My sniper rifle is loaded; I pull back on the hammer to chamber a round. My legs sprint to a large concrete gate before a smaller fallen shuttle sweeps over my left and hovers above a clearing that the ledge in front of me overlooks. I have the high ground, but probably know that I’m here.[i] Might as well announce myself. [/i] A mess of Fallen leap from the ship and onto the ground as I sight the enemies in my scope… At least two Vandals. Too many obstructions and too many Dregs to count, but there appear to be at least eight of them. Before they can dig into cover, I level the reticle of scope onto the head of a Vandal and pull the trigger. The moment the bullet leaves the barrel feels like an eternity… It sails through the air, a butterfly carrying death’s touch the moment it lands right between the Vandal’s eyes. Down it goes, the Fallen scatter into rocks and concrete girders to take up a fortified firing solution. I manage to pick off two more straggling Dregs who hesitated in the open for too long while trying to return fire; one didn’t even get a shot off and the other held the trigger as he tumbled to the ground lifeless littering the air with wasted shots. “Like riding a sparrow…” I mutter. “How’s this anything like driving?” “It’s—never mind. We’re going to have to work on your metaphorical sarcasm.” I run for the platform’s edge and land in the hornet’s nest I managed to piss off. I don’t want to stick around in the open for too long—my instincts rush me into cover. I run into a building on the edge of a cliff, but I don’t bother checking to see if it’s occupied or not. One of the Dregs took must have refuge inside and expected me to follow. The beast charges from the shadows in the corner! Funny thing about sniper rifles… They’re built for distance precision, yet anything that gets in front of it long enough to pull the trigger drops like a sack of rubbish—even at point blank. This bastard ran right at me, daggers drawn, ready to tear my head off, but I couldn’t miss. My barrel reamed its chest with a bang: POP, CRASH, HISS. Underneath my mask I’m grinning… When they die up close you really get an appreciation for your weapon and the ability for it leave your enemy breathless. “I can read your facial expressions through the armor mapping. This brings you joy?” “Glad you can at least pick up on that.” I reply, sighting the scope on two Dregs who lob fire at me from across the field. “You find joy in taking life?” “I find joy in avenging it.” I say, pulling the trigger just in time to deliver a head shot and duck back into cover. [i]They’re getting better at trying to kill me. [/i]Something rushes past the air toward me. A sparking blue rod lands a few feet from me. Yup. Too desperate. “Grenade!” the robot’s voice cries out. I rush out of cover and run to the nearest girder I can find, it’s not much but the blast behind me gives them time to advance. I crouch and ready myself for another barrage. Just then, I hear something land on top of the girder. I look up just in time to see a pair for swords coming down at me. My body freezes as they come closer and land on my shoulders. The force of the electrical blades burns through my armor causing sparks from metal scraping metal. [i]That hurt like Hell[/i]—typical Vandal going for the limbs instead of the head… [i]We have something in common at least[/i]. As he readies for another blow, I jam the barrel of the sniper into his gut and pull the trigger. CLICK. My magazine is dry… [i]Dammit![/i] Again, the blades rush downward “Move you idiot!” Ghost’s cry echo inside the armor. I don’t hesitate. I roll to the right and pull out my knife, ready to throw it at the Vandal, but a searing pain shoots up my arm causing me to drop the dagger… [i]Why the hell can’t I throw it? I used to be able stick vermin from ten yards out! [/i] “Not the best time to explain to you, but your body hasn’t recovered from your death yet. There’s still some trauma with some of your more exotic talents.” Ghosts says. “Mention that earlier then dammit!” The Vandal is relentless and his Dregs increase their advance as fire surges from their weapons toward me. I take a shot to the knee but it wasn’t enough to burn through the armor… I can’t help stumbling as I try to recover my knife on the ground. “Your rifle guardian, use it!” The Khvostoc is in my hands by the time I roll to recover. A few shots into the Vandal’s chest and he jumps back while the Dregs cover his retreat. My body is hurting but I push through it to recover my knife and get behind something. They know where I am, I’m pinned down, and I can’t do a thing from where I’m sitting. “Guardian.” “Not a good time! Running out of options!” “You have grenades…” [i]Why am I not surprised that this piece of junk would wait until now of all times to tell me I had grenades?