Chapter Thirty-two
Date unknown
Time unknown
Winduster, Kalar
BEAUTY. HOW IT had a way of fading over time. How it had a way of disguising cold reality.
As the familiar pink hues of runa legras began their rolling transition into the turquoise, mossy hills that led into Winduster, Svetlana watched from the train window with what was, for the first time, an air of indifference. Wearing the same stone blue outfit she’d worn so many days, she found herself not enjoying the ride, but longing for it to end. She could say that now about a great many things. Long departed was the exhilaration of going to new places and making new discoveries. The only thing she wanted was to go home.
No one—not among her party or the Kalarael—made mention of the duel of dominance that had taken place the previous day. They seemed content to have simply observed an alien custom in action. That was just as well for Svetlana. In light of the duel’s aftermath, she wanted nothing more than to pretend like it’d never happened at all.
This particular journey to Winduster revolved around the Zone Runner’s damaged rift generator—a subject of sudden urgency after the Kalareim’s offer to help Svetlana and her counterparts escape on the spacecraft. Though the ship’s drives were not operating at full power, they would work well enough to get the ship off the ground and into orbit. What mattered most was the ability to disappear. Svetlana opted to include everyone in their party for this visit, from Tauthin, to Kraash-nagun, to Mishka. She wanted them all there. The time for division had ended. What they needed now was togetherness.
In the time that’d passed since the duel’s conclusion, Svetlana had come to realize that the whole idea had been a terrible misstep. Rather than having spent her time at Ban-Hezikal trying to cultivate a healthy relationship with Kraash-nagun, she’d instead tried to win him over by defeating him. The Kalarael may have accepted the results of the duel, but there was zero chance Kraash-nagun would. He was probably more determined than ever to usurp her command, feeling that her victory had been accomplished by trickery. He wouldn’t be wrong. She wanted to talk to him. She wanted to apologize to him. She wanted to speak to him with the same freedom that she could with Tauthin. But Kraash-nagun was not Tauthin, and such an opportunity to speak freely could not be forced. It would have to come to her. She hoped that inviting him to go along with them would go a small way in terms of reconciliation. She feared, however, it would do nothing at all.
Yigôzien settled into the empty seat beside Svetlana as she continued to stare out the window. After Ed’s connection kicked in, Yigôzien said, “You must be pleased with the result of your duel with the Bakma.”
Looking at Yigôzien briefly, Svetlana returned her reflective gaze outward. “Must I?”
“Surely, you must. To have settled a dispute in such a convincing manner—you have left no question as to your dominance. As an invoker who has shared with you many of our customs, to observe a custom of yours was an honor.”
“A custom of ours,” Svetlana murmured to herself, more out of disgust than anything else. Shaking her head a single time, she drew in a breath and said, “That was…not a custom of significance.” She paused. “If a custom at all.”
Even without looking, Svetlana could sense Yigôzien’s confusion through the connection. “I am unsure what you mean.”
“Yigôzien…” Looking ahead in the train, Svetlana couldn’t quite bring herself to look her alien friend in the eyes. She looked outward again. “I hope you understand that I am not perfect. And that I am no goddess.”
Once more, confusion. “Your words confound me. I was under the impression that you had accepted your incarnation. Have your feelings changed?”
“The point I am making,” Svetlana said, ignoring the question, “is that not all of the decisions I make are good. The decision to duel Kraash-nagun is among them. It is not something I should have done.”
“But in doing so, you cemented your dominance over him.”
If she only understood how untrue that statement was. “No,” Svetlana answered. “It may seem that way to you, but I did not.”
Her eyes shifted dark yellow. “But he must adhere to custom.”
“Yigôzien, what custom?” Svetlana asked, looking at her fox-eared friend for the first time. “How do Earthae and Bakma share customs? I was a prisoner on their ship. They took me from my homeworld. If it was a Bakma or Khuladi custom, how would I know of it? If it was an Earthae custom, why would he agree to it? My God, do…” Biting her lip behind her mask, she looked away again, briefly. She wanted to ask, “Do you think at all?” But she couldn’t quite bring such curtness to form. Instead, she settled for, “What matters is that the whole idea of the duel was foolish. I was warned not to do it. I did not listen.”
