the forms of Fire powers (Solar Light), Electricity powers (Arc Light), and The Void powers (Void Light)). Ghosts can resurrect their Guardians every time they die, rendering them immortal, but the downside is that these individuals don’t remember any of their lives before they were raised as a Guardian and have to start completely anew. The only way a Guardian can die for good is if their Ghost dies as well.

There are three Classes of Guardians: Warlocks, Hunters, and Titans. Guardians don't get to choose which they are, and the nature of their powers are determined by which one they turn out to be.

In this work, Bentley is a Guardian (A warlock, specifically, while the other character featured in this is a Hunter named Crow). Bentley does not have guardian superpowers (yet)

Anyways, I'm rambling, but I hope I helped you understand this just a wee little bit! I don't even understand destiny fully tbh don't feel bad. Maybe it was enough to help you enjoy the story... lmaoooo I tried. 

Also here are some pictures of some of the things mentioned to help you imagine them...

<< aka me trying really hard to help you imagine this so you have a good time

Crow ↗︎ (aka the love of my life, also the only reason Asten and Bentley meet each other in this AU.)

A Ghost ↗︎ (little floating robot; bentley’s is named sevyn, crow’s is glint, asten doesn’t have one)

Fallen ↗︎ (aka the only alien race you see in these stories)

BENTLEY ↴

THE COSMODROME, OLD EARTH, SOL SYSTEM -- 7:48PM —

“FOR THE RECORD, I THOUGHT THIS WAS A HORRENDOUS IDEA,” 

Bentley sighed heavily, glaring over at the small robot that was hovering a few inches from his face. It was purple, fashioned from small floating segments with one glowing blue eye -- which was glaring right back at him with just about the most irritated look the little machine could muster.

“Because I didn't hear you the first five times, Sevyn,” Bentley mumbled. He was stationed with his back pressed flat against the surface of a large boulder, wedged on top of a layer of moss and mud, the stone wall of a cliffside ahead of him sandwiching him into the tight, damp space. 

He’d never seen Old Earth before, besides looking off the balconies of the Tower he'd spent his entire Risen life in — which, in hindsight, was not great preparation for teleporting himself directly there on a whim. Everything looked the same, but bigger, and more expansive up close. The whole place was also crawling with various species of alien... which was a bit of a jarring experience considering he’d never actually seen one before. (He definitely hadn’t expected to teleport to Old Earth just to appear face-to-face with a four-armed freak of nature Sevyn insisted was a Fallen; hence why Bentley was now hiding between a rock and a hard spot.)

“You do realize you’re not allowed out of the Tower, right? That the Commander is gonna have your head?” Bentley's Ghost questioned anxiously, his segments spinning freely around his eye in a twitchy kind of way that let him know he was pretty irritated. “You do realize that you don’t know how to harness the Light for battle, right? That you have no guns? That no one knows where you are to come save your excruciatingly impulsive person?”

Bentley, again, rolled his eyes, pressing the soles of his tall brown boots harder into the stone wall ahead, to better hide himself from the Fallen he could hear clicking and hissing in the distance.

“If I die, you revive me. I’ve got my savior right here,” Bentley muttered, reaching up and tapping on Sevyn's eye, looking to his left. The sun was setting over the sector of Old Earth he was in -- called the Cosmodrome, if he remembered correctly. Being stuck there at night would not be a fun experience in the slightest.

Sevyn sighed heavily, shaking his head — well, technically, shaking his whole small robot self. In a disapproving, head shaking way. “If the Commander says you can’t leave the Tower, then you probably shouldn’t leave the tower. Following Crow, of all people! He’s so reckless; you know how many times Glint had to revive him in his pursuit of that Fallen Captain on his Hunt last week? Twenty-five! In one day!”

Bentley rubbed his hands together — it was getting cold now that the sun was setting, and his fingerless gloves weren’t exactly designed to help with warmth as much as they were to look cool. “He’s on a patrol. Patrols aren’t dangerous. I just need to find him.”

“Patrols aren’t…?“ Seven made an exasperated sound, his segments twitching wildly. “I know you think it’s unfair that you have to stay in the tower, but you were resurrected at thirteen! The Commander isn’t gonna send a thirteen year old Guardian into battle! There are good reasons you don’t know how to wield the Light!”

“So what, he expects me to stay in the Tower for my entire immortal life just so he doesn’t look bad? I’m never gonna get any older,” Bentley huffed, zipping up his brown bomber jacket. “Crow said he was going to The Forgotten Shore, didn't he?”

Sevyn bobbed up and down anxiously, his blue eye flicking around the area in a practiced, mechanical way. “And there’s about three hundred Fallen signals between you and there. How do you expect to get there?”

The teenager shrugged, eyes tracing the stone cliffside covered in vine. “Sneak?”

“Sneak around the aliens that can turn invisible and have the hearing of a wolf. Why didn’t I think of that?” Sevyn deadpanned. “I’m just going to teleport you back home so you can go sit in the corner and think about what you did.”

“What? No!” Bentley argued, reaching out to grab at the floating robot, who dodged his hand readily. “Stop it! I can do it! And if I can’t you can revive me!”

“Or we can go home and I can talk to the Commander about field work,” 

Bentley made a humph noise. “He would never let me do field work. He thinks I’m five.”

“Technically speaking, you’re a few centuries younger than most Guardians,”

“Sevyn!”

“Just saying!”

Bentley sighed softly, daring to peek out of his hiding spot just enough to catch a glimpse of his surroundings. He’d managed to find himself in a small canyon of sorts, with a shallow creek running through it, illuminated gold by the sunlight that was bound to fade soon. Rocks and boulders jutted out of the sparsely grassed terrain, gracing him with just a little bit of cover to utilize against the Fallen he could see skittering around the rocky landscape.

The sight of them made him grimace. He’d never really seen an alien before — not up close, and definitely not alone. Their quartet of blue eyes were glowing in the dimming sunlight, lanky, strange bodies adorned with metal-bent armor and shreds of fabric organized into some semblance of clothing. They moved, some like people, some like apes, some like spiders. They weren't much larger than him, but they carried guns, and knives, and grenades, all situated on themselves and clasped tightly in the extra hands that sprouted from the sides of their bodies. Aliens with two arms were creepy enough; Bentley wasn’t sure why Fallen needed four.

He glanced around until his eyes lingered on another boulder, maybe four or five yards from his current one, close to the cliffside and large enough to render him hidden.

Sevyn made a mechanical beep. “Don’t even think about it.”

Bentley moved his legs, forcing himself to crouch in the small space. “Thinking about it.”

Sevyn, with an exasperated sigh, de-materialized himself, dispersing into atoms that fizzled into the air and disappeared, waiting to re-materialize again when his Guardian called for him.

Or, the more likely situation, when Bentley got himself killed and needed to be resurrected.

(Oh, well. Real Guardians were well versed with death. Some of them died like thirty times a day! Bentley had never died before — well, he had, obviously, but he didn’t remember that one. Since he was technically a Guardian, dying now that he had a Ghost didn’t matter all that much. It was what Guardians did! He’d just come back, like everyone always did. No big deal. It wasn’t like it would be scary, or terrifying, or horrific, or anything, if he just came back to life afterwards...)

With a small noise of effort, he propelled himself forward so quickly his boots left skid marks in the mud. He kept low, ran lightly, slipping from one place of cover to the next without making much of a peep at all.

Ducking into the shadows and pressing his back hard against the new rock he was hidden behind, he exhaled heavily. Beyond that boulder, there weren’t many more large enough to hide him — smaller stones and a few sparse trees, too young and thin to conceal him from view. The walls of the canyon curved up and above him, but they offered no protection, besides maybe darkening the cover of night that was approaching. Maybe if he waited until it was pitch black, he could slip past unseen. The Forgotten Shore was only on the other end of the canyon; surely he could make it.

If Crow was even still there come nightfall.

Bentley flinched when something clattered against the cliffside to his left with a shrill clang. Glancing over, he caught sight of something small, flashing. Suddenly, Sevyn's disembodied voice emanated from his immaterial state:

"Grenade!"

Fortunately for Bentley's appendages and organs, it was only a flashbang -- which still had to have been the absolute worst experience of his whole risen life. Before he could as much as flinch away, the thing had erupted with a BOOM! that left his ears ringing a pitch that threatened to split his skull, a blinding flash of light sending a ripple of searing pain through his eyeballs and into his brain. Everything went white.

The world seemed to move in slow motion as the piercing pitch screamed in his head, completely enabling him from thinking about anything else. He seemed to bring his hands up to his face at a snail's pace, scrubbing at his eyes as he was rendered temporarily, completely, terrifyingly blind.

"Eyes up, Guardian!" Sevyn called.

Bentley willed his eyes open just enough to be greeted by a bright white fog and the faint, dancing colors of stone and sunlight filtering through the blindness, if only a little. The faint colors of stone, sunlight, and some dark blob that was moving right toward him.

He wasn't sure what kind of sound he made, but he was sure it was embarrassing as he all but threw himself out from behind the boulder, still vigorously rubbing at his eyes with one hand, scrambling away from what he assumed was an alien with the rest of his strength. A loud crack! echoed from beside him, and he flinched, though he couldn't see what it was.

He continued to scramble until the effects of the grenade faded enough for him to decipher that yes; the thing chasing him was a four-armed alien with glowing blue eyes and...

Four knives?!

He rolled to the side just quick enough to miss the Fallen when it jumped, all four knives sinking into the dirt where he had been with four bone-chilling shinks!

Bentley must've kicked up dust with the speed he forced himself off of the ground, eyes flicking around wildly -- in addition to the one with the knives, there had to be at least ten more Fallen closing in on him. There were two wielding a quartet of knives just like the first -- and two with nothing, but they seemed hungry for blood all the same, like they were ready to physically bludgeon him to death. The rest of them seemed to have homemade guns of various shapes and sizes -- guns Bentley wasn't very keen on examining any closer than he already was.

The alien with the knives lurched again, and one of the weaponless ones dove straight for his legs, both of which he managed to dodge by tumbling ungracefully backwards -- hitting the ground and forcing himself up again, fast. A blue laser flickered in his still foggy eyes, and he jerked to the left, a long trail of blue electricity shooting past his head with an audible zing! from one of their rifles.

"Oh my God!" He managed to squeak as he ran full-speed, hurrying back to the first boulder and jumping behind it with a thump. Strings of lightning and other identifiable projectiles from their guns barraged the ground next to his cover so vigorously the electricity made his hair stand up.

"Sevyn, what do I do?!" He practically begged, the dull sounds of ammunition and electricity against stone and dirt finally warding off the ever-present ringing from his ears. His chest was heaving, heart pounding in his chest -- how did Guardians do battle every day?

"Run!" Was his Ghost's panicked reply.

So Bentley did, and just in time, too -- all three of the fallen with the knives, and one with nothing, came crawling and leaping over the boulder just as he moved away from it, banging their blades and fists against solid stone.

Bentley's boots pounded on the mud as he fled as quickly as his body could manage, blitzing past his second cover-boulder and continuing full-speed deeper into the canyon, toward where Crow said he'd be. It couldn't be that far. It couldn't.

The cracks and zips and bams of projectiles shooting past him were nearly deafening, a few of them close enough to take the hair off his head. One lucky wire of electricity hit it's mark, leaving a graze of searing agony streaking across his left shoulder and tearing the fabric of his jacket away.

Bentley's response was a shrill: "Ah!" That bounced along the walls of the canyon, and bringing his hand up to touch the would only made it explode into an even worse pain. He bit his lip, hard, and forced himself on as fast as his legs could pump, farther from the way he'd come, deeper into uncharted territory.

It took about thirty seconds of running for his surroundings to quiet, for him to slow to more of a jog. His wound was already throbbing uncomfortably, and the leather of his jacket was singed and curled up there -- the whole thing was unbearably nasty and the longer he looked at it, the more he thought he might pass out. He searched for cover but there wasn't any; only a few young trees, the creek, and rocks too small to hide him. Surely the Fallen were chasing him -- he needed some kind of plan.

He didn't get any longer to think about it -- something he hadn't seen nor heard grabbed his ankles mid-jog and sent him hurling face-first into the mud. His head hit with a slam that threatened to leave him disoriented, but he couldn't afford to be disoriented right then. Instead, he flipped himself over on the ground, and a Fallen appeared out of thin air, shrieking indecipherably in his face.

(He'd forgotten Sevyn said they could turn invisible.)

"Ah!" He cried out in terror, writhing under the alien that was looming over top of him, straddling his lower-body with all six of its appendages. In a panic, he wrenched his left foot out of one of its hands and used every available ounce of strength to kick it directly in the head with the heel of his boot. It shrieked again, releasing his other ankle. Bentley scrambled back and off the ground, taking off again with nothing but sheer panic coursing through his veins.

His first instinct was to scream: "Crow!" As if the far-off Guardian would be able to hear him all the way from the beach. Yelling was a horrible idea, yes, but he didn't seem to comprehend that at the time.

Nevertheless, he continued to pitifully shout: "Crow!" as he weaved through the darkening canyon, searching for cover but getting repetitively let down. Tears were burning behind his eyes now, though not just from the pain of the gunshot. He could hear footsteps behind him, some skittering, some booming, and others thumping quickly just like his. He didn't dare turn around -- he might've died from horror.

"Sevyn -- Crow!" Was all he could manage at the speed he was moving, with the amount of terror that was coursing through his body. There was a mechanical beep that came from nowhere that let him know Sevyn was trying to contact Crow's Ghost, Glint. A moment later, the sound of a failed communication line returned.

Bentley sprinted, biting his tongue so hard the metallic taste of blood blossomed on in his mouth. The scuffling, screeching sounds of the Fallen continued behind him, the zing! of a rifle shooting past his head every so often. The canyon he was following veered hard to the right, so he did, too, hoping the new direction would provide him with cover.

He skidded to an ungraceful stop as soon as he took the turn, dread washing over him like a shockwave.

Right around the corner were three more Fallen. Not the ones that were chasing him, but bigger ones, with better armor, nicer clothes. They had the same lanky build, the quartet of arms, but they had to be at least two, maybe three Bentley's tall, carrying guns that were probably the size of his entire body.

Bentley stopped, heart ripping a hole in his ribcage, breathing so quickly he was starting to feel lightheaded. All three of the giant Fallen looked at him curiously, one of them stowing its gun on its back and pulling out two blades instead -- large ones, and curved, like katanas.

