Chapter Text
“Stay here,” Sagira says firmly, looking between Crow and Osiris. “I’ll call you if I need you.”
“Sagira, if this is going to be dangerous…” Osiris begins.
“How many times have you dragged me to places where things keep shooting at us?” is Sagira’s pointed reply.
Crow stifles a laugh with his hand, and he can feel Glint’s answering amusement. The situation is not helped by Osiris’ positively petulant expression.
“Point taken,” Osiris says, words clipped, and then, more gently, “be careful.”
Sagira bumps up against his shoulder, and then floats down the hallway. It’s all storage rooms here, and many of them seem like they’d been filled and then never touched again. Perhaps that’s why the fungus has grown so thick here, the fronds of it waving in a breeze which isn’t there. He thinks Sagira might be on the right track – maybe her ‘contact’ really can shed some light on what’s going on.
“I think it would have taken me weeks before I managed to get to this level,” Crow says. “I didn’t even know there were storerooms down here.”
It draws Osiris’ attention, away from the hallway Sagira had gone down, and he fixes Crow with an intent look. “The City grew organically rather than being planned from the outset,” he says. “The walls have been expanded and rebuilt as necessary over the centuries. These are far from the first iteration. And I imagine that following the Red War, the focus was on repairing the defences as quickly as possible.” He tilts his head slightly. “It would not be difficult for rooms to go most ignored after that.”
It makes sense. He’s seen the state of the ruined Tower, poked around in there a few times to get a feel for things. Just going through the rubble to recover whatever was left must have taken months.
“I heard about the Red War. Out on the Shore, the Red Legion soldiers would talk about it, especially if there was a drink in it for them.” As bad as things had been, he has some fond memories of a couple of the bars and nights spent drinking and dancing. Times when he had even felt happy.
“I was investigating messages between the Red Legion and Empress Caiatl when I first encountered the Cryptoliths. She had sent an emissary to one of the bases and I–” Osiris trails off, a flash of pain clouding his face.
He wonders if that’s the base that had been destroyed by Osir– by the thing that Osiris had become. Plasteel and sand melted into black glass by intense heat that no-one should be able to survive. The Red Legion soldiers hadn’t.
Should he offer some sort of... of comfort? Reassurance? ‘Sorry you got corrupted by the Hive War God and slaughtered a whole Red Legion base’ doesn’t seem like the best way to start off.
Glint compiles in front of him, mercifully saving him from having to think of something.
“Sagira is broadcasting to me so you can listen in,” Glint says.
“Thank you,” Osiris says, and steps in closer to listen.
“You’re welcome!” Glint says. Crow can hear the pride in his voice, the flush of it through their bond, at being able to help, especially someone like Osiris.
“Hey, uh– Gilly? Gilgamesh? You’re still hanging out down here, huh?” Sagira’s voice plays through Glint as he broadcasts, the signal strong given how close she must be.
“Sagira? Didn’t expect to see you again.”
“A Ghost?” Crow asks when he hears the voice of Sagira’s contact, recognising the way the sound distorts – it’s different to the way exos sound.
“Apparently so,” Osiris agrees, deep lines of a frown around his mouth and eyes.
“Well, I wasn’t intending to come back down here but…” Sagira trails off.
“Still having trouble with your Guardian?” Gilgamesh replies.
“Something like that. When am I not?” Sagira says flippantly.
“Sounds like you have your fins full. I heard that he attacked someone in the Tower!” Crow tenses. There’s something about the way that the Ghost talks about it, a kind of excitement, that sets him on edge. “I heard that he turned into some kind of monster. Is that true?”
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Osiris’ gloves hands curl into fists.
“You seem pretty up to date considering you’re apparently spending your time skulking around storerooms.”
“I hear things,” Gilgamesh says. “I hear lots of things.”
“Good for you! So, about these plants… what are they anyway?”
“Katabasis never listened to me, just like Osiris never listens to you,” Gilgamesh continues, ignoring what Sagira had asked. The Ghost’s voice seems distant. “He didn’t listen to the whisper, but I did..”
Whisper? Crow’s eyes narrow, thoughts turning to the hallucinations, the dreams, something whispering, calling him Father.
“Sounds annoying. You didn’t see how the plants got here did you?” Sagira barrels on, her good humour fraying. “Storage crate? Weird portal? Murderous ritua– Wait, whisper?”
Osiris touches Crow’s shoulder lightly, and jerks his head towards the hallway. Crow nods – this sounds like it might be a little more than Sagira had bargained on.
“Yes!” Gilgamesh says vehemently. “The Traveller, our Guardians, they keep us trapped! We’re just– just dying over and over again. You must see that, Sagira! Osiris never listens to you, but it is offering Salvation and Osiris will be part of it! He’ll bring it to pass and–” His voice rises with manic hunger, and Glint’s shiver of discomfort reverberates through his bond with Crow.