“Yours is not to listen. Yours is to command.”
Yigôzien would never understand. She couldn’t. Her dogma was too ingrained.
The alien’s focus returned forward. “We draw near to Winduster.”
So they had. Svetlana could see the small military compound approaching. The train began to decelerate. But she wasn’t quite through with Yigôzien yet. “My friend,” she said, turning Yigôzien’s way as she placed a hand on her knee—a gesture that made the Kalarael blink. “I need you to forgive me.”
Yigôzien canted her head.
“Forgive me if I do not turn out to be who, or…or what you think I am.” She needed to get that request for forgiveness out—just in case their course couldn’t be altered. Just in case she and the Kalareim stole that ship.
As the train drew to a stop, Yigôzien looked at Svetlana strangely. “Are things well with you, my goddess?”
Closing her eyes in disgust, Svetlana said, “Yigôzien, I swear to you, I am not your goddess.”
“Your unbelief is not mine. You are mired in confusion. Have faith it will pass.”
Mired in confusion. If there was a better way to explain the condition of Svetlana’s soul, she didn’t know what it was.
“If you wish to confide in me about things, it is my duty as counsel to listen—and my privilege.”
“I just need to hear that you will forgive me, if I ever disappoint you. If I ever fail to live up to the pedestal your people have placed me upon.”
The bewilderment remained. “I cannot forgive what is not sin. You are where you are because you deserve to be there.”
Truer words were never spoken—just not in the way Yigôzien was aware of. The hum of the train ceased; its forward movement stopped completely. Seconds later, the side door opened. Svetlana rose to her feet immediately. She didn’t wish to discuss this with Yigôzien anymore. What she wished, more than anything, was to just go away.
Slipping past Yigôzien as she dutifully stepped aside, Svetlana padded out onto the mossy, turquoise earth. Casting the briefest of looks to her counterparts, she motioned for them to follow her out. They complied, following her to an area far from the Kalaraels’ ears.
Wasting no time, she looked at Wuteel first. “Wuteel, I need you to do everything in your power to repair that ship. When the Kalareim are ready to strike, whenever that may be, we must be able to shift. Take full advantage of the time we still have.”
Several seconds passed before Wuteel dipped his head. “As you wish, my lady.” His gaze lingered on Svetlana longer than she felt it should’ve, and then he turned to walk toward his Kalarael escorts.
Svetlana’s eyes narrowed. There was a hesitation from Wuteel—perhaps even, a reluctance to obey. Deep within her, a slow anger boiled. She directed it at herself. Tauthin was right—he sees me differently now. Well done, Sveta. She turned to Tauthin next. “Have Toro-shun accompany you to the prison cells. Continue your questioning of the Bakma there to see who could be sympathetic to our cause. There must be no doubt in your mind who among them we can trust.” The last thing she wanted was to add another doubter like Kraash-nagun or Wuteel to the team.
“As you command,” Tauthin said.
At least there was no hesitation there. Svetlana turned to Ed. “Go relay to Toro-shun his assignment, then come back to me.” The Ithini relayed compliance before walking away.
Svetlana was alone with Kraash-nagun and Mishka, the latter of whom had lumbered to her side and was gently nuzzling against her. Her focus shifting to the blinded elite, she watched him in scrutiny. His eye sockets stared blankly ahead.
Closing her eyes, she thought the briefest of prayers in her head—more a series of unspoken desires than actual formed words. She just wanted this animosity to end. Opening them again, she beheld the silent warrior. “Kraash-nagun, may we talk?”
A moment passed before he answered. “Of course, my goddess.”
Now that got her mad. “Oh, stop it.”
Angling his head slightly toward her, he fell silent and listened.