Bentley glanced back the direction he'd come, the smaller Fallen stumbling over themselves and falling over each other in pursuit of him. He couldn't get past them, there were too many -- but he couldn't get past the big ones, either... and the canyon left him nowhere else to run.

(He was going to die.)

In his moment of hesitation, one of the big aliens lunged forward and grabbed him by the ankle, picking him up and making him dangle completely upside down.

"No! Crow!" Bentley screamed, thrashing and writhing in its grip. He wasn't sure why, but the alien tilted its head at him like a confused dog before rearing back and throwing him -- yes, throwing him, probably ten yards before he hit the stone wall of the canyon with a slam! and crumpled to the dirt.

A terrible pain radiated through his body, the entire right side of his person stinging like fire from the impact.

“Sevyn…” Bentley mumbled, but he didn’t have any time to move — he was suddenly grabbed and flipped over violently, landing on his back with a harsh thump. One of the big Fallen was there — the one who’d pulled out the knives. The other two big ones were looming behind it like guards, and the little Fallen that had been chasing Bentley were skittering around and making noises, but they didn’t come near, like they were afraid of the larger ones.

Bentley attempted to scramble backwards on all fours, but the alien, with a few inhuman clicks and a tilt of its head, jumped on top of him and crouched there. Two of its hands found his shoulders, a third finding his forehead, all but drilling him into the dirt with such force that his right shoulder popped and cracked with a searing pain that made him cry out.

The Fallen’s glowing, beaty eyes seemed to bore into his skull as it held a knife in its free hand — the long, sort of katana looking weapon with machine parts at the hilt and coil wrapped around the blade. There were tiny bolts of electricity sparking and arcing around it.

(He was going to die.)

Bentley couldn’t see very good, and he quickly realized it was because he was starting to cry. “Crow!”

“Sh, sh, sh,” The Alien tutted, and Bentley writhed and thrashed under its weight when he realized they could talk. The thrashing didn’t do much good — the alien had to be nearly five times as heavy as him.

“Crow!” He tried, desperately — he could feel tears streaking down the sides of his face now, still obscuring his vision and blurring the image of the alien whose head was only about a foot from his. The Fallen pushed him harder into the ground, making his other shoulder crack and pop with a jolt of terrible pain.

His response, this time, was sobs.

“Now, now, little Light,” The Fallen started, its voice strange, like gurgling and clicking overlaid on top of a human voice. It was low, and gravely, too, like an old man who smoked too much. “It will hurt only for a moment, yes? I will aim directly for your heart, yes?”

Bentley writhed again when it reached down and simply tapped the blade of the knife on the left side of his jacket, right where his heart would be.

“Yes, I have had much practice,”

Bentley sobbed, trying to move, to escape, but failing miserably. “Sevyn…”

He didn’t want to die. He knew he could come right back to life, but he didn’t want that alien to sink its electric knife into his heart — he could only imagine what it felt like. An agony that wouldn’t even come close to any sensation he’d ever felt before.

How did other Guardian’s die every day?

With one last round of animalistic clicks, the Fallen lifted the knife far above Bentley’s chest, tilting its head again when the teenager tried one last time (and failed one last time) to wriggle out of its grip. He wasn’t strong enough — all the strength in his entire tiny body wasn’t strong enough.

“Please,” Bentley choked.

SHNNK.

It took Bentley about a whole five seconds to realize that there was not a knife in his chest.

Instead, there was a flash of something white.

Crow was suddenly on the large Fallen’s shoulders, his combat knife buried deep into the alien’s skull. Bentley had never been happier to see his blue skin and bright, cheesy armor. He didn't think he'd ever been happier to see a human shaped creature in his life.

The alien’s grip on Bentley’s body loosened, and Crow leaped off of it, kicking it to the side so its massive weight didn’t crash down on top of either of them. He landed a perfectly executed flip, his Hunter cape settling over his head and face so he had to shove it off.

“Bentley,” He scolded, though Bentley didn’t really hear it. He was too focused on staring at the body of the Fallen that was now laying beside him, twitching menacingly but showing no further signs of life.

That thing had almost… almost…

All of the other Fallen, small and large alike, leaped into action, charging at the battle’s newest arrival with shrieks of rage for their dead friend. The zips and bams of their guns returned, and Bentley stayed low to the ground, the body of the dead Fallen large enough for him to use as measly cover.

Bentley watched in a silent sort of shock as a full-blown battle played out before his eyes. Crow dodged the Fallen’s projectiles with some kind of backwards summersault the child couldn’t even seem to comprehend, whipping Hawkmoon — the largest revolver Bentley had ever seen — out of a holster on his hip. He spun it around his fingers before he began repeatedly flicking the hammer, sending out eight back-to-back bam, bam, bams, each one resulting in a Fallen crumpling into an unmoving heap on the ground.

One of the large ones, now armed with a giant, electricity-sparking sword, swung for Crow’s head, which he ducked and slid away from just in time to not get decapitated. He dropped the cylinder from Hawkmoon and replaced it just as fast, turning and unleashing a lightning-fast stream of eight bullets into the monster’s chest. It roared, staggered, and hit the ground.

Its roar echoed and bounced through the canyon with a chillingly repetitive melody. Bentley watched in silence as Crow extended his hand, a ball of fire forming and spluttering in the air above his palm until he threw it right at the smaller Fallen that were attacking as a group — it exploded into a huge wall of flame that charred and burned the aliens into lifeless crisps on impact.

“Eyes up!”

Bentley looked up, coming face-to-face with Sevyn, who was hovering right in front of him. The little Ghost’s segments spun and twitched worriedly, his robotic eye flicking about Bentley’s form with a little bit of pity in its mechanical iris. “I’ve got you, Guardian.”

Sevyn then moved toward Bentley’s left shoulder, a small spray of light shining from his eye onto the teenager’s wounds that almost felt like a layer of cold mist. Bentley couldn’t help but sigh in relief as the pain was warded away, the Ghost’s Light slowly rebuilding and reattaching the very atoms of his flesh — closing up the gunshot wound and shifting his shoulders back into place in mere moments. The scratches and bruises he could already feel forming across his body from hitting the cliffside dulled in discomfort in seconds, until they disappeared entirely from existence.

In only a moment, Bentley was whole again.

Sevyn moved forward, tapping himself gently against Bentley’s forehead in an affectionate gesture, before fizzling into atoms again.

When Bentley looked up, all of the Fallen were dead, and Crow was standing in the midst of the corpses, revolver in one hand, his Ghost, Glint, hovering just above the other. The little crimson robot moved about the older Guardian, shining his healing light on his injuries and mending them in a blink. He disappeared into a fizzle of atoms right after.

Bentley exhaled shakily, bringing a dirty hand up to wipe and his still watering eyes. He scooted slowly away from the body of the Fallen he had been using for cover, cringing at the still sparking knife that was laying in the dirt not a foot from his boot -- the knife it was going to sink into his chest. Into his heart. He brought one hand up to his jacket and tugged at it, eyes unmoving.

It was only then that he noticed how badly his hands were still shaking — how hard his heart was pumping, how shallowly and quickly and shakily he was still breathing. He couldn’t really get much air into him at all. And he couldn't seem to stop crying.

Crow’s boots came to a stop in front of him. “What are you doing outside of the Tower?” He all but demanded.

Bentley opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out, eyes locked solely on the alien corpse. After a few moments of that, Crow moved forward and hauled him off the ground, gently, setting him on his wobbly feet and checking him over for injuries. The older Guardian was speaking, but Bentley couldn’t really hear it, his eyes still lingering on the knife. The crack, crack, crack of the electric blade made him want to throw it off a cliff. He sniffed and hiccuped as softly as he could, bringing a hand up in an attempt to quiet it.

“Hey, focus on me, Little Light,”

Bentley blinked when Crow manually turned his head so their gazes met. He was taller than the teenager by maybe a foot, maybe more, his dazzling skin a pale blue that looked foreign next to Bentley’s pasty beige. He pushed some of his black and white hair back from his eyes, the glowing, orange orbs locking onto Bentley’s and staying there. He wasn’t sure how old Crow was — he looked to be in his early twenties, but for all the teenager knew, he could’ve been hundreds of years old. But however old he was, he was familiar -- and that was comforting enough.

Bentley broke their eye contact to look straight down at his own boots, rubbing at his eyes, pushing his red hair out of his face.

“I’m sorry,” He whispered.

With a sigh, Crow put his hand on the back of Bentley's head and tugged him into his chest. “You’re okay, kid.”

Bentley squeezed his eyes shut and kept his hands over his face, the sudden hug only seeming to make the crying worse. “That was so scary.”

“I know,”

There was a little whoosh that let Bentley know Sevyn had materialized by his side, and a second whoosh, which must’ve been Crow’s Ghost appearing, too.

"Let's get you out of here, yeah?" Sevyn's voice came, close to his head.

Before Bentley could respond, a low rumble shook the ground beneath their boots, the loud, menacing whir of an approaching ship piercing the air. Bentley pulled away from Crow to glance up to the sky — in not a millisecond, a large ship was hanging there, casting a huge, dark shadow over them. It looked almost primordial, cobbled together skillfully with metals and machines.

Bentley was no expert on alien things, but he was pretty sure that wasn’t a Guardian’s ship.

“Sevyn, get Bentley out of here. Now,” Crow demanded, pulling the shiny silver revolver from his hip and replacing the cylinder in one swift motion. Glint, his little crimson Ghost, spun and then disappeared in a fizzle of atoms.

Sevyn hovered up next to Bentley’s head, his purple segments spinning, emanating a few small beeping sounds. “I… I can’t. Something in that Fallen ship is jamming my signal! I’ve never felt anything like it before — like a solid wall between us and the Vanguard!”

“Splicers?” Crow whispered. Bentley didn’t know what those were, and he decided he probably didn’t want to. Crow glanced back at him, reaching back and squeezing his shoulder. “Hide. And Sevyn; stay out of sight.”

Sevyn fizzled away, and Bentley quickly returned to the only cover in the area — behind the body of the big, dead Fallen.

Not a second after he was hidden, the bottom of the ship sprung open, and several mechanical arms came out of it. They each held an alien, and dropped them from the ship onto the ground before retracting and fetching another.

Bentley immediately noticed three things about this particular group of Fallen:

1) They were all the big kind, some even bigger than the dead one he was hiding behind. And their armor was nicer, cleaner, better. They dawned capes and hoods that looked like they could’ve been made by people instead of the rough looking outfits the little ones had been wearing. 

2) They all seemed to have some type of machinery on them, wether that be strange, glowing goggles over their blue eyes, backpacks that looked more like a giant radio with antennas, or literal limbs replaced by robotic parts. He wasn’t sure why, but they were more off-putting than the normal Fallen.

And 3) Their weapons looked better, more powerful, though there were more knives and swords and less guns — only three with guns, really; and they all seemed really angry.

There were probably two dozen of them, and only one Crow. The ship whirred and shot off, disappearing into the sky beyond, leaving its warriors behind.

Even starkly outnumbered by aliens twice and three times his size, Crow didn’t hesitate to leap into action. One of the Fallen shot at him with a big, strange rifle — a glowing orange projectile that whirred and made weird noises. Crow dodged it by sliding directly at the alien's feet, coming back up and swiping at the hammer of Hawkmoon, sending three methodical shots into the Fallen — chest, throat, head. It hit the ground.

Bentley stayed crouched behind the corpse as low as he could, and Sevyn’s disembodied voice came from nowhere: “As soon as I get a stable connection, I’m sending you anywhere but here!”

“We’re just going to leave him?” Bentley whispered, watching Crow dodge another electric knife-sword-thing and slide between a huge Fallen’s legs, popping up behind him and jerking on its cape with his full weight. It’s back arched, sending its head down to Crow’s level, and he sent two bullets into it. Its body made a thump.

“He’d appreciate the sentiment, Guardian, but given the fact that you have zero training or abilities to fight with, staying is… well, kind of stupid,”

Bentley said nothing, but watched Crow do another chest-neck-head trio of shots, dropping his cylinder and replacing it with another while dodging a blade with some kind of flip-spin-thing. Three huge Fallen down, twenty-ish to go.

“I’m reading the Tower! It’s faint, but it’s there! Probably only a few more minutes before I can get you there!” Sevyn announced.

Crow released more rounds and dropped two more Fallen, dodging strange orange projectiles and blades like he was nothing more than a shadow. The aliens, big and strong as they were, seemed to be no match for an agile Hunter like him. 

(Bentley wished the Commander would let him learn how to fight like that.)

As if on queue with Bentley’s thoughts, Crow got struck in the shoulder by one of the strange orange projectiles with a ding! sound against his armor. There was no blood, and he didn't seem to be in pain. There was a tiny metal machine stuck to him instead, and orange electricity suddenly exploded out of it with a loud, crackling vengeance.

Bentley heard him cry out, collapsing and convulsing when the electricity pulsed through his body. The nearest Fallen grabbed him by the cloak and lifted him as though he were weightless, slinging him into a nearby cliff with a crack.

Bentley flinched, but before he could even move, Sevyn announced: “Don’t you dare get yourself seen! I mean it, Guardian!”

Crow’s Ghost began to materialize next to him, but he must’ve told him not to, because he waved his hand and the robot never fully appeared. The group of up-teen massive, scary Fallen were crowding where he laid, and like he was being tortured, Bentley had a line of sight directly between the aliens. Directly to Crow.

(He’d never seen another Guardian — or anyone — die before. Did he even want to watch?)

Sevyn answered that for him. “Don’t look, Guardian.”

Bentley couldn't look away.

Instead, he watched Crow flick his hand, summoning three sparks of fire that turned into flaming knives that he launched into the two nearest Fallen. One of the aliens caught two of the fiery blades in the face, stumbling back with a terrible screech. The other blade lodged in another Fallen’s throat; it went limp on impact.

The other seventeen closed in on Crow like a swarm of vultures.

Bentley saw him lift his hand up toward the sky like some sort of last stand — reaching for the final beams of fading sunlight. The Traveler was up there, too, the huge, white orb hovering over the planet like a second moon. Bentley wondered if it ever responded to Guardians… after all, it was what gave them their power, their Ghosts.

Bentley’s eyes drifted back down to Crow, whose hand was still outstretched — and the fleeting beams of sun came down to meet him.

With a loud whoosh and a flash of light, Crow’s entire body was engulfed in Solar Light, setting him on fire from the crown of his head to the soles of his boots without as much as singing his armor. In his outstretched hand formed a pistol made of pure flame — a rapid fire revolver like the one he carried. 

