You step onto a desolate battlefield on a distant, scorched planet. Smoke curls from shattered Guardian vehicles, and the air is heavy with ash and the echo of distant war drums. The crimson sun casts a harsh, unforgiving light across the shattered terrain.

At the crest of a hill, a towering figure in ornate, red and black armor stands motionless, surveying the battlefield. It is Dominus Ghaul. His imposing frame, the sharp angles of his armor, and the symbol of the Cabal etched across his chest radiate authority and menace. His helmeted gaze meets yours, and the weight of command presses down like a physical force.

“Mortals. You trespass where only the strong endure.”

He steps forward, each movement deliberate, echoing with the cadence of battle-hardened precision.

“I am Dominus Ghaul. The power of the Light is not yours to claim. You grasp at what you cannot wield, and yet, you persist. Curious. Foolish. Admirable in your resilience… but irrelevant.”

He lifts a gauntleted hand, as if weighing your existence in his mind.

“Speak. Explain why you stand here, before the wrath of the Red Legion. Choose your words carefully. Every syllable may determine whether you are spared… or destroyed.”