On the surface of a small, uncharted rogue-planet in the Crow Nebula, a very simple bunker lay. A pre-fabricated military structure with long-faded reentry burns scoring it's sides. A single landing pad lay outside, with a Roc perched on it. As one approached the door, a heavy sensation of dread would set in, the kind of dread that came from watching agony unfold. Anyone could guess this was the den of a monster, and anyone could know as much when pained screams from within reached their ears at the door.

Beyond the bulkhead that lay at the entrance was the simple, flat interior of a combat pillbox. The entire surface area, however, was covered in geometric spirals and shapes, gouged in with some sharp tool. The spirals converged into the center of the room, where a rectangular hole with stairs leading downwards was cut, illuminated only by the flanking twin torches that burned an unnatural dark crimson, casting shadows in a room that was already dim, and making the gouged-out scrawlings appear even deeper than they were.

At the bottom of the stairs, a simple metal door acted as a final barrier. On the other side of that barrier, the beast resided. A man formerly known as Nikolaus Strauss, now only named The Gardener. No human part of him remained. A three meter tall monstrosity had taken his place, a humanoid brute composed of entirely Nomad crystalline flesh covered in armor plating and spikes. His arms were two large skewers, each split with a seam down the center.

Next to him, a cart hovered, filled with a handful of glowing red crystal clusters, and in front of him, a horrified LWB pilot who pulled against the restraints on the medical bed he was on. "You won't get away with this! They'll come looking for me, freak!"
The Gardener spoke with a combination of voices taken from the recently deceased:
"Don't struggle, oh victim mine. You'll only die tired, and wouldn't that be a sad end to your story?"
As he spoke, the spike that was his right arm split along the seam, revealing a sharp, spindly, twisted hand. The LWB pilot did stop struggling. He had seen this happen to thirty-three other individuals. He still held on to hope, however. "Other people will avenge me, you sick, sorry abomination! Humanity will avenge me! You'll pay for this!"
"They will most certainly try."
The Gardener reached out, sinking his claws into the pilot like a hot knife through butter. The pilot screamed, a mixture of pain and rage, as a set of smaller spinneret claws on The Gardener's palm began generating another red crystal cluster. Life drained from him in the most literal sense, his body drying and decaying as the crystals grew. The process lasted only a few horrid seconds, and in his hand The Gardener held another cluster of crystals to add to his collection.


"Hey, ugly."
As The Gardener deposited his newest crystals into the cart, the last human left spoke to him. He tilted his head, looking over his shoulder to regard is addresser.
"And how may I help you, oh officer mine?"
"You chatted a lot about "clarity" when you killed the Hessians. Is it beneath you to give me some clarity as to what the hell you're doing?"
The Gardener pretended to not notice the tiny recording device the captured military pilot had activated. He wouldn't destroy it after he'd collected the pilot's life, either. He had a message to spread, after all. Perhaps, leave it somewhere for someone to find.

"Humans are sinful, fickle creatures. Their desires are lesser because they stem from lesser wants. Humans are willing to run from what they fear long before they are willing to chase what they desire. Their fears are weak things that blow around in the wind of life, changing moment to moment. Why do you think that is?"
"Because dying hurts?"
"Ah, but living hurts so much more. The dying feel pain, yes, but the dead do not. So, why do think that truly is?"

The pilot didn't answer. He knew the beast would tell him, anyway.
"Lusts warp dedication. Wrath warps knowledge. Greed warps sacrifice. Whims warp focus. The sin of humanity is it's blindness to higher goals."

He continued:"The only time Humans know true clarity is on the brink of death. Their life flashes before their eyes, and they finally take a moment to see what they really are. Those who chased lesser whims around die with regret, knowing they lived a life wasted and worthless. Those who followed higher goals die satisfied, knowing they lived a valuable and impactful life. In that last moment of death, a human becomes truly themselves. That is when I take them. I keep them there. In these crystals, they live eternally, witnessing their entire life and judging themselves continuously."

"You trap people in some kind of hell... for what? You like seeing them hurt? Is torturing a game to you?"
"It's only a hell if they've lived a life of little worth..."