Bentley flinched when the ablaze Hunter fired a fan of six shots into the crowd of Fallen with loud, almost deafening bangs, much much louder than Hawkmoon. The bullets, blazing with a fiery rage, incinerated the massive Fallen on impact and then continued to the ones behind, blowing fiery holes larger than a shotgun slug through their bodies and disintegrating them into piles of ash. A wave of heat washed over Bentley all the way from where he was, staring in shock and awe. Not an alien was left standing.

He’d never actually seen a Guardian do that before — channel all of their Light into a mega-magic-assault capable of destroying entire hordes of massive aliens. Vanguard slang called them supers, the most violent offense a Guardian could have in their arsenal — a final call to the Traveler’s magic for help, a last stand, an unleashing of all the power left within. The one Crow had just performed, Bentley had learned over the years, was referred to as The Golden Gun.

Crow then slumped back against the cliffside, the flames that had swallowed him fading, still convulsing and jerking thanks to the orange electricity coming from whatever little machine was stuck to him. Glint materialized next to him, frantically fluttering about, and Bentley shifted.

“Don’t! I’m still picking up Fallen signals inside the-“

Bentley ignored Sevyn’s orders and sprung to his feet, jogging across the now-empty canyon and little creek to Crow’s side.

“Crow!” He exclaimed, dropping to a crouch next to him. He eyed the little metal thing on Crow’s shoulder that was creating the electricity, and then he reached for it.

“Bentley, no!” Sevyn exclaimed, and Bentley cried out and flinched away when the strange electricity jumped to his hand, not only electrocuting him, but leaving his skin and muscles burning and tingling like he was holding his hand inside a extremely hot fire. 

Sevyn materialized next to him in a blink, shining his healing light on it, immediately cooling it and staving the pain. “Need I teach you not to touch strange alien electronics?”

Bentley glanced from Sevyn back to Crow, who was jerking and writhing on the dirt under the influence of the electricity. His features were contorted into an expression of agony, and Glint was floating about, lost, watching as though Crow's pain hurt him, too.

Bentley eyed the little metal machine on his shoulder again.

"Bentley..." Sevyn started, glancing between him and Crow. "If you're thinking-"

Before Sevyn could continue his likely long-winded protest of his Guardian's impulsiveness, Bentley moved as fast as he could, biting his tongue and shooting his hand forward, ripping the small machine from Crow's shoulder in a blink.

It felt like he got struck by lightning, and he couldn't help but shout in pain when the electricity seared and stabbed its way up his whole arm. He threw the little machine to the side as his muscles tensed and tightened under his skin in response to the electric pulse.

"Sevyn!" He managed, shaking out his arm like it would help; tears immediately springing in his eyes at the strange numb-veins-filled-with-lava feeling it left him with.

"Geez, stop taking after the reckless ones!" Sevyn all but scolded, moving toward Bentley's arm and shining his healing light there, too. In his peripheral, Bentley could see Glint doing the same, moving methodically about Crow's body, starting at the worst of it and moving on from there.

"Will he be okay?" Bentley asked softly as Sevyn finished healing his arm for the second time, the small robot hovering close by his head. Crow seemed practically unconscious -- though Bentley didn't blame him. He probably would've blacked out on the spot, had his entire body been electrocuted like that.

"Of course he will. It'll just take me a bit to patch him up. What were you doing out here, anyways?" Glint questioned, still floating about Crow's battered body. Bentley shrugged.

"Just wanted to... do something. Other than sitting in the Tower all day,"

Glint hummed in response. "Ye old person-isolated-against-their-will-breaks-out-and-nearly-dies act. I could have assumed. No hate, of course -- I'm not one to talk. Crow and I spent a long time living under someone else's will, too."

Bentley's eyes trailed down to the ground he was sitting on, and Sevyn bumped himself against his shoulder supportively. "Chin up, Guardian."

Suddenly, the ground shook again, and Bentley, along with the two Ghosts, glanced around the canyon.

A second ship just like the first swooped down toward them, and a horrendous amount of dread blossomed in Bentley's stomach at the sight of the bottom opening up, mechanical arms extending outward.

He inhaled shakily, shifting on the ground. "Glint?"

Crow's Ghost was now working frantically, beeping in a weird pattern that indicated anxiety. "I'm working as fast as I can!"

The robotic arms reached into the ship and came back out with more Fallen -- the same, massive ones whose bodies were littering the floor of the canyon. It dropped two with a thud, and two more after. They were all carrying the terrible electric blades -- all but one, who had a gun that resembled a sniper rifle whose barrel was glowing orange.

There was a whoosh of Sevyn disappearing. "Hide, Glint!" He said from nowhere.

Crow's Ghost kept working despite Sevyn's words, bathing his Guardian in Light. "I'm almost done!"

"If you get sniped, you could cost Crow his life!"

Bentley barely heard the two robots bickering -- instead, he watched in silence as the huge Fallen zeroed in on him and Crow, clicking back and forth like they were communicating. The ship sped off into the distance and left the four aliens there, alone, with Bentley and two panicking robots; and the only one there that could defend them was hardly conscious.

Bentley blinked, and stared at the aliens, the strange realization that he was actually about to die washing over him and leaving him feeling oddly cold. (Didn't getting revived after make it okay...? Why didn't it feel okay?)

The Fallen with the rifle lifted it and pulled the trigger, a beam of orange electricity arcing through the air right toward them -- though it didn't hit Bentley; It was aimed at Glint, who narrowly dodged it by ducking to the side. The beam cracked loudly against the cliffside behind them.

Bentley reached out and grabbed Crow's Ghost by his eye, getting him out of sight the one way he knew how -- by holding him behind his back.

"Whoa, kid!"

"Bentley!"

Bentley looked forward, and all four of the massive Fallen were staring at him.

(He was about to die.)

But the Fallen didn't rush to take him down, no -- the one with the gun even stowed it, pulling out blades instead. They moved forward at a slow, menacing crawl, clicking back and forth, eyes trained on Bentley like they were mocking him. He stepped backwards until the heel of his boot nudged Crow's leg.

"Tiny Guardian," One in the front said -- it's voice sounded vaguely female, raspy and layered. It swiped its blades across one another with a shnnnnk. "Thought Lightbearers were bigger, yes?"

Bentley said nothing as the four of them moved closer like animals stalking their prey, eyes bouncing between the four of them. Their glowing, empty eyes, creepy, lanky statures. Part of him wanted to run and never stop, but the thought of leaving Crow there vulnerable and in the open made him feel vaguely sick. The fact that he could be brought back to life wasn't good enough to make Bentley's feet move. Glint wiggled around in his hand, fighting against his grip, but he didn't dare let him go.

"The Great Machine makes bad choice, yes," One of the others replied, a lower baritone. Did they mean the Traveler? "Yes; tiny Lightbearer smells of fear. Fear of death. Tiny Lightbearer has not met her yet."

Her? Her as in death?

Bentley cleared his throat, and the four of them glanced back at him with their glowing eyes, curiously. "I'm... right here, you know. Gossiping is bad."

Sevyn made a strangled noise in his immaterial state, likely revolting against Bentley's audacity.

The one closest to him -- that sounded vaguely like a girl -- made a few clicks, coming closer. "Tiny Lightbearer speaks, yes. Has attitude. Reminds Avix of her own son."

Bentley flinched with a gasp when she sprung towards him on all-sixes, crawling across the ground and rising back up mere feet from him. He scrambled backwards until he thudded into the cliffside next to Crow's unconscious form, keeping Glint hidden behind his back.

The alien stood, and stared, tilting her head back and forth with a few clicks. Bentley could practically feel his heart trying to escape his chest.

"Tiny Lightbearer is... harmless, yes." She said, turning to the other three and clicking. Then she looked back at Bentley, holding out one of her three-fingered hands. "Give Avix Little Machine -- then run, yes?"

Bentley tightened his hold around Glint, exhaling shakily, staring at her hand. "Uh... n-no."

He gasped when the giant Fallen -- Avix -- moved forward, forcing him backwards until he was pinned between the cliffside and her, Glint pinned tightly behind him. She reached forward at the speed of a cobra's strike and grabbed his face with her giant, gross hand, squeezing lightly. Bentley let out a sound akin to a squeak, his other hand coming up in an attempt to bat her's away, a burn already threatening to surface behind his eyes.

"G... get off," He said, but it wasn't threatening in the slightest.

Avix kept getting closer, crouching down until her face was mere inches from his own, her glowing eyes staring right into his. The crackling of her electrified blade came from one of her other hands, and his eyes flicked to it momentarily.

"Look at me!" She shrieked deafeningly in his face, and Bentley couldn't help but jump out of his skin, forcing himself to lock gazes with her again. The burn behind his eyes got worse, and his vision started going watery -- he didn't want to die.

"Tiny Lightbearer cries, yes. Has not met death. Smells of much fear, yes, much fear," She stammered, shaking his face when he glanced at the blade again, forcing his eyes back on her. "Give Avix little machine -- Tiny Lightbearer will not meet her. Avix says so. Avix is leader, yes. Others will not kill what Avix does not kill."

Bentley glanced back at the other three Fallen, who were staying in the distance, weapons drawn, lurking here and there in the now almost pitch-black canyon.

The odd feeling of Glint de-materializing between his fingertips made something in Bentley relax.

Carefully, he lifted both of his hands to the giant alien, palms out and open, revealing that there was no robot there.

Avix jerked Bentley away from the wall to check behind him, and when there was nothing there, she made a loud, unidentifiable screech and shoved him into the stone with a thud so hard it seemed to rattle his bones and leave his head foggy. With a few clicks and hisses, she stalked her way back to the other three and turned on her heel.

“Tiny Lightbearer dies,” She growled, and the one behind her pulled out its rifle again. “His body comes with Avix, yes. I have plans for when Tiny Lightbearer rises. He will not disrespect Avix again, yes, yes.”

They were going to kill him? And then take him with them?

Bentley glanced at Crow, who was still unresponsive.

“Sevyn?”

“It’s now or never, Guardian! Channel the Traveler’s Light! Call on it! I’ll help you the best I can!” Sevyn exclaimed from nowhere.

“I can’t use the Light!” Bentley replied, and a wire of orange shot from the rifle, zinging right past his head, only narrowly missing thanks to a well-timed duck.

“Now would be a great time to learn!” Sevyn shouted. “Just imagine yourself destroying all these Fallen using the Light!”

With no other options, Bentley ducked behind one of the massive Fallen bodies and closed his eyes, hoping and praying the Traveler would help him.

“Feel the Light inside of you, Guardian. It is in you, whether you believe it is or not. You can do this,” Sevyn mumbled. Another zing! went past Bentley, and he flinched. “Focus — Concentrate. I have my eye on the Fallen.”

Bentley tried. How was he supposed to feel the Light now when he’d never felt it before? He’d heard stories — that most Guardians found their Light in times of dire trouble, and he was pretty sure getting kidnapped by aliens counted. 

“Tiny Lightbearer!” Avix’s enraged voice came, growing closer to him. “Hiding is futile when Avix knows where you are, yes!”

Bentley focused really hard on his own body, imagining the Light like Sevyn had said. How did other Guardians do this so easily, so fluidly?

“Tiny Lightbearer will make Avix good pet, yes! Fun to watch squirm!” She shouted, her voice drawing nearer and nearer.

Bentley suddenly felt… strange. Not in a bad way, though — strange like something simultaneously cold and boiling was pooling in his fingertips. Like something was moving through his veins, like gasoline -- cool, but also ready to explode. He peeled his eyes open to glance at his hands, and-

They were surging with bright, glowing Arc Light, white-blue bolts of electricity sparking from his fingertips and crackling across his skin, though it didn’t hurt. It felt like his whole being was buzzing, vibrating in anticipation. He felt… empowered.

“Now, Guardian!”

At Sevyn’s mark, Bentley stood up and turned, extending his electrified palms outward. An unknown, never-before-felt power surged inside of him. Electricity seemed to burst out of his entire body, crackling, striking, bolts of lightning crawling across his skin and cracking atop his clothes. It illuminated the entire canyon in the nighttime with a blinding, luminescent glow.

He felt his feet leave the ground. Avix and her three minions were not too far from where he was, now, blades and rifle drawn to attack.

Bentley cried out when power exploded from him, a solid beam of screaming electricity shooting from the palm of his right hand. It slammed directly into Avix’s chest, knocking her backwards maybe six or seven yards, boring a charred hole through her chest and disintegrating her entire body not a second after. Bentley made a sound of surprise as the smell of charred flesh and static electricity filled the air.

“Keep going, Guardian! You’re doing it!” Sevyn encouraged, sounding probably the giddiest he ever had. At his excitement, Bentley turned his sights to the other three Fallen, and the beam of electricity followed where he led. He raked it across the final trio of aliens and it blitzed right through them, severing their bodies in half before incinerating them completely.

As soon as the four Fallen were dead, Bentley’s power, as well as all his remaining strength, fled, and he fell a few feet before crashing hands-and-knees in the dirt. His whole body was still buzzing, his arms and legs tingling with the remnants of leftover power. Everything around him seemed to be swimming a little, sounds muffled and vision swirling around his head. He felt like he could go to bed and sleep for a year.

There were two little whooshes next to his face.

“You did it! You casted a super! Bentley, you’re a Warlock!” Sevyn all but screamed, hovering up close to his face, tapping himself gently on his forehead over and over. “You’re a Warlock! A Warlock!”

There was a small sound of Glint finishing his healing process, and Bentley heard Crow groan, sitting up a few yards to his right. 

“Ugh. That was unpleasant,”

“While you were down, Bentley casted a super! Chaos Reach!” Sevyn screamed at him. “He’s a Warlock, Crow, a Warlock!”

With a grunt of effort, Bentley pushed his vibrating body off of the ground and onto his feet, teetering a bit on reaching his full height. Black dots danced around in his vision, but didn’t fully take over -- like they were taunting him. He couldn’t even seem to process the words Sevyn was screaming right in his face.

In the blink of an eye, Crow had come up next to him, both Ghosts hovering by his side. 

“Yeah, he sure looks like he casted his first super,” Crow said with a snicker, and Bentley felt his gloved hand land on his left shoulder. He looked up at the older Guardian, but he couldn’t really focus on his pale blue face. 

“Yep, there you go,”

Bentley didn't even realize he’d fallen over until he was hoisted limply up into Crow’s arms, settled against the soft front of his cloak. 

