[b]Greetings, guardians. I am Variks, House Judgment scribe to House Wolves. The text that follows is the story of a Fallen Archon that has manipulated the technology that creates stealth vandals and captains to fit himself. He goes by Phorkas, Stealth Archon. The last surviving member of House Rain, yes? Those that dare testify against him get his head. Or, he gets theirs.[/b] Chapter One is [url=https://www.bungie.net/en/Forum/Post/135408029]here[/url]. [b][u]An Archon Rises: Prologue[/u][/b] Fallen chatter, all around him. Who is it? What is it? Can he trust it? Is it even Fallen? No, he can not know. He is a mere child, now is his first taste of many years of Fallen tongue to come. The piercing sound of clicks and chirps make him alert, his eyes open for the first time. As he sees what he presumes to be his ascendants, his parents, fear is inflicted upon him for the first time. The two bodies staring down from above him appear angry, the clicking and chirping noises taking on a lower tone. Each piercing sound is more spread out than the last, but what had he done? He had come out, opened his eyes, and already something dislikes him. Their dark color mimics that they may not be good, perhaps he was born on the wrong side? No, these were his parents. Looking down at his body, he sees clearly he is their color as well. All of a sudden, his vision began to blur. What was this, stingy feeling at his eyes? What was his face wet for? Mind you, he had never felt wetness or water before, nor had he done which he has now: cry. But why, why was he crying? He can not know. After all, he had never cried before, he could not possibly know what it was or why it was. All he knew was that it hurts, and he did not like it. Minutes passed, his eyes adjusted to the stinging feeling. However, just as he did so, his vision cleared and his face was dried. How... inconvenient. As he looked around for what he thought but did not know where his parents, he saw an absence of their dark color. He did, however, see a darker shade. Perhaps his vision had adjusted? No, these were different people entirely. Their physical features were not the same as those he believed were his parents. [i]The world is confusing, even in old age. But to a child, just think what horrors they may be going through for the first time.[/i] The dark figure above him, he noticed, wielded some long, thin object that sparked with electricity. What is it? It's purpose? All of the world the young Fallen had once known fell apart on that day. That day he was declared a Dreg, before even doing anything to deserve it. Now had he realized he had four arms, but it was too late to cherish them. The two top arms, they were cut off by the long, electric blade--and docked. Replaced with metal caps to prevent regrowth, all before he had even become accustomed to the arms. Perhaps it was a good thing, perhaps they had spared him the pain of learning to use the arms and then losing them. He is a privileged Dreg, yes? No. This new world he had come into was not a nice, happy world like he had hoped. This world is full of hate and despair, all of which the Fallen child had only received a very, very small taste of. A Captain rode a Skiff along with the young Fallen, who had now grown to be quite large. He was larger than the usual Vandal, even though he was a mere Dreg. Only, the Captain and the rest of his House still very much disrespected him. They wanted him to feel unwanted before he was outcast, the reason for being outcast the Fallen would never know. He still had not a name, but we will call him Dark for now. As the Skiff arrived at its destination, the Mothyard on Earth, Old Russia, the Captain kicked him out of the drop tube. Dark landed flat on his face on the soft grass that he had never felt before. Though the grass was dead, what would he know? It was still the softest thing he had ever felt. Dark had been taught to fight. He knew how to wield a Shock Dagger and a Shock Pistol. He knew of the other more powerful weaponry, but not how to use them, and especially not how to use them efficiently. But, he did know how to use his bare hands as a tool of war, he could kill a Dreg with them and nothing else. However, he was given a Shock Dagger to use. Dark stood up, and approached another Dreg. It bore a red tone on its mask and its armor, signifying that it was of House Devils. The Dreg was much smaller than Dark, it looked pathetic and weak. As Dark approached the Dreg, it looked at him, and, wide-eyed, began sprinting the opposite direction in fear. [i]The Dreg is scared of me! How pathetic.[/i] Dark began swiftly chasing after it, he was faster than it. He would catch up eventually, even if-- He ran straight into a large, thick, burly creature. He was too close to it to see its whole form, but he knew, whatever it was, it could and would kill him. Dark stepped backward, and looked upward at the thing he had ran into. A Captain. One that was larger than the one on his Skiff, and one that could kill him easily. The Captain drew out its Shrapnel Launcher, a very dangerous weapon to a Fallen indeed, and Dark became scared. His measly Shock Dagger was useless at range, and the Captain's launcher was very deadly both at a range and up close. There is no possible way that Dark stood any chance against this beast. Dark did as his instincts had told him all this time to do: run away. His few knobs of hair parted in the wind as the Shrapnel Launcher projectiles whizzed past him. He was scared, all right. Dark was not at all off to a good start in his campaign of survival. He felt his back stinging with intense pain, and then his left arm. Next, his right foot felt agonizing pain and he toppled over onto the ground. Dark looked back to see the Captain slowly coming up on him, surprisingly not firing his ruthless weapon. Dark thought this would be his last thoughts, his death. All up until the Captain's head exploded. Had something saved him, or was he next? No, there's no time to think. Dark stood up quickly and sprinted under a jet wing, cowering for his life that he would not be killed by whatever had killed his prosecutor. He heard boots, footsteps on the jet wing above him. He heard something speak, but in a language Dark had never heard before. The footsteps stopped, and he heard a loud noise as a vehicle with a pointed tip sped away. He was admittedly safe for now, under the jet wing. But he can not stay there forever. Every passing second, the need increases for Dark to consume Ether, the most vital part for a Fallen's survival.