Chapter Text
A Spark That Lingers.
First In, Last Out.
Dust shoots through the air like a sandblaster. Wind whistles and roars. A bitter cyclone approaches from the other side of the harsh, barren valley.
A small group trudges against the beating winds, desperately seeking shelter. Visibility is low. The group’s tall and imposing leader can barely make out the hand held forward to shield his eyes. The smallest member of the group collapses, blasted by powerful gusts. They struggle to get back to their feet.
“Show your strength!” the Captain shouts. “Salvation is near, but only for the strong!”
Nearly carried away with the storm, the small one manages to find its footing and press forward.
The harrowing trek finds the group at the opening of a narrow canyon. “Through here!” the towering Captain hollers. “We will find safety from the storm this way.” The wind is weaker under the natural cover of the high cliffs, but an obscuring cloud of dust still fills the passage.
One of the refugees finds it difficult to inhale through their rebreather. They remove the mouthpiece to clear a clog, hacking and coughing on the dusty air as they work.
The group finds themselves near the end of the twisting canyon. If their leader is to be believed, the bulk of their troubles should be long behind them.
Something is wrong. The Captain notices right away.
By now, he should feel the wind blowing at his front stronger than the wind at his back. The air is too thick with dust to see clearly, but he can spot shadows where there should be none. He inhales a deep draw from his drained gas canister and narrows his careful eyes. Only a few steps around the canyon's final turn, he sees it.
Massive rocks block the way forward. This is not the result of a natural rockslide. This was done deliberately.
A trap.
The Captain stops in his tracks and looks up around the high ridges. It's still far too difficult to get a good view of anything, yet he manages to catch the silhouette of a figure slip out of sight. Something watches from above. He draws a long sword from his belt.
The rest of the group quickly recognize their leader’s concern. Some reach for weapons as well, some dart their eyes around to try and find the stalker before it finds them.
Some can do nothing but shake and pray.
All are quiet, listening for a disturbance in the sound of the ceaseless storm.
A whistling whizz and a crunchy impact break the silence. The smallest one falls to the ground with the sound of life hissing away from its body.
Panic swells.
Two try to flee back the way they came. Their Captain orders them not to run. He warns them to stay together.
The sound of feet running for their lives is the only sign of the fearful pair as they disappear into the dust. A second whizzing projectile is heard, and a third soon after that.
There are no more footsteps.
“Stay together!” the Captain yells. “We must face them as one if we wish to survive!”
The remaining members band tightly together, with weapons readied. None know where the assailant hides, but they trust their chances are better as a group.
Peering through the dust, watching, waiting for the next move, the Captain huffs greedily at the mouthpiece of his mask’s inhaler. Anger burns through him. He fantasizes about what he will do when he catches his would-be assassin. He spots something through the storm. A flash, like a bolt of lightning piercing down from above.
The lightning splits into three separate streaks and flies down toward the huddled group. Each bolt spears into the ground without touching any of the terrified survivors. One sticks out just between the Captain's feet. He tries to shout something, but the blots quickly link in a chain of powerful electricity. In an instant, arcs of incredible energy jump between each member of the cowering group. Some collapse right away. Most disintegrate entirely. All lose their lives… All except the Captain.
Brought to his knees by the devastating strike, the tall warrior coughs and wheezes. Smoke rises from his burned body. Rage rises with it.
Footsteps walk closer. Light, unburdened footsteps. He lifts his head and shouts, “Outrider!” With pitiful difficulty, he gets to his feet and raises all four of his huge arms in an attempt to appear threatening.
“I really must be famous,” the approaching woman says through a grin. “Everyone on the Shore seems to know my name.” She fixes the buzzing bow to her back and walks into view of her Fallen target.
“We do not speak it out of respect. We curse your name, kin-killer!” the tall Eliksni hisses through his scared maw.
The woman chuckles behind her mask. “Oh yeah, put your brother down a few months back, didn’t I? And your sister not long before that. Or was it the other way around? Hard to keep track.” She pulls a short knife out from a band across her thigh and begins to twirl it around her fingers.
The Fallen Captain roars and lunges in a blind rage.
Outrider flicks the knife through the dusty air. It stabs into a soft spot on the warrior’s swinging wrist. The sword drops to the ground, and Outrider dashes forth to deliver a quick kick to the Fallen’s front leg. When he falls forward, the woman slips around and mounts his back. She grabs one of the points at the top of his helmet and wrenches his head back. Her long, beautiful blade rings as she draws it from the scabbard.
Ether sprays out after the first swing. The Captain’s body is totally limp before the second.
She gives the head a strong tug, completely removing it from the neck.
The rebreather pops away from his mouth. A final puff of Ether leaks from the empty canister.
Holding the head up, she watches the light fade from its eyes. “Pom?” she calls.
A blue-patterned Ghost appears next to the woman as she sheaths her blade. “Do you always have to show off?” the Ghost asks with an unimpressed voice.
“Nah, but it keeps things interesting,” the woman answers. “Send this back to my Sparrow.” She wiggles the head in a loose grip. “Don’t feel like carrying it back up the ridge with this storm going on.” She tosses the head in the air.
Pom transmats the Captain’s severed head before it touches the ground. “Where to now?” she asks.
Turning away from the wind, Outrider fixes the patterned hem of her hood. “Honestly, I just wanna take a nap and wait out this storm. The dust’ll take forever to clean out of my gear. But… we should probably head right back to the Empty Tank and collect the reward for taking care of our friend here.” She pokes the Captain’s headless body with the toe of her boot.
“Ugh,” Pom grunts. “Don’t expect me to join you when we get there. I hate talking to that guy.”
“C’mon, Pom. He may be a slimeball, but he pays well.”