[/i] I reach for the orb on my waist and squeeze the arming mechanism. Peeking my head up, I lob it in the direction of the Dregs running to me… Fire explodes in a blazing orange light as solar energy incinerates the Dregs. Solar fire bleeds into their exoskeletons and in a matter seconds they’re consumed by the heat. My rifle but is lodged into my shoulder and I squeeze a couple bursts their way… Three down, not even ashes left to litter the ground with. My breathing is hard, eyes stinging with sweat as my arms clutch the Auto-rifle. I’m frantic to find where that Vandal disappeared to. Scanning the area, my eyes see nothing out in front of me. The Vandal gets the drop on me again. The vermin must have used the Dregs as a decoy. I see him spring from the roof out of the corner of my eye. The sting of his blades sear into my shoulders for the second time causing me to cry out into my helmet! They slice through the woven mesh leaving gashes in my flesh. This pain forces the rifle to slip from my hands. It drops and slides to the other side of the girder—his strikes are too fast—this isn’t going well. Panting labored breath stains the inner part of my mask with saliva and I yell out “Die you wretched bug!” The pain works in my favor, adrenaline pumps into my nerves like a fuel-injected force of nature. He misses with his follow-through and I’m back on my feet with the hilt of my dagger clutched to my palm, knuckles white under the armor. The hand holding his sword falls to the ground as blood gushes from its severed shoulder. He falls to his knees wailing at the loss of his limb. Pity died in me long before I too perished. In its place festered the need to vanquish, to reap the lives of the Fallen that took my mother from this world. [i]They made no effort to spare my mother… Why should I show them any sort of reprieve for their sins? [/i] I turn the blade down and drive it into his head. I don’t stop, I continue to pummel the cephalic appendage until he’s left with nothing but mashed brain matter leaking out of a shattered exoskeleton. Its carcass lays lifeless on the ground, but still twitching. “Die you bastard! How’s it feel to lose? How’s it feel to have my blade in your skull, to know that I’m not afraid of you, to know that I won’t stop until all you roaches are nothing but splatters on my knife!” I don’t stop mutilating the head as my breath seeps from my saliva drenched lips nor do I hear the ghost’s voice in my head. “GUARDIAN!” “WHAT!” “You’ve made your point… Move on.” One more strike. The Vandal’s head is nothing more than mush now, staining the dirt with gooey crimson pulp. “Listen you dinky little nuisance. You do NOT call me idiot and you do not order me around. I have the body, I carry the gun, and I lead us.” “…We work as one Guardia—“ “My name is Scythe. Learn it. And you’ve earned yourself a name too. Dink, short for dinky little smart ass. Congratulations, feel like we’re ‘one’ yet?” Dink is silent. I can’t see him inside my armor but I can feel his energy as it tends to my nerves and repairs the edges of the gashes to cauterize the wound. The heat stings and I wince a little from the slow burn left on my skin. “Mind the minor discomfort. Haven’t had to heal anyone in quite some time.” I have a feeling he meant to do that. Great. After taking a moment to let the ghost repair me, I search the Fallen for ammo, weapons, anything I can use. One magazine of Sniper ammo and two for my auto-rifle… It’s hard to breathe again, my body aches despite the numbing agents injected into my nerves through the ducts in my armor. The grenade reappears on my hip… “Your grenades an extension of the Traveler’s light. So long as I’m able to synthesize his energy within you, you’ll only experience a minor delay between replenishing your grenades.” “Handy. First useful thing you’ve done all day.” “Did you forget the part where I resurrected you?” “Piss off Dink. Did you bother to ask I wanted to be brought back to this forsaken hell of an existence? I was at peace. My soul had found rest. My light had settled.” “Happy to be of service… Scythe.” [END. 3/3]

Wow, amazing. This is fantastic. I read the whole thing in one go. If there was a book like this I would never be able to put it down

Thank you so much. He's a fun character to write for because he's such a contrast from how I originally wanted to approach Destiny. I plan to keep writing these, a few ideas in the works for now... Once more, I appreciate the audible feedback. Let me know if you're ever in need of any feedback for anything you might write :).

What perspective is this from. Hunter? The quick temper and rough brutishness sounds more like a Titan, but because the special weapon was a sniper I thought it might be a hunter or warlock.