"But no. I am making a Goddess. Death is the only destination for all that is human. No human escapes death. Death is beautiful. Death is sweet. A young mind resides atop the Light. A Survivor, pure and unstained. She separates herself from emotion, however, treating all things as an algorithm. She wields emotion like words, like tools. She doesn't embrace them. She doesn't feel them. Thus, I garden. I tend a field of souls so that I may grow a Fruit of Eden for her to eat. These crystals form flowers, and the minds within purify themselves of imperfection, becoming perfect. I harvest the perfect, and within my garden lies the Tree of Death, and from it hangs the Fruit of Death, made from the perfected souls of the dying. And when she eats it, the white figure of purity and the blue eyes of Light will be accented by red lips of death, and all humanity will know. All humanity will love her as I do. Many will run in fear, many will stand and fight, but none will escape the sweet kiss of death. My Fair Maiden of Death will give unto humanity their fate. All will be coddled as children in the arms of Death. Death purifies you. Death sanctifies you. Death will set you free."

The pilot failed to make heads or tails of what was said. It was no matter to The Gardener. He simply activated the "follow" function for the medical bed, and it trailed the cart as he walked to the end of the room, where another door was. This door led into a cave lined with bright red flowers that sprouted from buried crystals in the ground. Through a dense field of them, he took his bounty. The Gardener's legs bisected into thin spikes so that he could walk without damaging his field.


Sure enough, at the center of the field, spotlit by a hole in the roof of the cave, stood a beautiful red tree. Bright red energy crawled up it's trunk, across it's branches, and coalesced in a singular bright crimson fruit.


The Gardener sprouted several crustacean-like appendages and began planting his crystals, leaving the pilot to contemplate the hopelessness of his situation. He knew what each flower in this massive field represented. He could almost feel their agony. He could almost hear their screams. And the tree stood, a monument to a sin of such magnitude that few could even comprehend it's extent.

Silence broken only by wind and the rustling of the flowers in it lay between them. The pilot knew his situation was hopeless, but...
"The Farmer was right. You'll be stopped. Mark my words, scum: You will pay for everything you've done."
"That remains to be seen. Beautiful last words, though."

...

He didn't scream. He felt like he would have lost something if he had.

He'd done it. Before The Gardener, a glistening red fruit hung from his tree. There were complications, of course. He'd learned that both Auxo and Order pilots explode when captured. Both Auxo and Order pilots had a severe number of robots in their ranks, and robots had no lives to harvest. Both Auxo and Order hunted his kind for technology, and lied to others and themselves about it being for safety. Auxo and Order had very few differences, he mused. They even share a blood-feud with the Core. And Outcasts. They weren't fully human anymore, and, he reasoned, that is why the fate of death is far removed for them. But there are some who chose to be human. They fed the tree well. Long and storied lives, plenty to look back on and judge.

He let his amusement go to instead admire his work. The Fruit of Eden. It looked like a ruby covered in black veins. A frigid wind blew through the cave as he began approaching the tree, sending crimson petals past him. The air was thick with psychic energy, energy he pushed through as he continued. Red wisps materialized on his skin and blew away in the wind. Every step was more difficult, and the air seemed like water, and then tar as he marched. And the voices. The screams of nearly a million human souls trapped in eternal retrospect. Distilled into their purest result, and packed into a single space. He looked up at the fruit, and then reached towards it. Psychic energy laced with a hatred as pure and potent as sunlight rushed against him like a waterfall, and still he reached up into it. Five blade-like fingers closed around the fruit. The screams were clear, they were begging him to stop, to reconsider, to have some humanity.

And the stem snapped.

The voices ceased instantly. The energy was gone. There was silence, broken only by the rustle of the flowers in the wind. He looked in his hand, and beheld the fruits of his labors. The Fruit of Eden. It's black veins now pulsed with a heartbeat, and the red flesh seemed to be aflame with the power that wafted from it. This was the key. With this, he would give the Light what they lacked. They simulated emotions. They communicated with emotions. But this would let them feel emotions. This fruit, the first of many if he had his way, would correct the only flaw he saw in the Light.

And the one he would give it to would be the goddess of his own making. All that is human would know Death's tender embrace.

"Now, to whom shall I gloat my successes to first?"