Grasps of the Taken King
"My great work is to die and, in that dying, live."
A compact submersible of Eliksni design finishes its descent through the hazy depths of Titan's methane ocean. The craft's seafloor landing kicks up a cloud of dark silt and microbial life shimmering like stars. The submersible's dorsal airlock cracks open with a rush of bubbles, then slowly folds down into a ramp, allowing a trio of figures armored in deep diving gear to emerge. The submersible's single floodlight sweeps across the ocean floor, revealing the alien landscape of twisting coral.
Fenchurch approaches one of the coral growths, running a gloved hand over its surface. "These polyps…" he mutters. "Is this—" He stops suddenly at the sound of a mechanical snap and turns to see Chalco and Lisbon-13 plant a large, mechanical spire in the ground. Internal lights flicker on as the spire whirrs to life, creating a regulated field of water pressure around the submersible.
Fenchurch steps away from the coral, rubbing his fingers together. He looks to the spire as its sides open like a flower and release several drones, each outfitted with floodlights. The drones swim out ahead, revealing the disorienting flicker of what looks like the water's surface but at an impossibly vertical angle.
"This way," Chalco directs as she turns to follow the drones. Fenchurch and Lisbon look at one another, steady themselves, and fall in line behind their fireteam leader.
"Stop me if you've heard this one before," Fenchurch says, anxiously checking the talisman clipped to his armor. "Two Hunters and a Warlock walk into the deep…"