Do you know, I am often asked how I could possibly survive out in the wilds?
Soft, safe "good people of the City," some of whom never set foot outside the wall, until the Red Legion forced them to. Who found the world outside was dangerous and that all the comforts they took for granted were gone. Whose eyes were opened after a few weeks of famine and fear.
They weren't there when I delved into the ruins of the old world left by the Collapse. They weren't there as I braved places so far from safety, facing horrors their simple little brains couldn't imagine. They've never seen the fetid maw of a monster born out of the Darkness as it hungered for me and my Light, never had to face off against a Fallen Captain snarling hate and spite, never had to dash for cover from the barrage of a Cabal fortress, never had to look a Vex Minotaur in its eye and see nothing but cold calculated dispassionate murder looking back.
They can only imagine such things, colored by their paltry experience with hardship. But I don't hate them for their narrow concerns.
I reserve it for the Titans, who glare as I walk by, who envy me for my cape, who call me coward for being quick to dodge. They throw up their little bubble shields when I snap out my Golden Gun, while their buddy comes around the corner to shoulder charge me into the wall, bellowing about how they bring the thunder, bragging about the victory they had fixed for them in the Guardian Games.
I reserve it for the Warlocks, with their arrogant smirks, who think they have all the answers, who preen about their robes, who act smug about their ability to blink about the battlefield, and boast about how they can command the fury of the tempest. They look down at me and scoff that I cannot withstand the storm.
Shhh.
None of them understand. I am faster than the Titan, especially when I slow time around them. I silence their thunder and their fury with a cold snap. I am more cunning than the Warlock, especially when I know the battlefield better than them and shape it to my needs. I silence their empty words and their sneering pride with a frigid blade.
I cannot withstand the storm? No.
I AM the storm.