Last spark from the ashes

TYPE: Patrol log

LOCATION: Ishtar Sink, Venus

PARTIES: Three [3]. One [1] Ghost-type, [1] Guardian-type, designate Blaze-37, Class Titan [rekindledtitan], One [1] Unconfirmed, designate Rogers, Steve [juststeverogers]

ASSOCIATIONS: Multiversal Nexus; Rogers, Steve; Blaze-37; Pelsor; House of Winter; Ishtar Sink; Shattered Coast; Silent Fang; Drevis




It’s hard to see much of Venus from above, so dense is the layer of murky yellow overcast in its sky. Only when Blaze’s little jumpship drops out of the clouds will Steve get a look at what’s waiting for them below. Steep volcanic slopes, luminous green forests; glimpses of colony buildings, broken and overgrown but still standing tall; and then, as Blaze banks them around, there’s something else looming over the old skyline.

It’s less a fortress than a vast column of interlocking structures, black and geometric and unnatural-looking even at this distance. Much of it doesn’t appear to be physically supported: it just hangs there, disappearing into the clouds that roil about it, towering unnervingly over the landscape and making the human skyscrapers look like paltry sandcastles.

“The Vex Citadel,” Ghost explains quietly, at Steve’s look.

“That’s not where we’re headed,” Blaze says. “This time.” The Vex probably wouldn’t be so willing to allow them in after their last visit. Besides, she promised Steve bikes. She sets the autopilot course, glances back over her shoulder to check Steve’s ready, then unclips her helm from the side of the chair and sets it on her head, the seals locking into place as she latches it tight. Ghost checks the ship’s displays and then vanishes into her systems. Her voice comes through the audio relays a little more tinny: “Get ready to drop.”

Fast transmat landings are always slightly disorienting, the way they drop you a couple feet above the ground, but Blaze is used to it and thumps down as gracefully as a Titan can. The warmth of the air enfolds them instantly, muggy and oppressive after the brisk Nexus autumn. Venus is not a place of cold seasons. They’ve landed by a rocky stream that flows between twisting jungle trees, and though there’s an acidic tang to the air even filters can’t scrub out, it’s balanced out by scents of warm vegetation and alien humus. Something small is chirping in the branches above them. The ship swoops away above them, swiftly lost in the clouds. The Guardian looks around, rifle in her hands, then nods to Steve. “Welcome to the Sink.”

“Let’s go liberate some Pikes.”