Destiny 2 - On the Advent of War

In the wake of the conclusion of the Season of the Seraph, War speaks...

SPOILERS for the ending of Season of the Seraph below.

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You: who are called Chosen, Hero, Champion. You: who are called Crota's End, King's Fall, Cursebreaker, Disciple-Slayer. You: who are called Risen, Seraph, Lightbearer.

You are called many things. But above all, you are called Guardian.

I am called Glory-Seeker, Tithe-Claimer, Wrath-Bringer. I am called Battle-Master, Siege-Maker, World-Breaker. I am called Inexorable, Unbreakable, Unstoppable.

I am called many things. But above all, I am War.

For years now, I have heard your kind spoken about in dark and deep places. Sparks floating in an ocean of Darkness, being so daring as to shine your Light against the inevitable tide. I have tasted your embers in the lingering tribute of my kin's tithe.

I watched as your brethren marched in a great host against the Prince my nephew. I laughed as they fell in droves beneath his sword. I exulted in the slaughter, and admonished him from afar as he failed to press his advantage. Had Crota marched upon your world after your disastrous campaign, he would have razed your paltry City to the ground and etched further glory upon his crest.

But while my nephew felt called to War, he was never the brightest student of it. He was a brute, relying much upon his strength-- as great as it was-- and not upon strategy. He sowed despair, devouring humanity's hope, but sat on his laurels, rather than pursue the opposition to destruction, as the Logic demanded.

I wept to watch him fall before your sword, to hear his death howl across the Sea of Screams. But I shed few tears for him, for the King my brother indulged him too much.

Oryx favored the wrong son and shunned the dead-caller. Alone among the King's children, he understood the merits of strategy and planning in the long-scale conflict in which we are eternally embroiled.

I wept to see him fall before your might, to watch him flee into the depths of the Ascendant Spaces. But I shed few tears for him, for his necromantic ways were a sin against the Logic.

I watched as my brother marched upon your benighted star, less because our worm-pact demanded it, and more because he sought vengeance. Had Oryx wielded the power granted unto him by the Witness, he could have Taken your entire world, left you with nothing, nothing but to drift and drown in the Deep.

I wept to watch my brother fall before your strength, to see his crystallizing corpse plummet into the depths of the ringed planet. I remembered how we siblings three had sworn our oaths and taken our pacts together, remembered all the times we waged glorious battle against one another, expressing love as only we Hive can. And I shed tears to see he who sat the Osmium Throne irretrievably die.

I watched as my sister wove her schemes around you, ever glimpsed in the corner of the eye, lurking in shadow and lies as she ever was. I laughed as she trapped that twilight city in her tangled skein, unleashing a curse sow intricate you still have not unraveled it.

I wept to watch her turn away from the Deep, but I could shed no tears as I ordered all Hive broods to my banner, and signed her death warrant. Had she remained loyal, you would never have realized how tangled you were in her webs until the moment of your final death.

I howled with rage when she escaped my siege, but I smiled at her singular brilliance again. She had always been my favored opponent in our games. It had been so long since she and I had pitted our minds against one another, in games of strategy and conflict, but here at the last, she proved she could still outwit me.

Until she rose again, as a thing of the Sky.

Had I stood upon a world in your material plane when I learned of her ultimate treachery, it would have shattered with my fury. My forces slaughtered a hundred worlds to make it known, to gather the tribute I would need to bring my wrath upon your star. And so I sent my Scourges, to sow the seeds of ritual, to open the way for my war march.

And then you and yours continued to fight against the Inexorable. You saw the trap of my strategy, you forestalled it, and convinced the Warmind-- a machine I might have called my favorite student-- to lay down his sword and expend his existence to become a shield. Your world still stands, the Sky-Traveler holds its ground, and my glorious victory has been denied.

But I am smiling, Guardian.

For now I see why the Witness's new Herald is so enamored of you.

You are strong. Far stronger than any Lightbearer your age should be. You have grown in your power with each insurmountable hurdle, each unbeatable foe, each impossible task you have bested.

I am the Sword of the Deep, Guardian. When I took the pact with the worm my God, I accepted the burden of its command-- to never stop sharpening myself against the strongest opponents I could find. And my edge has never dulled.

Here, now, I find myself against a new whetstone.

Sharpen yourself, Guardian. I want you at your best, at your strongest, at your most defiant.

War is coming for you.