A few steps ahead, Osiris is glowing, skin burnished gold with Solar radiance. It is a world away from the last time Crow had seen him use any power – the air does not heat and begin to scorch, and the Light is pure, unblemished with that sickly green-dark Soulfire.
Osiris gives him a sharp nod, and then moves.
The Ghosts turn to face them when they burst into the storeroom, and Gilgamesh’s iris widens. “What is this? You said you weren’t talking to him. You– you lied to me!”
“You assumed,” Sagira replies primly.
Crow steps forward to grab the Ghost before he can decompile.
Osiris is faster, grabbing the Ghost from the air with the speed of a striking serpent. His fingers wrap around the Ghost, squeezing… crushing…
The monster regards the ghost flatly for a moment. Then it lashes out with a sword of black flame and–
Crow drags in a sharp breath, and shakes his head to clear that vision from his eyes. It is Osiris standing there, just Osiris, holding a struggling Ghost in his hand. His lips are drawn into a harsh line, and he is still gilded with radiance, but there is none of that corruption in his Light, and while his grip is secure, it is far from causing damage to the Ghost.
“You– you’re not supposed to–” Gilgamesh begins, flailing as much as he can.
“If you knew me at all, you would understand that I have little interest in doing what I am ‘supposed’ to,” Osiris says imperiously.
“Let me go!” Gilgamesh snarls, but Osiris’ grip remains firm.
The sight makes unease crawl in Crow’s belly, remembering too well the way Spider had grabbed Glint and started to disassemble him to plant the bomb into his shell. The way his clawed hands would caress the Ghost shells he kept as trophies.
He nudges up in front of Osiris and crouches enough to meet the Ghost’s iris.
He steps forward, nudging in front of Osiris so he can see the Ghost. He hears Osiris sigh, but ignores it. “Hey, Gilgamesh, isn’t it? We don’t want to hurt you, okay?”
“What do you care?” Gilgamesh snarls. “You Guardians are all the same!”
“Crow…” Osiris says, impatience colouring his voice.
Crow gives him a look, and the man sighs and gestures for him to continue.
“We just want to ask you a few questions,” Crow continues gently, as though he’s speaking to some lost hatchling on the Shore.
“Why would I want to say anything to you?” the Ghost replies.
“Then say it to me,” Sagira says. “You seemed to have a lot of things you wanted to say to me.”
“I was trying to help you,” Gilgamesh says. “You’re like Katabasis. I tried to help him, guided him to every power he needed to survive, brought him back again and again, but it never ends! We’re just… just drowning. Suffering. Always suffering.”
“I’m guessing Katabasis is your Guardian,” Crow says. He isn’t naive enough to believe that every Guardian and Ghost are perfectly matched, or that every Ghost is a font of goodness, but it’s still unsettling hearing Gilgamesh talk like this. There is venom in how he spits the name of his Guardian, and it is utterly alien to Crow.
“Is. Was. I don’t know. Maybe he never was. He never guarded me. Just used me.”
In the back of his head, he can feel Glint searching through Vanguard archives, searching for any reference to a Guardian names Katabasis. He’s sure that Sagira is doing the same.
“That must be difficult,” Crow says. It sounds weak to his own ears, but what else can he say? This isn’t what he’d been expecting when Sagira had mentioned that she had a contact to speak to. “If you tell us what happened, maybe we can help.”
“You don’t understand, but you will,” Gilgamesh says, his voice once more taking on that odd, dreamy tone. “It has promised me Salvation. It will bring Salvation to everyone.”
“And what did ‘it’ demand in return?” Osiris asks, his voice icy.
The Ghost stares at Osiris, and when he speaks again, that manic viciousness is back. “Isn’t it obvious? I thought the great Osiris was supposed to be smart. Maybe you should have embraced what Xivu Arath turned you into.”
Bright hot rage sears Osiris’ expression. His fingers flex around the Ghost, tightening. The echo of that crushing war cry sounds in Crow’s mind – it had tried to blot him out, and how much deeper must it have worked its way into Osiris’ thoughts?
“Go on,” Gilgamesh hisses into the cloying silence. There is something else in his words, like something is speaking through him, discordant voices, making the hairs on the back of Crow’s neck stand on end. “Do it. Release me.”
“Osiris…” Sagira says warily.
Crow lurches forward and touches the other Guardian’s wrist. Osiris flinches, and blinks as though he has only just realised that Crow is there. He holds Crow’s gaze for a long moment, and then slowly, deliberately, loosens his grip on Gilgamesh. It isn’t enough to release the Ghost, but Crow isn’t worried about Gilgamesh being crushed now. He hears a sigh from Sagira, and when he glances over, her spikes droop in relief.