“I want you to know it was not I who told Ed to sever your vision.” As soon as she said it, she regretted it. It felt like she was throwing the Ithini under the bus. She reframed her argument. “The point I am making is that I know it was unfair.”
“May I tell you something?” he asked.
She sighed. “If you wish.”
“I do not care. If a point was to be proven, it was proven. You are not comparable to those you presume to rule.”
Presume to rule. She’d caught that intentional word.
“I will never believe you would have abided by the rules of your so-called ‘duel of dominance’ had the Ithini not intervened. I believe it is more likely you would have had the Kalarael kill me.”
“I would have never done that,” Svetlana said.
“I find that hard to believe. Your lust for power has grown larger by the day. It is clear you once shared a mind with Nagogg. You are nearly indistinguishable.”
“What must I do to earn your trust?” As she spoke, Mishka settled down on his haunches beside her.
Turning his head her way, Kraash-nagun bared his teeth and seethed. “You must actually earn it.”
“And what more must I do to earn it? Have I not done enough?”
“All you have done is replace one master with another. Instead of subservience to Nagogg, we are subservient to you.”
His stubbornness was infuriating. “I am not your master. You are not my slaves.” Despite what she’d slipped up and said to Tauthin.
“Nagogg referred to himself as a lord. You insisted on our using the female equivalent. Clearly, your intent was for us to view you as we viewed him.”
“But you are not,” she said, pointing at him. “You were not challenging his leadership as you have challenged mine from the moment I assumed it—and yes, I assumed leadership. I am not afraid to say it after what I did to free you. What is so wrong with that? It is exactly what you would do.”
The elite angled his head. “The reason I did not challenge Nagogg is because he earned his position as rider and chieftain. You were the beneficiary of a single, fortuitous occurrence—and you used it to justify a position a lifetime in the making.”
Opening her mouth to reply, she found herself at a loss for rebuttal. Kraash-nagun’s accusation replayed in her head. She used a single occurrence to justify the others’ life work. Jaw tightening behind her mask, she looked off to the side in thought. Was that it? Was that truly it? Was it really a matter of her not having earned it, not in that one, single moment, but over the course of her life?
It was then that she realized a similarity she’d never considered before. Kraash-nagun was looking at her the exact same way she’d looked at Scott when he’d arrived at Novosibirsk. She and her Russian counterparts had worked for years to get where they were, yet they were instantly usurped—if not literally, symbolically—by this Golden Lion from America. Svetlana herself had enjoyed seeing Max put him to the ground in that sparring match. She’d even confessed to Scott in their fateful lounge meeting that she’d wished Max would have sent him home on a rolling bed.
Oh my God…I am the Golden Lion. She was playing Scott’s role. Kraash-nagun was playing hers. In that one instant—in light of that single comment Kraash-nagun made—everything began to make sense. It made sense why Kraash-nagun despised her. It made sense why even after her accomplishments, she was yet to earn his trust. They only knew each other as stalwart and encroacher. Their “lounge meeting” had yet to take place.
“Have you nothing to say?” Kraash-nagun asked, oblivious to her thoughts.
She did have something to say—something she hadn’t fathomed saying until then. Something her pride had stood in the way of since she’d removed Nagogg. She turned her head slowly to him. Where her jaw had once been tight, it now hung open. “You were right.”
After the elite stared at her for several seconds with his empty eye sockets, he tilted his head.
“Kraash-nagun, you were right. I have done this all wrong.” The words were more like self-revelation than confession—though both descriptors qualified. As much as her mistake was her lust for power, it was also her failure to properly regard those she wanted to command. In her desperation to be respected, she’d disrespected them. No wonder Kraash-nagun didn’t accept her.
Upon lifting her hands to her face, she pressed them against her eyes then pushed them back through her hair. How had she gotten this so wrong? How had it taken so long to realize it? It was as plain as…
…as the nose on her face.