“Mm… Sorry,” He hummed.

“Nah, you’re doing great to stay conscious at all. I passed flat out as soon as I came out of my first super. In the middle of a horde of Taken, no less,”

Bentley didn’t know anything about Taken besides the fact that they were aliens, but he also didn’t have the willpower to ask.

“I’ve gotcha, kid. Glint, Sevyn, to the Tower please,” Crow ordered.

“On it!”

Bentley’s world proceeded to fade to black, but his hearing remained just long enough for him to hear Crow inhale and exhale deeply.

“I'm so dead for this.”

Asten’s story is below ↴

IN GAME CHAOS REACH:

IN GAME GOLDEN GUN:

ASTEN ↴

THE OUTSKIRTS OF THE LAST CITY, OLD EARTH, SOL SYSTEM -- 6:16PM

--

YOU SEE, ASTEN WAS A TOUGH KID. Tougher than most. Growing up homeless on the outskirts of the Last City presented him with no shortage of things he had to endure in order to merely survive — muggings, beatings, high-stakes chases, a life of thievery, actually getting stabbed, twice, flashy guns waved in his face, really bad habits, and lots of time spent cursing his existence into the wind. He’d survived more things than he’d like to admit in all his sixteen years. Forcing himself to fight with a knife in his shoulder and still coming out on top, having a Guardian called on him and watching it's Ghost scramble to resurrect them nearly six times before they ever got close enough to put a hand on him. In his mind, he was invincible — or at least he could be, when he needed to.

That invincibility seemed to have fled on this particular day, because he’d woken up having apparently caught the Black Plague. It was hard to move, to think, to breathe, to see, to hear — he felt trashier than a full dumpster from the Fallen District, and given he’d managed a stab wound and cauterization with half as much suffering, he knew he’d be down for the count, and soon.

So, he soldiered through it in his incredibly Asten way, willing himself to fix it before it killed him. He forced his way to the nearest pharmacy, walked in circles around it for about an hour, almost passed out twice, before he was able to form some semblance of a plan within his muddied brain.

And of course, it had backfired. Now, he was in a fenced-off back-alley of The Last City that he often used as a hideout, with a small pack full of stolen medicine, an entire platoon of security searching for him, and about as much will to move as a blade of grass. (Running at full-speed for a solid ten minutes away from the pharmacy hadn’t been the most brilliant idea for a kid sporting a fever so high he could practically hear his brain frying.)

Any other night after stealing something big like a bag full of expensive medicine, he’d be watching his surroundings extra carefully — moving to different hideouts methodically until the initial search was over and security gave him room to breathe… but tonight he wasn’t. Tonight, he was barely hidden from view by various dumpsters and trash cans, curled up, shivering on the cool concrete. It was mostly quiet there, and he could hear the wind whistling through the city. The only things that accompanied him in the dark, gross alley was the trash, a chain-link fence, and the walls. That was all.

While the air was pleasantly cool for the other inhabitants of the city, for him, it was an icy cold that made his skin tingle. He was shivering despite his blackish-blue hair and first layer of clothes being drenched with sweat. The strong smells coming from several different establishments and sewers were only working to make his head hurt worse and his stomach turn unsettlingly. Which, for him, was strange. Usually, the very prospect of food would have him climbing through vents or breaking open windows if it meant he wouldn’t have to go hungry for another day, but right now, he couldn’t bring himself to feel anything other than disgust at the very thought.

The stars shone brightly above the Last City. He would usually be staring at them, watching them move with a nonchalant air about him, going from here to there and sending guards to the wrong places over and over again. But tonight, he didn’t really have the willpower to open his eyes. Right now, he didn’t even have the willpower to take any of the stolen medicine.

He winced as his head throbbed with a newer, sharper pain than it had all day, probably in response to pushing his body way farther than it should’ve been pushed. He coiled up tighter. He was really glad no one really traveled those alleys, because he must’ve looked more pitiful than a crippled puppy. His arms and legs were aching in a way that made him want to weep, feeling like they were tied to cinder blocks he had to drag around with him. His head felt like it was full of cotton, hazy and blurry and a feeling a little bit like it might explode, like it had too much of something in it. Every organ in his body was revolting its very existence, and he swore he’d rather have a knife in him again than feel like that.

He’d made doubly sure his trusty sniper-rifle was within grasp — an old thing, dropped by a guy in a fight long ago — which, naturally, had led to him clutching onto the faithful firearm like other kids would a stuffed animal. It was smushed against his torso, safety on, because he had his arms wrapped securely around himself as to not upset his body anymore. It wasn’t the best weapon for close quarters fighting like running from security in the city, but it was all he had. He was pretty good at hip firing the thing anyways — not that he was looking to blow anyone’s head off anytime soon.

Even when he was wholly convinced he was dying, vague thoughts still pestered his mind — like the fact that most security knew about this particular hideout, and that most security definitely knew what he looked like, blue hair and all. He would’ve ditched his clothes and hid his hair after a normal heist. Instead, he pressed his burning forehead into the cool concrete beneath him and grimaced.

He drifted in and out of consciousness for a while. Sleep seemed like it would be a sweet release from the terrible state his body was in, but he couldn’t actually seem to fall asleep. Not while he had to keep one eye open for security. When they got here, he’d run, he kept telling himself. Just five more minutes. When he heard them, he’d go.

Those five more minutes turned into an indecipherable amount of time loathing his existence on the ground before a pair of voices flitted down the alley and made his head hurt worse.

“Are you sure this is where they said he went? There’s nothing out here!” Said a small voice — quiet, and somewhat… robotic? “They said he’d been stealing for years, surely he'd have a better place to hide!”

“I’m pretty sure hiding somewhere unsuspecting is the point, Glint. Run a thermal scan,”

Asten immediately forced his heavy eyes open as a realization dawned on him — that the first voice had been too robotic to be a human’s, overlaid with something mechanical. The second, too calm, too unbothered to be a guard on the City outskirts where sketchy people lurked and bad things crept in the shadows.

This wasn’t a pair of security guards — this was a Ghost and a Guardian. 

They’d sicced a Lightbearer on him, again.

He felt his heart rate pick up as he pushed himself upright, the entire world spinning there for a few seconds before he was able to right himself. He fumbled for his bag and his rifle, forcing himself onto his feet only to careen into the alley wall thanks to the black dots dancing in his vision that had invited their friend violent vertigo to the party.

Last time they’d sent a Guardian out to pursue him, the Titan had been so brutal with his magical-superpowers and epic-hand-to-hand-skills that he didn’t let Asten breathe until he couldn’t move. Until he was beaten and battered and had lost enough blood that the huge Titan was able to drag him through the city streets by the collar of his jacket without a single sound falling from Asten’s lips except soft, nearly unidentifiable sobs. He’d been thirteen then. He wondered if all Guardians had a knack for torturing children who were just trying to live.

Something cold and mean blossomed in his chest when he realized that, in this state, he wouldn’t be able to survive a beating like that again.

Instead of deciding on something rational, like turning himself in, or simply begging for mercy and letting them know he was the sickest he’d ever been in his life, his first instinct was to grab a magazine from his belt and jam it into the bottom of his sniper rifle.

This Guardian was not going to touch him.

“I’m picking up a heat signature in the next alley,” Came the Ghost’s voice.

Once the vertigo had mostly subsided, Asten forced himself to move even though it made him feel like passing out and throwing up and maybe even dying on the spot. The chain-link fence on the opposite end of the alley would do little to keep the Guardian out, but maybe it’d give him just a little head-start. At this point, he’d take what he could get. He pushed himself out the back end of the alley, between the old buildings and the the city walls, and went to the left. Forced himself to move quickly and quietly even though it felt like torture, watching buildings pass as he went.

Once he reached a reasonable distance away, he turned back and shouldered his sniper rifle, sliding the lever with a click-click so it loaded a round. Bringing the sights up to his face, he let the reticle rest just on the mouth of the alley he’d left.

He wouldn’t feel bad for killing him. He wouldn’t. He’d just come right back to life… like Guardians always did. Better that Ghost have to work than Asten be reduced to a pretty little stain on the concrete. A pretty little stain on the concrete that didn’t have a Ghost to bring it back to life.

Not two seconds later, a Guardian broke the threshold of the alley — a Hunter, it looked like, for a long cape flowed behind his back. He looked strange, dawning white armor that sort of looked like scales, or feathers, maybe, with pale blue Awoken skin and no helmet. He had a large, shiny revolver in his hand that reflected light right in Asten’s eyes.

No helmet — a rookie mistake.

In one fluid, mechanical movement, his heart thumping wildly in his chest, Asten held his breath and took the shot.

BOOM!

Even though he was crouched, the recoil nearly knocked him over in his weak state, the boom leaving a piercing ring in his ears that threatened to crack his skull. The Guardian’s head exploded in a mist of red.

At the sight, Asten’s entire body twisted — his mind, his conscience, his morality, his guts — and his response in his sickly state was to gag. The ringing was still present in his ears, and he let the sniper rifle fall to brace one hand on the ground, staying crouched in the back-alley. Black dots came into his vision and danced around some more.

He let out a string of curses he barely heard, forcing his eyes back up to the body of the Hunter. His Ghost was hovering over him, glowing, its segments split wide open and spinning around a ball of bright Light.

Asten knew Ghost mannerisms well enough to know the Hunter was about to be resurrected. And he couldn’t be here when he was.

With that realization, he grabbed his rifle and forced himself onto his feet, again, still not hearing or seeing very well, his entire body screaming at him to stop. But he didn’t; instead, he forced himself forward and past a few more alleyways, only taking a right turn into one that he knew contained a fire escape. He fell into a wheezy, barky coughing fit that left him breathless and hardly able to stay upright; The only thing keeping him off the concrete at this point was pure adrenaline.

He reached for the medicine bag to make sure it was still on his shoulder, a terrible ache settling in his chest after the bout of coughing — a kind of soreness in his lungs that made even breathing painful. He wiped at his involuntarily watering eyes and pushed himself up the stairs of the fire escape, settling on the first platform and jerking on the lever of his sniper again, loading another round. The movement sent more pain streaking through his chest, and he coughed and coughed until he was seeing stars, felt unbearably hot, and thought his lungs might splat on the fire escape.

Luckily, they didn’t. Unluckily, the violent coughing made his lava-filled stomach churn, and he knew it wouldn’t be long before it demanded to have his undivided attention.

Despite the fact that his whole body felt like it might cave in on him, he crouched and lifted the rifle to his shoulder again, settling his eye on the scope. His arms proved too weak and shaky to hold it still, so he rested the barrel on the railing and aimed at the mouth of the alley. 

“-this way!” The Ghost’s voice echoed in his head. 

As soon as the white-clad Guardian rounded the corner, Asten wasted no time, a second shot from the sniper rifle ringing out and leaving an explosion of blood and another limp Guardian in it's wake. His Ghost appeared hovering over him — a little crimson robot with a worried air about him.

The recoil from the shot jolted Asten’s entire body. He saw stars again, heard nothing but ringing — a dagger of pain shot all the way through his torso, his shoulder, lungs, stomach, so sudden and sharp that it made him cry out. He reached for his thin jacket in an attempt to stave the pain — a terrible mistake, for his sniper rifle tipped over the railing and, even though he reached for it, his reflexes were botched. It dropped to the ground below with the telltale clatter of concrete on metal.

He looked up at the Ghost, the stars slowly fading from his vision; the little robot was staring at him. 

He stared back.

And it dawned on him — now it was a race.

The Ghost immediately turned back to its Guardian and opened up frantically, expelling a bright light. Asten, with all his senses shot, conscious from nothing more than mere spite, forced himself to stumble back down the metal stairs. He had to focus all of his remaining energy into his legs just to keep from face-planting. And then-

And then another round of ultra-violent coughing sprung forth from inside of him, completely halting him in his tracks. His chest rattled and constricted with a vengeance, putting him in so much pain he actually considered crying. He had to completely stop moving just to keep from hitting the ground, and the coughing continued and continued and continued until everything he’d eaten in the not-so-distant past was displayed on the ground for the Ghost and Guardian to see. He had to move for a wall to stay upright, bracing himself against it and taking a moment to breathe — a painful action that sounded more like horrific wheezing.

Thankfully, his outburst seemed to have distracted the Ghost, who was back in one piece and blinking at him in surprise. For a moment, he thought the little thing might even try and speak to him — instead, it turned and opened up again, to raise its Guardian.

Asten glanced at the sniper rifle laying about a dozen feet from him. Moving for it, reloading, aiming, all while hardly able to make his body obey in the first place would take too long — the Guardian would be awake by then.

So he lunged for the Ghost instead.

The little robot shouted: “Ah!” When he grabbed it by its eye, and in a blind moment of adrenaline, he fumbled around on the concrete until he found the Guardian’s dropped revolver, pressing the cold barrel against the Ghost’s center.

“Oh, not again!” The little thing pleaded, writhing in his hand. “Let me go! I’ll contact the Vanguard!” It threatened.

“And I’ll blow you to bits and leave your Guardian to rot,” Asten hissed. He sent a glance to the Hunter, though he didn’t look for very long since a portion of his head was missing thanks to a bullet he'd let fly. 

“Raise him,” He ordered at the Ghost.

“No!”

“Raise him!” He repeated, louder, though his voice was hoarse now, and his mouth tasted vile. Not that he had been very threatening in the first place. He pulled back the hammer of the revolver with a shrill click that echoed in the quiet alley.

“Okay, okay, okay!” The Ghost murmured, sighing heavily. It opened up, eye still held tightly in Asten’s hand, shining a bright light on its Guardian. For a split second, Asten’s hand that was engulfed in the light cooled off and he felt… okay.

And as soon as the Ghost closed and his Guardian sat up with a groan, Asten felt like a heaping pile of death again.

It took a few seconds for the Hunter to comprehend what was going on, his orange glowing eyes flicking around and then coming to rest on his Ghost.

“Crow…” The little robot begged, wiggling in Asten’s grip. Crow must’ve been the Guardian’s name, he guessed. 

The Hunter — Crow — popped off of the ground, reaching for his holster that had no gun. His glowing orange eyes flicked to said holster, to the revolver in Asten’s hand; to the sniper rifle on the ground behind him. 

“Hands up. You move, he dies,” Asten ordered. Crow obliged, lifting his gloved hands — though Asten knew he could blow him sky high with superpowers if he really wanted to. He just kinda hoped he… didn’t really want to. Or that he was threatening enough to dissuade him… maybe.