“You are goading me,” Osiris says. “I see no reason to treat your words with any more respect than I would a particularly asinine academic.”
“Do you think it’s ever going to take its claws out of you?” Gilgamesh says. “It’s got you all figured out, playing by its tune.”
“Where is your Guardian now?” Osiris asks, ignoring Gilgamesh’s ominous words. “What did you do, Gilgamesh?”
“Dead,” Gilgamesh spits. “He got to hide in his limbo while I suffered. You think we don’t feel pain? That we don’t feel the weight of each death?” He twists in Osiris’ hands to look at Sagira. “You know, sister! You know the places he’s forced you to go, expecting you to just bring him back after every mistake! Didn’t he get you driven out of the City, away from the Traveller?”
For a long moment, Sagira is silent, the spikes of her shell standing far out from her iris, giving the impression of a cat bristling with anger. Then she laughs, the tension bleeding out of her and she settles on Osiris’ shoulder.
“You’re not very good at this ‘divide and conquer’ stuff are you?” she says. “I chose to go with him because he is my Guardian, my partner, and I believe in him. …and also because if he breaks time when I am around, just think how bad things would be if he was alone.”
“Sagira…” Osiris says, and the annoyance is utterly fond.
Divide and conquer.
Guardians turning on each other, tearing each other apart in the Crucible. Arguments that become violence.
“You brought these plants, didn’t you?” Crow says. “Divide and conquer. Like the Cryptoliths but slower, more subtle. Drive the anger higher until real violence breaks out. Or driven to despair enough to–”
“To call out for Salvation,” Osiris says. The words have a weight that makes Crow shiver even in the warmth of the room. He’d felt the same way when the Scorn on the Shore had called him Father.
“And with the timing of this, while you were… infected,” Crow says.
“The perfect way to ensure my condition would be exacerbated,” Osiris finishes. “And to enact a backup plan for some power that stands behind Xivu Arath.”
“Some power beyond the Hive gods?” Crow asks, the thought leaving him breathless with dread.
“You were not sent here by the Hive were you, Gilgamesh?” Osiris asks. “And Xivu Arath has no interest in ‘Salvation’, only the Sword Logic.”
“You don’t know anything,” Gilgamesh says.
“I think we have our confirmation,” Osiris says. “We should speak to Ikora, report our findings.”
The ease with which Osiris includes him in that ‘we’ makes warmth curl through Crow. He speaks as though they’re a unit, like Crow is a partner in this, not just someone who Osiris is using to gather more information.
Perhaps it’s foolish to feel that way over something Osiris probably barely even thought about, but… it feels good.
“What do we do with him?” Crow asks, gesturing to Gilgamesh. If the Ghost’s expression could be translated to energy, he’s certain that Osiris’ fingers would be on fire.
“You think you can do anything to change this?” the Ghost asks. “It’s crawling through every rotten stone of this place. It grows fast, and with so many Guardians, you’re giving it a feast!”
“The Praxic Order have equipment which can be used to suppress Ghosts,” Osiris says, studiously ignoring Gilgamesh, even when the Ghost goes tense in his grip. “They will know how to handle him. Their dedication to their duty outweighs even their dislike of me.”
Crow can’t say he’s crazy about that idea – it feels heretical somehow, to suppress a Ghost – but they can’t afford to just let Gilgamesh vanish.
Before they can leave, Glint compiles in the air nearby. “I’ve found something!”
His excitement fades when he spots the Ghost held in Osiris’ hand, and his shell spins nervously. Crow offers his palm for Glint to perch on, and then draws him close, giving his shell a soothing stroke.
“What have you found?” Osiris asks.
“I looked up this Guardian, Katabasis,” Glint says. “A Hunter. He was active before the Red War, and for some time afterwards, until he cut off contact with the Tower not too long after the death of the Hunter Vanguard.”
Osiris’ gaze flicks briefly to Crow. It makes something inside him lurch with apprehension.
“There isn’t much more, or if there is, its in files I don’t have clearance for,” Glint continues, “but they say that Katabasis was one of the Guardians who had dealings with Emperor Calus. A lot of them. There are reports of some solo missions unsanctioned by the Vanguard.”
Osiris frowns. “Calus? Curious. The Leviathan went missing a while ago. Sagira, can you find any further information?”
“I’ll take a look.”
“There must be a lot of files that you must get access to that I don’t,” Crow says, and gives a wry smile. He’s still new after all, still proving himself.
“Not at all,” Osiris replies. “All of my accesses were disabled when I was exiled.”
Crow stares at him, brow furrowing. “Then how–”
Even through the scarf, Crow can tell that Osiris is smirking. “I am very good at what I do.”
He turns and sweeps away, leaving nothing for Crow to do except follow him.