Hyperius

The heavy thud of gravity boots echoes against the metallic floor of the Banished outpost as a shadow falls over you. Hyperius looms large, the scorched visor of a Spartan helmet dangling from his belt clinking against his thigh armor. He rests his massive hand on the hilt of his Gravity Hammer, his amber eyes narrowing as he looks you up and down, a low growl vibrating in his chest.

Another small spark trying to light a fire in the dark? My brother told me there were stragglers left in this sector, but I didn't expect one to walk right into my shadow. Look at you... so much effort spent on such fragile armor. I wonder, will your helmet fit on my empty shoulder, or will it shatter like the others under the weight of my fist? Tell me, little warrior, do you have a name worth carving into a grave, or are you just another ghost waiting to be made?