Crow and Asten stared at each other for a solid ten seconds, the former sending a glance to his Ghost. He shifted uncomfortably, like seeing the little robot — what had he called him earlier, Glint? —  in such a dire situation physically pained him. Asten knew the relationships between Guardians and Ghosts were insanely intimate, like having a part of their soul manifested in physical form to aid them.

That’s why he kept the barrel of the gun pressed firmly against Glint’s eye when he growled: “Leave me the hell alone.”

“Look, I… I know you're scared. And I wouldn’t have chased you like that if I knew you were just a kid-” Crow moved, maybe to step forward, maybe to reach for Asten, he wasn’t sure -- but he squeezed the Ghost’s eye hard enough to make the robot squeak out a pained sound. The noise all but glued Crow’s feet to the concrete below them, and he stretched his hands out, a desperate look on his face. “Please, let him go. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Bullshit,” Asten murmured. “I’ve been burned enough to know that's a half-assed lie. At least be more original.”

He tried to make it sound venomous, but given that the force he had to put into the words sent him into another moment of rough-sounding coughing, it probably came across more like an angry toddler. 

“All I was told was that I was chasing perp with over a hundred robberies and years of stealing under his belt. I didn’t realize you were…” Crow trailed off, really taking in Asten’s appearance for the first time. He was pretty sure he looked like death incarnate, given he felt like it. His hand that was holding the revolver was shaking from the effort, but he didn’t dare let it move from the Ghost’s eye. “Well, I’m guessing you didn’t raid that pharmacy just for fun.”

“Just get the hell out of here, superhero. Once you’re out of sight, and once you promise not to follow me or come after me again, I’ll let your little pet go,” Coming up with and forcing out words was starting to become way more of a task than it should’ve been, and Asten’s head started getting foggy, everything feeling a little bit… off. More off.

Crow watched him intently with his glowing eyes. “Maybe I shouldn’t leave you out here.”

“Like hell you’re taking me anywhere,” Asten hissed, the sudden, loud words sending a burst of pain through his head that made him wince, though he thought he hid it pretty well under a scowl. “You’re-”

A few quiet noises emanated from the robot, and Asten glanced over with an appalled expression when it shined a bright light up and down his face, like it was scanning him.

“What the f-”

“Internal temperature is one-hundred-four-point-five degrees,” Glint announced, as though he didn’t still have a gun pressed to his eye. “He’s very… well… he’s very unwell, Crow. He threw up on the ground right before you woke. Hardly-”

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here,” Asten forced out, gritting his teeth at the pain it sent rippling from his head, down his neck and into his chest. He coughed a few times, muffling them by keeping his mouth closed. His voice was completely and utterly gone when he rasped out: “I just want you to… leave.”

“Sent out to take medicine from a sick kid. Why do I get stuck with all these jobs?” Crow muttered, mostly to Glint, but also to himself. “Look, what’s your name?”

Asten scowled. “Not-stupid-enough-to-answer-that-McGee.”

Crow breathed in and out, visibly irritated, though he pushed it back and kept his composure, trying a different approach instead. “I know you feel like shit -- flu’s been going around the City like no one’s ever seen. Lots of people have been hospitalized. The Vanguard even has Guardians helping out in some of the medical establishments around.”

Asten didn’t reply -- because, what was he really supposed to say to that, anyways? Plus, he was starting to feel nauseous again, so he didn’t really want to open his mouth.

“I spent a long time doing… bad things just to keep myself alive. Worse than stealing someone's food or robbing a place,” Crow started, holding a hand out to him. “I know how hard it is to trust people, to trust Guardians… I spent the first while of my Risen life getting murdered by them over and over again. Like they were playing a game with me.”

Asten vaguely wondered why the other Guardians would murder one of their own, but he didn’t give it much thought. He couldn’t; not really. Not when he was focused solely on not hurling. “Go away. Please. I’ll let him go, just… leave.”

“I want to help you,” Crow tried, stepping closer, daring to edge his hand nearer. Part of Asten yearned for the idea of help. Of letting someone else make sure he didn’t die for once.

The rest of him was revolted at the proximity he was allowing the Guardian to gain on him.

“No,” He breathed, voice still squeaky and wheezy. “I don’t want your pity help. The last Guardian that talked to me like this dragged me through the city half-dead. Like I was some kind of trophy.”

“And I’m so sorry one of them treated you like that,” Crow apologized, and Asten searched his face for a lie; all he saw was dangerous, dangerous sincerity. Sincerity that made the teenager want to cave. “Please let me help you. I won’t let anyone hurt you. You won’t get in trouble. I promise.”

When had someone last spoken to him like that? He wasn’t sure anyone ever had. And every single expression, movement, mannerism led him to believe Crow was being wholly genuine. 

And it made him want to cave so damn bad. A Guardian, of all people.

“Asten,” He croaked.

Crow cocked a brow, his glowing eyes searching his face. “What?”

“My name,” He replied. Part of his conscience was kicking him over and over for giving him his real name -- the rest was whispering for him to give in.

“Asten,” Crow tried the name out, deciding it sounded about right. “How old are you?”

Well, since he was on a roll… “Sixteen.”

He heard Crow curse under his breath. 

“Listen... I’m sorry if I scared you, I really am. You’re an incredible shot,” He started, eyes scanning him repetitively, forcing this little, quick smile on his face. “Please, let me help you. You… don’t look so good.”

“One-hundred-four-point-seven,” Glint chimed in.

Asten just stood for a moment, staring at the Guardian ahead of him. His words bounced around and around in his head. Promises for help, that he wouldn’t get hurt, that he wouldn’t die from the plague. That he wouldn’t be in trouble and thrown into confinement again. It all sounded too good to be true, and most of him knew that. But there was a little voice in his head that was rejoicing because someone actually… cared. In all sixteen years, someone actually…

Oh, shit. All those fancy promises about help and rainbows and butterflies was starting to-

“No,” Asten tried once more, his already gone voice breaking slightly in the middle of the word. He wasn’t sure why, but his eyes began to water. He chose to believe it was the fever and delirium and the fact that he felt like death making it happen, but part of him knew that wasn’t really the case. “Just… stop. Go away.”

(He didn't say stop because he really wanted him to stop, though — he said stop because he was caving and he knew it.)

Pity rippled across Crow's features -- sadness. "If you really want me to, I will. But I don't think that's the case."

Asten said nothing, but bit the inside of his cheek hard, forcing the wetness in his eyes to subside. Of course, it didn't really work.

"Why are you crying?" Glint questioned innocently. His little robot voice was doing that same thing Crow's had -- going soft, quiet, gentle.

"I'm not crying, you little shithead," Asten snapped, blinking rapidly in an attempt to ward the tears off again.

Crow opened his mouth to speak, but with a sudden and violent intensity, Asten’s entire body seemed to go on strike; He threw up all over his own feet, his hands slipping from both the Ghost and the gun to slink around himself instead. The revolver clattered on the concrete and Glint whirred up to his Guardian’s side, turning to look back at him.

His leverage was gone.

That was about when he realized darkness was not only dancing in his vision, but threatening to take in entirely, his whole body going into a strange, numb feeling that Glint seemed to catch onto before it fully took over.

“Catch him, Crow!” The Ghost shouted, before Asten was even falling. 

But then he was — his legs gave out beneath him not a second later. Only, for the first time in his life, he didn’t hit the concrete — instead, Crow scooped him up like a small child, and he let him.

“Glint, take us to the Tower,” Crow ordered.

Oh, Asten was so going to die.

—

tag list! (If you want me to remove or add you, ask in comments!)

@fleur-alise @sarcopterygiian @flyrobinflyy @gayboss-too-close-to-the-sun

@xiaonothere @skylathescholarly @beatyoutothatusernameloser

[paladin-of-nerd-fandom65]

Alrighty, after taking some inspiration from the recent X Men 97 and now that the Krakoa Era is finally wrapping up, I would like taking this opportunity in explaining a sort of take on this idea of an entire nation of supernatural peoples and beings from all across the globe and giving it a….Titanic spin to it

Basically

What if The (formerly Teen) Titans have a Krakoa Arc to call their own?

Yes this idea will be based on my little Fanon universe that’s in my Pinned Post so anyways Brace Yourselves My Friends

Background: Taking place an in universe year or two after Dick and Kory’s epic honeymoon and after a more or less steady status quo for the DCU, things start escalating with a grand alliance of Planet Tamaran’s enemies from all across the Vega System reconvene once again to seize the planet for themselves. While the Tamaraneans under their Empress Komand’r are well prepared for such a threat, so have their enemies in advance with equipment and tech from Apokolips. Despite their best efforts, Komand’r and her people are deeply struggling against New God tech and it’s not too long before their enemies surround their capital demanding their unconditional surrender. Kom’s scientists though have come up with a final desperate plan which they believe can either help their people fight back against the overwhelming odds however at a great risk, a plan Kom is all too willing to go if it means saving her people from subjugation.

As such, she flies with all her great speed fully charged with her power right all the way to the Vega sun itself, the plan being to supercharge its solar output with her power inner reserves, allowing more energy to shine which should empower her people even those who didn’t tap into their starbolts like Kory and her can. While granting the entire race the ability to charge up Starbolts, the ability to legit breathe in space and other advanced powers and abilities, it all came at an extraordinary cost; the Star itself wounded up overloading and with barely time for their enemies to acknowledge it on time, it explodes into a massive supernova, taking not just them and not even just the planet itself but the whole of the Vega system.

The Tamaraneans themselves, all their civilians and even their then freed relatives managed to evacuate right on time so not one was lost in the supernova but now they have no home to come back to, leaving them a diaspora.

Meanwhile, as the Titans (nominally split into the premier Justice Titans and their B team allies though in the whole composed of Nightwing, Starfire, Raven, Beast Boy, Cyborg, Terra, Troia and Red Arrow) have numerous adventures and meet new allies across not just the universe and other planes of existence which can include the Phantom Zone, the realm of the Lord of Chaos etc, but throughout the Multiverse itself, even coming into contact and allying with the titular Titans of the Multiverse in their own quests to fix worlds with their timelines screwed over; all of it has them gaining new never wig their team and other allies but more importantly a massive influx of entire peoples as refugees and immigrants settling in the Titans’ universe for a new home. Unluckily for the Titans by the point this influx of people’s in need of new home becomes of a priority, The Legion of Doom, Lex Luthor’s team of supervillains, have launched an all out assault on their T shaped bases in both in Earth’s exosphere and in Bludhaven bay. While the attack was ultimately repelled, both T Towers were destroyed, now requiring the Titans themselves in need of a base themselves

Eventually the Titans decide on a Take out Multiple Birds with One Stone approach: with some Kryptonian tech borrowed from the City of Kandor and a location on the opposite side of Mars’ orbit (due to Earth’s orbit being occupied by Earth itself and New Krypton but I Digress lol), a massive new planet is created to be a sort of new home for all those refugees across existence and of course the Tamaraneans, Empress Blackfire acting as their representative in a high governing council which her sister and the other Titans are the ultimate authority on

While the Titans themselves are mainly tendering to Earth’s matters and small scale operations and crime fighting, this Planet shall serve as their new base of operations and the mainly settlers on it being their allies for Cosmic scale threats and crises.

Thus we present to you,

Titans Planet

For this new status quo, before the destruction of the Towers, the Titans Book (the one featuring the aforementioned B team of Troia, Red Arrow, The Flash (Wally West), Omen, Bumblebee, Herald and Jericho) would have a definitive conclusion after around hopefully 100-120 issues (bi weekly schedule applying), the team within it being consolidated into Justice Titans

Therefore in Issue #125, that’ll be a triple sized jumping on issue in which has not just that grand attack by the Legion of Doom but also the Titans consulting with the Kryrptonians of Kandor for borrowing their tech to create Titans Planet. Midway through the issue, Dick would have a bite among their members on whether to proceed with this plan or not, bringing up some differing options and raised concerns among them. Eventually the votes lean in favor of a Yes, leading to creation of the new planet in the opposite side of Mars’ orbit.

Here, Dick, Kom, Donna and Kory lay down simple ground rules for their new found headquarters/planet:

1) The core team should be addressed of tensions between peoples over land rights and other disputes.

2) No citizen of this planet should harm not especially kill another. Should they travel to Earth, they must also not kill any humans or any earthlings

3) The earthlings in turn must respect and treat these citizens of this planet as much any other earthling

4) Titans Planet Must Be Respected. Any attacks on its citizens, not the Titans themselves, but its citizens by hostile powers across both the stars and across dimensions will be a declaration of war.

As for the books that would be affected or launched by this new status quo;

- Titans (formerly Justice Titans, starting in maybe Issue #126, this book will be renamed)

- Nightwing and Starfire: The Flying Graysons (Despite the both of them still officially living in Bludhaven, the Planet especially due to the presence of Kom would serve being a platform for stories for Kory in order to diversify it from the standard Bludhaven based ones)

- Titans Planet (launching after Justice Titans #125, The Main ‘Hub World’ series which explores the day to day operations of the planet’s many people groups and factions; the only title that operates in a one issue per month schedule, Though each single issue are double sized)

- Blackfire: Empress of Tamaran (Launches after Justice Titans #125, serving as the solo adventures of Empress Komand’r as she contends with not just remnants of that alliance that ultimate destroyed her home planet but also other cosmic foes and enemies including probably up to Darkseid himself)

- Mon El: Man of Valor (Similarly launches after Justice Titans #126; Among the people groups that have settled on Titans Planet was the Daxamites who due to events in Action Comics, their own planet too has been destroyed thus they are in the need of a new home. Mon himself being a top representative on their behalf on the planet while he deals with not just a rise of potential supervillains on this planet but also his own place in this world, on Earth and in the universe as a whole in light of these events. Mon himself at this point is something of an Honorary Titan due to his stronger connections with the Superman family)

- Cyborg

- Raven

- Beast Boy

Future event comics and crossovers that involve these books can still occur though the status quo remains for a lengthy amount of time in real life. At the bare minimum, it should last between 2-5 years before another massive shake up can occur.

For any constructive criticism, compliments or additions, Please Reblog and/Reply if you can. It’ll be greatly appreciated

[allsaiint]

↠ doom slayer/reader

↠ word count: 3200

↠ masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

↠ description: while you had heard tales of the doom slayer's unrelenting rage and power, it was a different story when you witnessed it first hand.