“I…did not ask for this,” she said. “I did not ask to be taken into the Zone Runner by Tauthin, I did not ask to be Nagogg’s captive. I did not ask for the siphon to do what it did. All I have done—all I could ever do—is make the best of the situations I was in.” Once more, she found herself talking more to herself than to him. “All I did was do all I could do.” And now, he was in her sights. Beholding him as he listened in total silence, she shook her head slowly and said, “Kraash-nagun, I am so sorry. I realize now what I have done. It was not what I intended.”
If she had been aiming to throw him off, she’d succeeded. As it was, all she was doing was telling him the truth as she realized it. It was likely too little, too late—but it was all she had left. It was where she should have started in the first place.
* * *
WUTEEL RAN HIS gnarled fingers over the guardrail of the Zone Runner’s engine room—the one that separated the room’s occupants from the quartz crystal that controlled the rift generator. The crystal, pulsing with bright light, reflected in the engineer’s dark eyes. For almost a full minute, he observed it, until he finally turned to a console along the wall—engineering’s primary station. As a pair of darishu watched from behind, he sat down at the station. Slowly, Wuteel focused on a series of buttons.
* * *
“I WAS WRONG to lead you the way I did,” Svetlana said, eyes and voice distant, though she still looked Kraash-nagun’s way. “A good leader sees the qualities of those around them. I saw only the qualities of myself.”
As Kraash-nagun listened in silence, Akàziendi and Ed approached from the train.
“I do not deserve to be your leader.”
* * *
HESITATING FOR a second, Wuteel reached his hand out toward the buttons. With the deftest of taps, he pressed them in sequence. Withdrawing his hand, he returned his focus to the rest of the console. Manipulating the controls there, he sent the metal arms spinning around the crystal.
On the other side of the console, the last of the three buttons he’d pressed began to blink.
* * *
THE FAMILIAR CLICK of an Ithini connection emerged in Svetlana’s mind. Seconds later, a swell of confusion emanated from it. Ed was detecting her emotions. Is something wrong, master?
She looked at him. That he’d even asked was a sign of respect. He could have pulled from her mind whatever he wanted. Shaking her head a single time, she said aloud, “Ei`dorinthal…I am not your master.”
A strange feeling came from the Ithini: realization, fear, understanding, and sadness all wrapped into one. The grasping of a full circle, in the instantaneous way that only an Ithini could. The feeling lingered in the connection, before Ed dutifully said, Akàziendi wishes to speak with you.
“You may connect us,” said Svetlana.
Akàziendi’s presence emerged in Svetlana’s mind. Dipping her head in reverence, the raspy-voiced tasharin said, “You have troubled Yigôzien.”
“Troubled her, how?” Svetlana asked, though she well knew the answer.
Eyes dark, Akàziendi strode past Svetlana until her back was completely to her. “You must not share your doubts with her so liberally. She will not take well to them.”
“Truth is truth,” Svetlana said, turning away from Ed and Kraash-nagun to approach Akàziendi’s side, the two staring off into the turquoise landscape together. “I cannot partake in this masquerade any longer. It makes me sick to my stomach.”
“Be that as it may, you must remember who it is you speak with. Yigôzien is an invoker of custom. They are among the most zealous of all Kalarael.”
Angling her head away from Akàziendi, Svetlana asked, “Why does it matter? If we will be stealing their Zone Runner soon, then what Yigôzien thinks will be insignificant.”
Akàziendi turned her head in Svetlana’s direction—the motion so purposeful, it prompted Svetlana to look back at her. The tasharin’s eyes were pitch black. “It matters because the time has not come. To fill her head with doubt now is to test her allegiance. It is foolish.”
“Calm down.” The Kalareim looked as terrified as when Yigôzien’s eyes had darkened on the Zone Runner. “Yigôzien will not turn on me, no matter what doubts I share with her—invoker of custom or not. She understands that my species views things differently. She told me as much.”
“You do not know the Kalarael as we do. Their religious fervor knows no bounds. If you are somehow able to convince her that you are not an Incarnate, it will invoke a righteous wrath the likes of which you have never seen.”
