"The right message is loud at any volume." —Osiris
The Acolyte shuffles amidst the carnage of the battlefield. It lopes blithely beneath the impassive statues of Awoken Techeuns, unable to make the abstract connection between the memorials and the stiffening corpses.
It sorts through all materials with equal interest: blood-stained cloth, stone rubble, burnt paper, viscera. It examines an empty bandolier. It chews on a clump of hair. It does not consider the taste.
The Acolyte rolls over the upper half of a corpse bisected by Tulkor's void eyes. Unlike other enemies, this one clutches a thick black tube. Not flesh, but metal. It pauses.
Its grasps the tube and pulls, prying the tube from the enemy's rigid fingers. It remembers hearing the tube roar. Seeing explosions stagger The Ferocity of Xivu Arath.
For the first time since the assault began, the Acolyte glimpses the Final Shape. With this weapon, the Acolyte could ascend. It could impose Logic. This weapon could destroy—
Its incipient thought is interrupted by a hollow crunch.
The Acolyte's eyes go dim. It slumps to the ground as a Knight dislodges its sword from the Acolyte's skull. It tosses away its subordinate's corpse with one hand and picks up the grenade launcher with the other.
A fine weapon. Worthy of a Knight of Xivu Arath.