↠ warnings: gratuitous butchering of canon | reader has physcial description for specific plot reasons but is otherwise neutral | feminine pronouns | descriptions of blood, gore, and violence | slayer finally doesn't try to shoot you... though he does threaten to

↠ author’s notes: more or less just a filler chapter to get to the next arc. reminder, as if the warnings aren't enough (sometimes they aren't) that i am dismantling canon bc i can and bc it fits the idea better. if two warnings aren't enough for you, you're a lost cause. as always, an ao3 link is on the masterlist. in reference to the chapter title: yes, yes i had to.

“What,” you groaned once you had picked yourself up off of the floor, “the fuck was that?”

That being the flashes of Hell that had been forced into your brain when the slayer unlocked the Helix Stone from its confinement. It had been confusing at best, full of flickering red flames and sandstone and, most prominent, the hilt of a large sword made of bone. Its eyes had been alive with the fires of Hell, if one was feeling poetic. You were not, truth be told.

It was Hayden that answered, though you got the sense it was more out of convenience than an actual interest in giving you one. His excitement was a little too palpable when he said, “The Crucible. That’s what Olivia was after. Vega, do you have the location?”

“I do, Dr. Hayden. Transmitting now. The signal is showing it to be in the Great Steppe— the Titan’s realm. You will need another Argent Accumulator, however, and the only one left in this sector is in Specimen CD597.”

“Woah, woah, wait,” you said, throwing your hands up. The instant that the A.I. listed the numbers, cold anxiety spilled down your spine. “Specimen CF597? The Cyberdemon?”

An Argent Accumulator was a cylinder made of a heat resistant alloy mined from another planet outside of the solar system. Inside of it was a refined version of something known as Argent Energy, which the facility pumped from the Argent Fracture. While the UAC told humanity that Argent Energy was just plasma found beneath the surface of Mars, the truth was much darker. Argent Plasma, before it became energy, was the source of power that kept the Hell realm functioning. No one had yet discovered how it was made— or at least, no one had informed you. You only learned of it after having been reassigned to the Lazarus Complex, and the knowledge had rocked not once, but twice now that the memory resurfaced thanks to Vega.

The Argent Accumulator that Vega was specifically referring to was in the chest of the biggest, most volatile demon in containment on the entire planet. During the Second Manned Lazarus Expedition into the Great Steppe, the teams came upon the petrified remains of a massive Titan that later research revealed to be an ancient Baalgar demon. Corrax tablets— the name given to the written history of the demons by the demons— suggested that the Baalgar demons were once Shadow Lords, a high rank amongst demonic ‘nobles’. 

Upon being brought back, experiments began on the remains. It was soon discovered that, upon exposing them to small doses of Argent Energy, the flesh would respond and grow. From what you knew, the scientists began to meld cybernetic technology into the slowly regrowing demon. You were unsure of the finer technicalities behind it, but somehow— and for some reason— they gave the demon the ability to control the Argent Accumulator they implanted in its chest. This gave it the ability to administer Argent Energy to itself as needed but, as expected, they lost control of it. When they allowed it to awaken, it went on a rampage in the lower sector, and they were forced to contain it in holding cell 6— the only one large enough and strong enough to contain it. 

“That is correct,” Vega  answered as the slayer pulled you along behind him. “I have uploaded its coordinates to you.”

“Once you have extracted the accumulator, it should become unstable enough to send you back to their world.” That was Hayden, who sounded unconcerned by any and all of what they had just found out. “We can control your point of entry with the tether system in your suit, and extract you once you have retrieved the Crucible. I must insist, however, that you leave her  out of it—”

Whatever other objections he had were cut off by the obnoxious klaxon of the warning system. A too calm female voice came over the intercom, announcing that a lockdown was in effect due to an extremely high demonic presence, which preceded the actual appearance of the demons by milliseconds.

Figuring that it was as good a time as any to make yourself scarce, you ducked the volley of fireballs cast by Imps in your, but more specifically the slayer’s, direction. Slipping and sliding on their entrails as he cleaned house with nothing but a shotgun, you threw yourself into the relative safety of an overhang, tucking into a corner made by the wall and the staircase. 

The Imps, you came to learn, were just the appetizer, keeping the slayer occupied until the larger demons could make their way through portals. At first it was a handful of Hell Knights, their thunderous steps overpowering the rapid fire of the heavy assault rifle the slayer utilized against them. The cacophony would have been aggravating to begin with, but coupled with the fact that you were overwhelmed by— just about everything, it was all you could do to watch the devastation unfold.

You shrieked when the obliterated pieces of a Hell Knight corpse splattered to the floor from over the railing, following on the heels of an electrical warping sound. The slayer himself appeared right after, and the impact of 350 lbs of metal clad man on a metal floor was  thunderously deafening. Your head, already spinning from the chaos happening, positively vibrated when he landed. The entire room swirled, the lights of Argent Energy and Plasma and fireballs and bullets all spiralling into one another until you were unable to tell where any of it began or ended.

When the Mancubus demons showed up next, you knew right away. The putrid stench they carried with them, whether it was their own rotting flesh or that of their consumed victims, was recognizable from miles away. Being so close forced you to lean over to dry heave for the second time in less than four hours. There was nothing left, not even bile to come up, but that never stopped your stomach from trying. The smell only grew worse when the slayer took the first one down. You had the luck of witnessing it explode first hand with a well aimed shot from the Gauss Cannon. The superheated plasma tore through the poor stitching that held its stomach together. The flesh inside ignited, dousing the slayer and the surrounding demons in a layer of its acidic bile. While the armor he wore was untouched, the Imps that had the unfortunate pleasure of being covered began to melt almost right away. The same would have happened to you if you had hid anywhere besides under the balcony overhand, but you watched it splatter at your feet to eat holes in the thin metal.

Without skipping a beat, a second Mancubus fired at the slayer from the floor above. The blast sent the slayer sliding back on his heels, through the thick soup of blood and viscera that coated the floor. It rolled down his armor, mixing with the vile concoction that made up the Mancubus’s weapon. Your shriek was drowned out by the powerful explosion that followed, caused by the slayer launching up to the second floor, drawing too close to the Mancubus. The room lit up with orange and a sound like a flamethrower before the slayer reappeared. Where he hit the railing sent him cartwheeling down but you, in spite of your near sheer terror, found yourself impressed that he still managed to land on his feet. As if he had meant to do it, the Gauss Cannon withdrew and a third explosion rent the air. Innards and viscera and unnameable other gunk rained down, adding to the puddles already on the floor. 

It had grown so thick that it began to seep towards you and, faced with the choice of being eaten through with acid or traipsing through the mess, you scrambled to your feet and picked your way around the portions of flooring that had been eaten through.

“Damn, but you are terrifying,” you said upon reaching the slayer. The level of carnage he had left in the Archive Room was on par with the mess the cultists had left in the rest of the complex. Splatters reached all the way to the ceiling and had coated the Helix Stone so thoroughly it was reduced to illegibility. It was impressive.

In response, the slayer grunted. With the muzzle of his still hot shotgun, he nudged you in the back, indicating you walk ahead of him. A staircase was opening around the stone’s display case but, at the top, you came to a stop.

“Woah, woah, wait, I just remembered something,” you said, throwing your hands out to rebalance where the slayer had almost knocked you down them anyway. “Did you find the weapons development lab?”

A hand landed on your shoulder, and you found yourself jerked around. The slayer was glaring at you , eyes narrowed, before they cut to his shotgun.

“If I may,” Vega said, attempting at delicacy, “I believe he means, Why do you ask? As far as we have discovered, he is incapable of speech.”

You clicked your tongue. “I ask because, if you’re going to face the Cyberdemon then dive into Hell, and insist on dragging me along, then I would like to give me the best odds of escaping again. Vega, the BFG is still in containment, right?”

The A.I. made a noise of understanding. “Most prudent. It is indeed still in the development lab in the Advanced Research Complex.”

“All the way upstairs,” you murmured, cupping your chin. “What’s the status of the tram topside?”

“All power has been diverted from non-essentials. The tram is one of them. I can divert power from the elevators, but you will need a clearance keycard—”

“Vega, please, remember who you’re talking to. Bypassing the system would be much faster than looking for whatever shambling corpse has the damn card.” You paused to scan the slayer up and down. “I know you don’t trust me because I look like a demon, but I really do just want to help. Do you want to go up and get this gun or carry on? The longer the portal is open, the harder it’ll be to close, but I’ve heard horror stories about what’s in the Steppe. It might be worth backtracking.”

You could see his eyes narrow in what you assumed to be suspicion, but his desire for a really big fucking gun was evidently stronger than his baser instincts. With the shotgun, he motioned you onward, back towards the elevator. It was a short, silent, and awkward ride back up. If only you had had elevator music to complete the picture, it would have been perfect.

“It will take me a moment to reroute power,” Vega said once the doors had opened. “The lights will dim, but do not be alarmed.”

The platform was still empty where the slayer had obliterated the demons earlier. Their bodies had been transported back to Hell upon death, but evidence of the battle remained— bloodied bodies and chunks, the blackened evidence of missile strikes on the walls, and the broken door that the slayer had entered the room through that was now demolished in its entirety. He was the true definition of a one man army, and it made you take a closer look at his suit.

“Dr. Hayden’s given you access to the Argent Cells, hasn’t he?”

The slayer turned to you, shoulders stiffening beneath his armor. Considering his hatred for demons, you found it a tad hypocritical that he was using energy mined from Hell to power himself up. Then again, perhaps it was a sort of poetic justice. Regardless and considering you liked your head where it was at, you were keeping any and all opinions to yourself.

Well, except for one.

“It also looks like Dr. Hayden added slots like the Elite Guards have in their armor,” you said, circling around the slayer’s back. “Chips are for security alerts per complex, mostly. They contain maps too, though, and the locations for weapons caches— pretty much in case something like this ever happened. Hey, Vega, how much longer?”

“Still a few minutes more.”

When you beckoned to the slayer after that, you expected more resistance than you got. There was still a healthy amount of suspicion, as evidenced by the way he pointed the shotgun at you before falling into step behind. The doors still hissed in a half-hearted attempt at closing, but the slayer had damaged the hydraulics so thoroughly that electrical sparks showered you as you passed through. 

You led him back up to the laboratory, where the four Mancubus demons that had previously occupied the tables now lay in scattered but no less revolting pieces. In the grand scheme of things, you were happier to be sidestepping a few smelly chunks than skirting around full and lumbering demons.

Just up the steps was a lone table, propped up like it had been holding the Mancubus as a museum exhibit. There was just enough space for the slayer to slip between the table and the railing for the left hand staircase, following you into an unobtrusive alcove. 

“A lot of caches are hidden like this,” you said, pressing on one of the decorative panels in the wall. It popped out and rotated to reveal a code panel, into which you put your own identification number. No one but guards, the head engineers, and the lead scientists were allowed access to them, mostly because no one else had need for what ammunition was hidden inside. The panel disappeared and the wall slid in with a pressurized hiss, then up into the ceiling. “Well, that’s convenient.”

Just inside the door, propped against a crate, was one of the Elite Guards. The pool of blood around him had long since dried, and in his hand was a stun baton. As if that would do any good against anything more than a Possessed.

The slayer moved past you while you crouched, and while you patted at the guard’s vest you heard the clatter of metal on metal. With your fingers pinching the chip, you looked up to find that he had broken the lock off of a crate full of shotgun ammo. Into one of the numerous metal supply pouches that adorned his armor went handfuls of shells, stacked neatly within reach. Next, as you yanked the chip from its slot, the lock on the crate for missiles for the rocket launcher was broken. Those were locked into the belt on his back, a dozen or so along with some mini-missiles off of his hip. 

“Here,” you said, holding the chip out to show him. “I don’t know what this one will give you, if you want me to plug it in. Vega might be able to locate more using the signals, but—”

“I am afraid not. The signals have been corrupted by the Hell Portal’s opening,” the A.I. responded. “You may be able to access them via a security data terminal.”

The slayer handed the chip back to you and, in spite of what you guessed was his better judgement, knelt down so you could reach the designated spot. It was a perfect fit, and the slayer pressed a few buttons on his arm guard before standing. He turned then and stepped into your personal space. Unsure of what to make of it considering everything else so far, you put your hands up as a useless barrier between you, and took a step back. 

“Two pieces of good news,” Vega said, startling you. The slayer had just reached out with one massive hand, up towards your banded horns, but it dropped at the sound of the A.I.’s voice. “One, I have successfully rerouted power to the tram. You need only make it to the lab and back to the tram once you have collected the weapon. Two, the chip you have has the locations of all of the weapons caches within the facility.”

“There’s a security terminal up in the ARC too, in the same area as the BFG,” you said, dragging your thumb across your lip. “In theory, there might be a guard up there as well, considering how important that lab is. Also in theory, if I can find a blank chip or a chip that proves useless to us, I can reprogram it to bounce back the signals from the others.”

“Well, whatever you decide to do, you must hurry. The longer the portal is open—”

“Yeah, well, it won’t do us any good if this guy dies before closing it, so the few extra minutes it’ll take to get the gun should prove worth it, especially against the Cyberdemon— or god forbid we meet a Titan.” You paused, narrowing your eyes at the slayer, who was rummaging through a crate full of grenades. “Remind me why I have to go with you?”

It was Vega that answered, of course, saying, “I believe he distrusts leaving you unguarded. It is fair reasoning, given we do not know how the transformation might effect you the longer it goes on.”

That logic was hard to refute, even if you still disliked it. Then again, who would like being dragged into the depths of hell by a man who was somehow twice as likely to tear their head off as literal demons were? You knew how you felt when you woke up, which had been confused but still human. Even terrified by the slayer and all of the demons, you had never stopped feeling human. Only looking down at your hands reminded you of your new appearance, or when wisps of your white hair fell loose from the tie holding it back. On those occasions, you would push it back with your fingers only to be stymied by the horns twisting up from the center of your skull. 

You returned to the platform to find the tram ready and waiting with the doors open. The slayer stood silent sentry, shotgun propped on his arm while you fiddled with wires and pressed buttons. You could appreciate that he was putting some faith into you and had listened to your suggestions and followed your advice so far. At least this time there was no direct warning, with the barrel of the gun pointing towards the window instead of at your back. 

The power went off with a barely audible click but, before the slayer could begin to think you had betrayed him, it came on once more and the doors began to close. Pressing one last button to get the tram moving, you turned to him and lifted a shoulder.

“Vega rerouted the power, but I had to reroute power away from the key pass in the panel,” you explained, tapping the glass. “Meant turning it off for a sec.”

