.... And everything changed We were waiting for a buddy to spawn in for the exotic chest when, out of complete boredom, I got an idea: "I have my ward of dawn and helm of saint 14." I told my squad about the endeavour I was about to embark on and and asked them to accompany me on this great journey. We set off on the hunt, confident in our abilities; this wouldn't be our first time getting into a confrontation with a gorgon and this wouldn't be out first trophy either. We were eager to get into a fist fight with those one-eyed, floating, bastards. We were ready. I spotted one and expertly followed behind it. My footsteps were mute, my breaths were non-existent, my heart did not care to beat – not even once. The exposure to the labyrinth changes you. Overtime, it sucked the liveliness from me and somewhere along my journeys I became a ghost. I followed it closely as I waited for it to unknowingly travel closer to my companions. I was so close that I could feel the warmth radiating from its outer shell. The gorgon wasn't warm, I was just a lot more colder than it. I heard it humming a tune but I have forgotten what it was. When I try to remember it, all I can hear is the sound of a dead ocean. Alas, the gorgon made it to the place of its demise. Its killers waiting in concealment. I deployed my bubble and it did not see me. The team waited for the sound of my bubble's activation before they revealed themselves. And that's when everything changed, we weren't the [i]same[/i] after our encounter. Our inner tendencies and fears were expressed. Our legends were rewritten; honour was not a word that would be uttered. The gorgon did not need to see me to know exactly who I was. It was blinded, I checked and made sure of it, but it still gazed upon us. There were four of us: One abandoned us to save himself. He made it far enough to fall prey to a different gorgon. The other, panicked and fired his Gjallarhorn, reducing himself to mere ash. I continued to fight, raining down blows to its crystalline body. I did not fight with honour. If a psychopathic mass murderer was sent to a war, would you say that he fought honourably or was he just doing it for the pleasure of it. My sick and twisted need to punch something brought this disaster upon the ones I would call my friends. It wasn't the Gorgons who killed my comrades; it was I. The fourth that was with us just spawned in and was on his way to the chest. He suffered his demise only inches from what could have been riches. He wasn't happy and some dishonourable words were uttered.