The Hunter dropped silently from the hovering ship, Cape fluttering like a ragged flag at sea. The hunter took a step forward on the pasty grey, sulfrous cyan lava narrowly missing his dirty pale boot. It looked at its ghost with its dead, blue eyes full of anticipation clearly visible through his makeshift helmet. It took out a hand cannon and started to walk forward to a small fallen outpost about one hundred meters from his location, savouring the feeling of a predator approaching it's prey. After a minute it saw it's prey. A vandal and a dreg, standing guard, looking tired and bored. Not that the guardian saw that before two large bullets found them lodged in their heads. The guardian smiled, and cloaked, beginning to make his way to the inner depths of the outpost. It was at the very depths of the hideout that it found the biggest concentration of the target. It didn't take any time wondering why the group bore that deathly title, and silently made its way to the middle of the room, meticulously taking care not to disturb anything. When it was in position, he pounced. It activated its arc blade, tendrils of lightning spitting from its body, and within seconds everyone in the room was dead but one. It paused. There was an almost inaudible buzz as highly sensitive mechanical ears detected a slight sound it was quiet, but almost immediately it was triangulated and he darted towards the noise with the swiftness of death's hand. It effortlessly batted the console away, and raised its hand cannon, but once it's optical sensors picked up the target, Something broke within the exo's storage circuits. A blinding white tidal wave of Hundreds of memories flooded through the guardian's mind. It's eyes turned red. It was no longer the traveller's vessel It was no longer a hunter. It was no longer a guardian of light. The waves washed away the very thing the ghost was made to use. It was no longer a dead creature made by a dead thing in the shape of the dead. He was very much alive.