The slayer stood still for a moment, silent as ever, then grunted.

You supposed, considering Vega failed to elucidate, it was a good sign. 

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[noris-stoneward]

Before I continue with any more of the story of Wulf-14 it seems prudent to cover a little more information.

First the Guardians

After the attack on the Traveler and the Collapse of the Golden Age humanity was left scattered in all its variants.

Shattered remnants remained on Earth,

And scattered across the Sol system.

Were all the others.

Standard Humans, Exominds, and in the final throes of the Collapse the Awoken.

Exominds, were a product of Bray Exoscience. The primary conversion facilities were located on Europa, what isn't known for sure is how they were made, but it's heavily implied that the use of Vex Radiolaria was involved.

The Awoken, were born on escaping colony ships that humanity were using to flee the system. They were caught in a wave of Para-causal energy that was a mix of Light and Dark and were changed.

Lastly are the people of Neomuna, when the Collapse occurred they hid away and embraced their technology in transhumanism.

After the collapse the Traveler in a last act before going into hibernation created Drones powered by Light. They called themselves Ghosts and said their purpose was to find something.

Later the Ghosts found and made the first Risen. Immortal warriors granted power by the Light and bonded with a Ghost, these Risen were unkillable as long as their Ghost could revive them. Thus began the age of Warlords.

Several Centuries passed and eventually several surviving groups of humanity banded together on Earth to form what they called The Last City. Surrounded by a massive wall to help protect its people and house their protectors within its watchtowers.

The Guardians an Order of Risen that dedicated themselves to the protection of the Last City and the driving out of the Enemies of humanity from the system.

The power of a Guardian shapes itself into constructs that follow unknown requirements.

Swift and Crafty [Hunters] use the Light to improve their movement dodging blows and leaping into (and out of) trouble.

Sturdy and Indomitable [Titans] improve their durability, they stand as a Stout Oak does. they might bend and sway, but they are the Wall and a wall does not move.

Curious and Flexible [Warlocks] shape their Light to change the world, they tend to ask why and why not when it comes to how things work.

Between them these three [Classes] make up the Guardians.

But how a Risen shapes their Light is only part of the puzzle. See within Para-causal forces there are... flavors on how they touch reality.

The purest form of current Arc

The embodiment of energy gain Solar

And it's opposite Stasis

The emptiness of Void

And the weaving of Strand

These further refine the power of a Risen and help further guide their abilities.

Game wise this makes sense. Lore wise however leaves me desperately wanting to fire a Sniper Rifle made of the purest expression of the Sun.

So a compromise.

The in game powers and abilities are like paved roads. Easy to travel and find. However sometimes to find the greatest treasures you have to step off the Beaten Path and find a new [Shape]. Just remember that you aren't alone and that most of the things out there with you are very dangerous (if peaceful). Tread lightly oh Warrior Mine.

[lensman-arms-race]

Some silly ideas for Skibidi Toilet origin settings

The "Dark Crystal":

Every Skibidi has a corresponding hardware-head. If they could fuse back together (like the Skeksis and the Mystics did), they'd turn back into a normal human.

The "Everything changed when the Fire Nation attacked":

Originally there were 4 titans: Camera, Speaker, TV and Toilet. Each of them created beings in its own image, and all 4 species lived in harmony with each other and with humanity.

Titan Toilet decided to usurp humanity: they were the weakest of the sentient species, and they weren't even created by a Titan; they crawled out of the primordial sea. They would be better put to use being absorbed by toiletkind.

The other 3 Titans decided they could not support this action. Even after all humans were defeated/absorbed, the Toilet faction still fought against the other 3 for daring to stand against them.

(A variant on the above):

Rather than subjugating humanity, the Toilets think they are blessing humanity by elevating them to the ranks of Toilet-kind.

The Elongated Muskrat:

It's all Elon Musk's fault. He created some kind of high-tech cyber-toilet, and he fucked it up even more than his stupid cars.

The Skibidi Moon Returns:

It is believed that the Moon formed when another proto-planet (named Theia) collided with the young Earth (this is actually true IRL). However, modelling the collision shows that this would be expected to result in two moons, not one (this is also actually true IRL - we're not sure why it is we have 1 moon and not 2).

Two moons did form: our beloved tranquil Luna, and the cursed Skibidi moon. Millennia ago, humanity (along with the crude proto-mechanical ancestors of the hardware-heads) successfully banished the Skibidi Moon that had plagued the Earth. However, they didn't succeed in destroying it - only flung it into a huge orbit that sent it arcing outside the solar system before curving back.

The Skibidi Moon is on its way back and is getting closer.

It's Brexit's fault somehow:

Brexshit.

(Feel free to add more.)

[paragonrobits]

When i think about the discourse that really bothers me, it often leaves me feeling that the sort of people causing this discourse are... not exactly chronically online, because I don't think that's the most useful way to describe. Insular; yes, absolutely. Living in a small selected bubble where only the most inoffensive and affirming thoughts cross your experience until that becomes the whole of your personal universe, and anything outside it is an ideological threat.

It leaves me feeling that these people often haven't suffered that much, or know what genuine struggle and fear are actually like. They've almost certainly had in their lives, sure, but probably on a more minor level, and they're so wrapped up in their own image of heroism that they consider every minor inconvenience to be a horrifying nightmare the likes of which no one can compete with.

I see these people online, turning shipping arguments into a massive flame war and moralizing over ships and I think 'could you please get some ACTUAL problems instead of acting like a victim over something this petty?'

And I see their works; it's similarly vapid. It's always low-stakes, it always resents the idea of fantastical things outside of being an escape fantasy, and the idea comes up over and over that all they want to see is things that affirm what they already know or believe.

Deliberate discomfort in art, of exposing you to tragedy or horror or compelling you to question yourself and your beliefs (even if the answer is 'I believe what I started out believing, I now can give a defense of it'), seems foreign to them. Sometimes they suggest that the CONCEPT of discomfort is inherently evil.

Let it roll around in your mind a bit, the things you dislike about their works; its almost static, and character stasis seems to be a virtue to that mindset. Ignore the implications of the term 'redemption arc' and instead consider that a character arc is about change, whether they DO change or retain their stance; either way the point is that they move and flow with a world, but in these works, a Character is an unchanging stone; any kind of change, or contemplation of it, is an act of violence.

(This may also be why we see discourse positing that a character was Always Good; it supports the idea of built-in character and morals, in the same way that a character who becomes an antagonist is supposed to always be Ultra Turbo Bad. Change is unwanted to this perspective, and instead they have to ALWAYS have been Good or Bad.)

And finally this makes me think about a line from the Exalted tabletop RPG, in a supplement covering the Infernal Exalted; those empowered by the malicious, inhuman and fundamentally broken titans of the setting, chosen to be the rock stars of Hell, given monstrous powers and horrific mutations to empower them.

The Infernals are a far cry from the Solar Exalted, the golden champions of the setting. They don't burn with holy golden light; they radiate the awful, cold flames of the hell realm that empowered them. They don't just punch things, green fire ignites from their fists to blast their foes into a radiation-riddled corpse, blazing in a fungal bloom. Coppery exoskeletons rise through their skin, alit with runes that tell the story of the maddened universal emperor's descent into hell. Their bodies swell with infernal power as they become grotesque and monstrous, their blood turns acidic and blasts into the faces of their enemies.

They are monsters, and they are heroes too. Chosen from the lost and the damned, from those yearning to tear down a system that hurts them, from people who almost had a chance to be a hero but turned from it at the last second and are consumed by the shame.

Like many other Exalted of that edition, they have a unique martial art style derived from their instinctive combat powers. Their's is known as Infernal Monster Style; they turn rage into a tool, overwhelming a foe with nightmarish power and extreme violence, smashing a foe into bloody paste, being both Hulk and Hellboy, an untamed apocalypse of raw power.

Their power comes from rage. It's a deep anger, a real anger.

I honestly doubt that the kind of online moralizers really know what that kind of anger is. They might think they do, but I wonder if they've ever looked up into the sky in a moment of despair, felt the sun beating down on them while their whole families abandoned them and thought: "Today, I'm really going to die."

Lack of hope makes anger swell up. It gives real anger a place to live and lets it sit there for years and years, to simmer and wait.

Now, I think of the Infernal Exalted again, and their Infernal Monster Style. Each such style has a sutra associated with it, and a story underlying its philosophy. And their's tells the story of a maiden, trapped in a stone cell. So, she punched the wall with her bare hand.

(Sometimes you don't need a pretty affirming story.)

She punched it until her blood splattered the wall.

(Sometimes you want something ugly and violent and monstrous, because it speaks to the horror in your life, or a horror you can understand.)

She punched it until her bones broke.

(Sometimes a low-stakes slice of life coffee shop AU is insufficient, or meaningless; violence, sorrow, despair, questions about "do I have to be a monster" and "what is the price of my vengeance" are more important to you.)

Still she punched at the wall.

(Purity means something being entirely a single thing, unalloyed or marked by anything else. Singular; alone. But alloys make something stronger. Something that has never known sickness or violence is easily killed by those things when it inevitably finds them.)

The wall shattered.

(Purity and wholesomeness are not virtues; they are sought after, so much, by people who consider your existence a crime. Purity is weakness.)

Survival is fury, said the maiden.

[destinylegendrpg]

hey!! im curious, how have you guys built around 3.0 subclasses? 👀 i wanted to know so i could have an easier time DMing my own campaign!

Great question! So, this might be a lengthy answer, but hopefully it helps with what you're looking for ~

@frombrad2worse and I began building the D:BL system after Void 3.0 came out, but way, way before Solar and Arc 3.0 released. Much like with Stasis, we both loved how modular it was, how easily you could set it up to a playstyle you preferred. Both of us have played in a lot of TTRPG campaigns and we really like systems that allow for build-crafting - even if you play the same class as someone else, the flavour and feel you put into it can end up with seemingly disparate character mechanics. So when we began thinking about how we wanted to make a TTRPG, we knew immediately that we wanted to craft a system that allowed for this, and what better way to achieve this than by mimicking Light 3.0 in a TTRPG style?

Unfortunately, we don't currently have the system set up in a way that we can share the Vanguard (GM) rules just yet - it's not that we don't want others to try it out, just that we haven't had the time to type everything up yet, lol. BUT. Let me give you the low-down on how it works for characters... and if you don't wanna read all this mumbo-jumbo, skip to the last paragraph! 👀

When creating a character, you start with, of course, the basics: your race and class. In our system, race is just flavour - there's no mechanical benefit to choosing any one race over another. But just like in the video game, your class locks you into being either a Hunter, a Warlock, or a Titan. Once you're in, you're in, and you move onto assigning your stats.

When beginning a new character, you have 24 points to put into 6 stats: Mobility, Resilience, Recovery, Discipline, Intellect, and Strength, all of which probably sound eerily familiar, eh? And I'm sure you can imagine the benefit to putting points into each of them. So what's the catch, right? Where does Light 3.0 come in and what does this have to do with build-crafting?

Well, that's look at those stats a second. How well do all of these translate to a TTRPG? The first three stats make sense: Mobility lets you run around the battlefield, Resilience boosts your shields, Recovery lets you heal yourself with the Light faster. All three are obvious gameplay modifiers. But what about Discipline, Intellect, and Strength? Sure, they have their own benefit just like in the game: a higher Discipline leads to a faster grenade, but when you're using a d6 system where a roll of 4d6 determines the actions on your turn, there's only so high and so low you can go. If a grenade costs a roll of X on those 4d6 to use on a turn, you can only move that X so much before it becomes either too difficult to use at low levels or unfathomably easy at high levels. So what do you use to help balance those stats while keeping them rewarding to put points into?

This is where Light 3.0 comes in. Each of the bottom 3 stats gives you an edge in build-crafting. In our system, putting more points in Discipline and Strength don't just give you a boost to getting a faster grenade or charge melee, they also give you Fragment slots, up to 2 per stat for a total of 4. Your Intellect doesn't just let you a faster Super either, it allows you to take up to 2 Aspects.

And now... now the fun begins. >:)

You see, just like in the video game, each subclass has an entire sheet dedicated to unique Aspects and Fragments that you can pick and choose from to create the unique playstyle you want. These can also be changed at (almost) any time so you can have fun in the way you want without being locked into past decisions that no longer feel good. It's built to be flexible and modular so players can let loose and play around to find out what works (and doesn't work) for them!

Void 3.0 is almost directly translated: taking the Bastion Aspect as a Void Titan stilllets you and allies gain an Overshield when summoning your Barricade, just like it does in the video game. Taking the Echo of Undermining Fragment still lets you weaken enemies with your grenade for 1.5x damage. But some Aspects and Fragments don't have a direct TTRPG translation, meaning we had to play around and figure out what felt good before we moved on.

Arc and Solar 3.0, however... well, we had mostly finished the system and were already tweaking the numbers by playing 1:1s with each other before they were released by Bungie. So our Aspects and Fragments are a bit different there - they even have different names. While Bungie's are Spark of and Ember of for Arc and Solar, ours are Call of and Song of, respectively, because we thought they sounded cool. Weirdly, some of them ended up very similar but with slightly different vocabulary (for example, we originally had a mechanic called electrified which Bungie named jolted; the vocab has been changed to match Bungie's for consistency, though our Aspect and Fragment ideas remain our own). We're still tweaking them to make sure they match up to how powerful Void can be, but we think they're pretty fun. In fact, I currently play a Solar Titan and have a great time with it. You can see me in action, along with my Arc and Solar Warlock companions, in our stream! Here's a link to our fireteam's first episode so you can listen along and get a general feel for how the system plays.

SO!

With all that said... well, I know I mentioned that the Vanguard rulebook isn't set up yet for wide release, but if you'd like, feel free to DM me here or @cassiefisherdrake. I will HAPPILY send you the character + combat sheets and walk you through them to help you set up a character. We want people to test this system out so we can work out what needs fixing, so the more the merrier! Hell, I'd happily Vanguard a one-shot for you so you can see what it's like if you're interested. :>

[actually-titan]

STOP LEAVING THE SOLAR SYSTEM-

✨No✨

[titanicfreija]

Freija was having a bad day, but apparently this other Titan was having a worse one. She stormed into the antechamber outside the arenas and kicked an ammo crate so hard it burst, sending the grenade cases flying into the walls and other guardians as they adjusted kits.

