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5/20/2017 6:10:41 PM
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A Soul of Black Fire, Chapter 1: Guilt

[b]Hi everyone! I have come back from the dead! I have decided to abandon the burden carried within and start a new story! It was have the same characters, same plot, and everything except better explained! Burden has too many plot holes and such, so I just started anew! I hope you enjoy this change, I sure do! [/b] [i]--location: Moon, Hive Temple.[/i] One by one the fired bullets echoed throughout the catacombs of the moon, one by one a different thrall fell, screaming their last scream as the bullets burrowed deep within their skulls. As each thrall fell, the lone guardian, a Warlock, felt the same rush; the flow of adrenalin pulsing through his veins and satisfaction filling is mind, body, and soul as each body hit the ground before him. The firing stopped and the guardian refilled his weapon, an eerie weapon forged by unknown hive hands that was now being used to slaughter the very ones it was supposed to aid. As the magazine clipped in place, the final thrall fell to the ground. The lone guardian walked over the river of corpses before him, a river of death created by him and him alone. He stopped and looked down at the gun he used. Oh how beautiful it was, able to create destruction and death with simply a gesture of the finger… with a simple gesture. He focused on the small green flames escaping look crevices within the gun. His thoughts were interrupted when he felt something grab his leg. He tore his gaze away from the gun and at a thrall below him, pathetically trying to claw at his leg with its final breaths. The guardian stared at the thrall and the thrall stopped to stare back at him with hateful eyes. He had no expression, he showed no resentment- no regret for what he had done. The thrall only stared at the familiar helmet he had on. A helmet that used to belong to a death singer within the depths of Crota’s realm. The strange entity crouched down in front of the thrall, not taking its gaze off of it. The thrall continued to stare at the helm, at the very guardian that ripped it off of the head of the death singer. As the thrall continued to stare at its helm it saw its reflection, bewildered by this it stretched out a hand at the nonexistent thrall within the helmet’s gaze. Suddenly, an eerie feeling filled the atmosphere as the lone guardian’s right hand started to have a faint purple glow. Realization finally crept its way into the thrall’s mind. It was not its reflection that it saw within the gaze of the helmet, It was the next target. A loud snap echoed throughout the empty catacombs as the void-light in the guardian’s hands disappeared, as the thrall’s life did too. The guardian got up, putting his gun on his back as he continued to walk deeper within the strange Hive temple. He placed a hand on the wall next to him while he walked, feeling the cold moon rock through his gauntlets. That’s all he ever felt now, cold. He tried to remember what it was like before, when he could sing the song of flames and make embers rise where he stood. He pushed the thought away, burying deep within the back of his mind, that was in the past; he had to focus on the present. He continued to walk. Finally after an hours of walking, he approached a giant door that looked like it was made for beings ten times his size. Symbols were spread all throughout the door, but a single green shining symbol stood out from the rest, the symbol was located at eye level of the guardian; shining brightly as he began to extend his arm to it. He placed his right hand on the rune, it began to glow brighter as the other symbols along the wall began to turn green as well. The ground began to shake under him as the door started to slowly slide open. He stood there, not impressed or surprised, it was routine now to witness this. It was all just routine… A loud thud and click echoed throughout the caves of the moon as the doors were now all the way open, with only darkness behind them. The guardian stood there, in front of pure darkness and wished he could feel sadness for what he was doing, and for what he had done. He wished he never made that deal, he wished he never went into this temple the first time, he wished so many things didn’t happen. But it was too late now, he couldn’t change the past, his fate was sealed. His limbs were no longer his own, like the control over his own body was ripped away from him. He began to walk forward, into the darkness and into the known unknown. His mind kept telling him to turn back, to run far away and to never look back, but that option was terminated long ago. His legs carried him into the darkness, into where he had mistakenly ventured long ago.     As he walked, further and deeper into the darkness, he could hear the door behind him slowly closing. He tried to look back, he wanted to savor the last bit of warm light that came through the door before descending into total darkness. He couldn’t however, he had no control over his fate now- no control over his choices and body. The loud thudding sound of the closed door flooded the darkness surrounding him. He stood still in the darkness where he was forced to come so often in order to pay up his part of the wretched deal he had foolishly made. He felt the presence of the ones who had condemned him to this life, to being a puppet. The puppeteers themselves stood with him in the darkness. He’s never seen them, he doubted he ever would… but that’s not important. “[i]Show us your offerings, spark of light[/i].” hissed a strange yet familiar voice from within the darkness. He recognized this voice, it was the only one he heard speaking to him within his odd dreams most times. When they wanted something from him they would creep into his dreams and tell him what they wanted. Only that voice did however, none of the others. The Warlock gasped for air and collapsed onto the dark ground as control over his body was restored to him. All his senses rushed in at the same time, it was overwhelming, like a supernova suddenly started to reset and try to turn back into the dying sun it once was. He slowly got up, being thankful to feel his rushing heartbeat again and be in control of his body. The Warlock calmed himself and reached into a small satchel attached to his hip. The satchel was made out of cloth and leather and had only a single button to open and close it. The Warlock reached to the button and lifted up the small satchel, he reached in and pulled out a glowing white shard. “[i]Yes…” [/i]the same voice from before said, it sounded pleased. “[i]Leave it here and be on your way, spark of light.”[/i] it suddenly commanded. "[i]We will call upon you when you are needed once again[/i]." He began to place it down, but he hesitated; if he placed it down then he would be betraying the city, all the guardians, but worst of all; he would be betraying the light. The Warlock grit his teeth, he didn’t want to do this- he didn’t want to give them the small shard; but alas, he had little of a choice. The Warlock finally placed down the small shard on the ground and began to walk away. He heard the door open in front of him and walked towards the small crack of the light flooding into the darkness through the door. He wish he could feel resentment for what he did, he wanted to cry; he wanted punishment for what he had just done- he wanted to feel guilty. But he didn’t feel anything. Instead he only walked through the door without emotion. Even though he knew he had just left a shard of the traveler with the darkness that sought to destroy it.

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