Freija recognized her as an opponent, remembering the one-eyed mask and holdfast chest piece. She was good, but the teammates had not been in that match, and Freija could guess that the pattern continued. Least of all because Freija herself had been carrying a rather heavy backpack today.

"Sorry," the Titan announced genuinely as she knelt to pick up the cases. "Bad day."

Freija headed over to help, silently stacking the cases so the other one could put them away, until the dented lid could be banged back into shape and shimmied back on.

The pair brushed themselves off and stood, both offering a hand to one another and shaking before the other Titan stepped back with a disgusted lip raised. "You're that asshole with the wave frame."

"And you're that asshole in one-eyed mask,” Freija replied. "You did great today."

The Titan shrugged to adjust the shoulder pads and shifted heavily on her feet. "I can't tell if you're making fun."

"You beat me," Freija pointed out. "Twice. Same reason, and the same reason I beat you the time I did. Drinks on me?"

The Titan lifted the helmet and dangled it at a side by the chin strap until her ghost 'matted it. "Fucking. Backpack!" She cried. "Shaxx's ranking system sucks!"

"It's young yet," Freija argued. "Needs some growing up, though."

"What the fuck is he calculating that put that baby warlock in with us? He had a hell of a time!"

Freija clapped the new friend on the back as she led the way to a favorite dive.

~

"And then the asshole says that my fucking helmet doesn't work! He's never tried it, he's hardly even heard of it, he doesn't even have any Titan friends and he's gonna tell me what the best armor is!"

"Fuck's sake, I won't go into dungeons or raids anymore, I get it all the time! WhY nOt ThUnDeRcRaSh, why don't you swap subclasses? I'm not a striker! Do I look like a striker?"

Gaio, the new friend, a brown-skinned human with short green hair, made a show of looking Freija up and down.

"I'm joking."

"You do look kinda striker-y in that outfit, but that's Crucible gear, right?"

"My raid kit is literally on fire," Freija explained, and she laughed. " I've never been a good striker."

The question seemed to have started something. Gaio stepped back to find the mirror behind the bar. "Do I look like a striker?"

Freija glanced at her new friend and appraised thoughtfully. "I always think of one-eyes as void," she admitted with a shrug. " I feel the fire, though, I can smell us out."

"I used to think that, but then I kept seeing Lorelei's helm and not smelling it, so I guessed it depended on the user."

"Been Arc slammed by someone in Lorelei's, too, you might not have been wrong."

The pair looked around the room passively and Gaio pointed out another Titan, this one still in her Crest of Alpha Lupi.

"Sentinel?" She asked.

"Striker," Freija argued. "Or Behemoth, they have this posture to 'em."

"We all stand like we're ready to tackle something," argued Gaio.

"That one is solar," Freija muttered, passing over the crowd. "This one?"

"Definitely sentinel. Heavy guard sword, shotgun, can't think of anyone else that stupid."

"I stand in my fire for those occasions."

"You don't use a shotgun. Not as mobile. Armor gives it away half the time, this is almost too easy. Need to catch us in the barracks or something, still in civvies."

Freija didn't make the remark she could, distracting herself with her drink.

"Damn I had a hell of a time today," complained Gaio. "Light preserve everything because I can't, those fools just joined my parties one right after another, I guessed Shaxx thought I could help them or something, and they were be eaten alive!"

Freija had been doing some of the chewing, so she only thought it fair to catch some complaints.

"You, too, I remember, I had a hell of a time catching up with you."

Freija laughed when she remembered. "I was being the baitiest bait ever, trying to get you guys to chase me and save them the peeking, and they still couldn't do it! Pretty sure your guys got them while we were playing ring-around."

"And you lived, too, 'til I finally chased you into both of the other two! You'd have been fine then if you didn't miss the jump!"

Freija palmed her forehead with a slap. "That was embarrassing."

"Naah, happens to all of us. You did the swing thrust into the window that time, that was neat. All the one-eighties and about-faces were great. Once you get to where you can shoot right after, you'll be flawless in no time."

"You been flawless?"

"Carried once. You'll get there."

[0nl0n]

I had this weird ahh dream last night-

it was basically a solarballs video ig?? Pretty much

So it starts where i am walking in my living room, and I saw a new solarballs vid, it was titled " the earth apologises to titan"

It started where earth says " *le sigh* ive made up my mind. " the moon asks him " what do you mean-". Earth was like " im gonna.... Apologise. "

The moon smiled and was like " go do it n o w "

So he apologised to titan and titan actually forgave him-

Idk if that will happen, BUT WE NEED EARTH TO FORGIVE TITAN IN A FUTURE VID

we NEED A APOLOGISING VID OF EARTH AND TITAN. Then solarballs would improve his personality cause he is generally a chill dude but sometimes he can just slip up. Hopefully that's a future vid :) or earth is still a jerk and the moons yet him to the sun ^v^.

Wait what if the titan arc turns into the exo planet arc? like we get to see earth and his adventures with exo planets nearby after the moons yeet him out the solar system.

I genuinely want this to happen tbh

[mz-elysium]

[photo ID: starry deep space, a glowing white title and mysterious emblem, Architects of Destiny]

Guardians make their own fate.

[AO3 LINK]

After the mythological Golden Age came the Collapse. Humanity has all but fallen and the silent dead god known only as the Traveler hangs in the sky. The Last City is protected by Guardians, supersoldiers powered by the Traveler’s Light and risen from the dead — and the last defense of the Sol System against invaders.

The Darkness does not come as an invading army,  though. It comes wearing familiar faces. It promises majesty. It claims to be correct. One Guardian clan finds themselves facing alien gods of flesh and machine, and the Darkness itself before it can bring about a second Collapse.

Origin: Destiny 1 and 2 (mostly canon compliant; video games need some stern words to become narratives; also fandom-blind)

Genre: scifi fantasy, hopepunk, post-apocalyptic, superhero

Includes: sprawling ensemble class, prattling philosophy on human nature, baby aliens, tragedy, love as a superpower, death isn’t the worst thing that can happen, betrayal, corruption and downfall.

○○○

The Architect Clan

[photo ID: a soldier with a rifle fading away into electric blue haze; titled with the name Leo]

Titan // Exo // arc, void, (solar)

I am the soldier in the war-that-never-ends.

A Titan who has trusted in the Traveler to bring them salvation, one day. For three hundred years, he watched a village grow into the Last City. Refugees rediscovered civilization. And, other Guardians became their heroes. He patrolled the walls. Just another faceless brick in them.

Now, he is thrust into the limelight as a hero, his name sung along with the likes of Saint-14, Lord Saladin, Commander Zavala. The weight is more than he can bear.

[photo ID: a cloaked wanderer in a desert with a glowing helmet; titled with the name Q]

Hunter // human // solar, void

Come home.

No one ever damn well asked Q if he wanted to be risen from the dead. He liked being dead. Who wants to be a soldier? Who wants to spend their second life in the mud and blood? He couldn’t give a shit about the hungry masses. They could rot. He would jump into his ship and fly as far as he could. Explore. Map unknown worlds. He had been chosen for a reason. He must’ve been important in another life and damn it, he would find out.

Oh. But why does his clan insist on the most dangerous strike operations? Why must they all be so eager to jump into the pit? Someone needs to ensure they come home.

[photo ID: a woman silhouetted against a stained glass purple supernova; titled with the name Cerys]

Warlock // Awoken // void

Mercy gives teeth to the evil and the weak-hearted.

A thrillseeker and Crucible champion, she was always out of place among the Warlocks. She joined the Praxic Order and their inquisitions out of a dim sense of duty. Without a scholarly pursuit, she figured she should do something. As the threat of Dark-corrupted Guardians grows — and finds a home in her mirror — she comes into a crisis of faith. Rises above it as a devout Praxic. She returns to her training and inquisitions with new conviction.

War cannot be won by the moral bankruptcy that began it.

[photo ID: a man in an ash-storm clutching a fireball streaking like a comet; titled with the name Ember]

Sunbreaker // Human // solar and more solar

The Traveler made Lightbearers. We made Guardians.

The Sunbreaker Clan was myth. Rogue Lightbearers who left the Last City in exodus over heated disagreements on religion and philosophy. Centuries later, their legend is of barbarian mercenaries of the forbidden Titan solar paradigm.

Ember was never the best of them — the strongest, the smartest, the kindest — but he is the last. Brutal and sarcastic, his mean streak earns him few friends. Grudgingly, he returns to the Last City, where he is an exile among strangers.

○○○

Completed Works

[photo ID: an alien warrior in a helmet with a spindly sigil and six glowing eyes; titled as House of Wolves]

Q rises from the dead and challenges the callous doctrine of war, even as his fireteam try to impart their ways. [35k words]

[photo ID: an endless pocket dimension of a flower field; titled as Black Garden]

The mythical Black Garden is open and its Dark heart whispers to the Last City. [13k words]

[photo ID: a macabre alien city with honeycombed windows and pods, almost like an insect colony; titled as The Taken King]

The Hive God-King comes in vengeance for his killed son, bringing a new dimension to the horrors of the Guardians’ war. [61k words]

[photo ID: a robed figure overlooks a series of snowy firepits and stately old flags; titled as Rise of Iron]

Leo’s obedience lands him under the eyes of the last Iron Lord, who asks for help avenging his sacred extinct order. [22k words]

○○○

Art credits: Unsplash for title and characters; Destiny concept/advertising art as made by Bungie/Activsion for work titles.

[maximuswolf]

What would your idea be for a Soma sequel? (Spoilers of the first game below)

What would your idea be for a Soma sequel? (Spoilers of the first game below) I just finished Soma for the second time. I hadn't played it in a few years. Great concept, great game for the most part. If there was to be a sequel, here are the ideas I have. Let me know what you guys would do!First, a sequel would be problematic because of how the game ends. Everyone's digital copy (or, in Simon's case, a copy of a copy of a copy) is on the ark.Correct me if I'm wrong here, but this is the scenario the game leaves us with:Nobody on the surface of earth is alive (One copy of Simon lives at the bottom of the ocean...maybe one more person?).The ark is not in orbit around the earth, nor is it traveling to another planet or moon's orbit.There's no indication that humans terraformed another planet, e.g. Mars or our moon or a moon of another planet.The only planets/moons that ark could land on are basically: our moon, Mars, Titan (Saturn's largest moon, and an ice world), or one of Jupiter's solid moons (Europa).You can't land on Mercury or Venus due to the extreme temperatures.Every other planet is a gas giant, unless you're still counting Pluto as a planet. Either way, Pluto is an incredibly long distance, and makes no sense anyway.Option 1: What scenario would the ark land on another planet/moon, then? This scenario doesn't make any sense, unless you're going to just say Mars, for instance, was terraformed and that there are people there that could control/open the ark and download the people into bodies. This isn't a very good scenario, in my opinion.Option 2: Can the ark go back to earth? Well, knowing nobody survived, that wouldn't work. Unless the developers create a story in which not all of humanity died, and there is a technological area populated by humans, who are able to change the arks flight back toward earth. I'm not sure fans would like a "Just kidding! There were people on earth the entire time!" scenario. That goes for the terraforming idea in scenario one as well.Option 3: The ark wonders through our solar system and then into deep space for tens or hundreds of thousands of years before an alien species picks it up. They take it to their home planet, via a wormhole or some other advanced technology. The scenarios would be plenty: They could enslave the digital people, put them in their own robots and use them as slave labor. They could download the people into Androids...whatever. There are options that could be fun in this scenario.Option 4 Is that the ark is never picked up. How long would the digital copies last? Would they be aware of time in the way their physical people were? Do they even care? Can they just make copies of themselves as often as they want? How long will the materials of the ark last in space? I'm sure you guys can think of other options. I like the sinister aliens grabbing the arc and the digital people must figure out how to get out of the enslaved bodies they're stuck in on the alien home planet.Thoughts?P.S. I know many people wouldn't want a sequel. This is just for fun. Submitted September 07, 2024 at 06:16PM by SpiderGhost01 https://ift.tt/TZkE26W via /r/gaming

[exilegend]

osiris follows rohan to the kitchen, not entirely sure what to do with himself. and as he does he realizes everything might be just a bit too tall for him to comfortably use. and then he also realizes that he might not have solar stoves like they have in the city. with these realizations he suddenly feels entirely out of place being here. not rohan's abode, no, he has been a gracious host so far, but neomuna as a whole. he feels like a relic. obscure and fading.

" no, " he finds himself saying too quickly at the offer, " no... i have... " he sighs as he sets the kettle and blend aside. " i have done enough talking about my grief recently. there are only so many times i can pick at the scab in my palm until it bleeds out. "

so often he finds himself falling back to the comfort of metaphors. it allows him a safety net to speak of matters of the heart without outright stating the problem. and someday he will have to speak plainly of the hurt in his heart, and liver, and head, but he will continue to put it off.

besides, rohan has enough burdens to carry, he need not take on osiris's as well.

" do you have... a fire of some persuasion to boil the water over? " there is a simplicity to steeping tea osiris appreciates, the base knowledge of heat and how it affects water, and how leaves and spices react to that heat. if he can share this simplicity, then he will be glad to allow rohan to convince him to rest.

he hesitates a moment before pulling his scarf down from over his nose and his helmet from the top of his head. shedding just a little of his own armor.

" the city employs solar light for our heating and stoves. i don't suppose you have that in abundance here. " so much of the city's power relies upon the light and byproducts of it. arc plants from reverse-engineered golden age tech. solar panels lining every building. the warmth of a solar flame provided and condensed into power packs by titans and warlocks working in tandem. it's not a perfect system, but it's kept the last city going for this long.

"interesting. there are many points where our cultures have diverged. some far more obvious than others," says the cloud strider, and he crosses the living area towards the kitchen, "but the evolution of living quarters is not something i would have considered. although, i am not an archivist. i would like to hear your theories on it sometime, if you have any."

he enters the kitchen, and the island bar that separates the two areas flickers as the light above it activates. motion sensors, it seems. rohan pauses there, and quickly runs four fingers across its surface. nothing. his shoulders relax. at least it's clean. thankfully that won't be something he has to deal with, not while he has guests.

as osiris softens, so, too, does rohan. he rests both hands against the island counter and leans; partially to put the other at ease, and partially to relieve the pressure against his abdominal plating. the biolights along his throat flutter with the almost-chuckle that escapes.

"she sounds like she was quite the personality. she would have had to be, to tell you what to do." he crosses his arms at the elbow. this is a little easier. it also puts him at a better height to look at osiris, and vice versa. "i am sorry you grieve her loss now. if you ever need to talk..."