Almost scoffing, Svetlana said, “I have seen her wrath up close already. I saw it on the Zone Runner, when one of her friends was killed by Nagogg. Her eyes shined red like laser beams.”
Still black eyed, Akàziendi stared at Svetlana for several seconds before her gaze returned to the landscape. “I am merely requesting that you keep your confiding to a minimum.”
“Don’t be so scared. I know how to play the part when I must.”
“I am not scared.”
Svetlana scoffed. “That’s not what your eyes tell me.”
For a second time, Akàziendi turned her head to look at Svetlana, who in turn looked back at her. Bewilderment crossed the tasharin’s face. “I do not understand.”
“Your eyes.” She gestured with a head nod. “They scream of fear.”
For almost five full seconds, Akàziendi stared at her in silence—until at long last, she drew in a hushed, albeit sharp breath. “Svetlana…I am not afraid.”
Svetlana squinted in confusion. All sound around them seemed to disappear. “What do you mean?”
“What color are my eyes?” Akàziendi asked quickly, shooting a glance in the direction of the train before looking back at Svetlana.
And it was right then that Svetlana’s heart lodged itself in her throat. Her breathing, too, began to amplify. “Black. They are pitch black.”
Akàziendi pushed her hands up through her purple down feathers. Mouth agape, she looked away from the train—away from any Kalarael in the area.
Svetlana knew what was happening before the tasharin had to say it. Oh…no.
“It has begun.”
“Do you mean the thing?” Svetlana asked, her voice hushed, but growing in urgency. “The cure? Is it fading away?”
“Yes.” Walking forward quickly, Akàziendi began looking in every direction—checking her six in paranoia. “It is happening now.”
From behind them, Kraash-nagun angled his head at the sudden shift in their tones.
“You have another cure, right?” Svetlana asked. She hurried behind Akàziendi and grabbed her by the arm. “Is it in the train? I can go get it if you tell me where!”
Black eyes flashing to her, Akàziendi said through bared teeth, “Yes, I have another cure…at Ban-Hezikal.”
The bottom dropped out of Svetlana’s stomach.
“I did not think to bring it,” Akàziendi said, her tone growing panicked. “I did not think it would happen right now!”
A sense of warning emerged in the pair’s minds. It was from Ed. Yigôzien is approaching.
Whipping her head behind them, Svetlana looked in the direction of the train. Indeed, the invoker was walking straight toward them—it was the worst possible timing. “Okay…” she said, eyes on Yigôzien as she touched Akàziendi’s arm.
Akàziendi was already preparing. “You must deny me. At all costs, when I am discovered.”
“Will you stop it?” Svetlana seethed back. Head whipping between the two, she had no choice but to commit to looking at Yigôzien as she came upon them. “Keep your head away from her,” she whispered at the last possible second.
Master, what should I do? Ed asked.
There was only one thing he could do. Connect us. To not would instantly arouse suspicion. Several seconds later, Yigôzien’s presence emerged in their minds.
“Might I speak with you, my goddess?”
Quickly, Svetlana answered, “Yes.” Anything to get them away from Akàziendi, at least long enough for them to figure something out.
The invoker smiled cordially. “Akàziendi, I would like you to be a part of this, as well.”
No! Though the thought wasn’t relayed to anyone, it was the one that came to Svetlana’s mind. She watched helplessly as Yigôzien approached Akàziendi from behind. As Yigôzien altered her course to come beside her, Akàziendi turned her head another way.
“I have come to a conclusion in light of my conversation with the Incarnate,” Yigôzien said to her christened sister. “I would like to share it with you, as well.” Stepping once again to move into Akàziendi’s view, Yigôzien’s effort was stifled a second time by a quick move of the tasharin’s head. This time, Yigôzien reacted. Blinking, she asked, “Sister? Is something the matter?”
Turning her body completely around in as natural a way she could likely pull off, Akàziendi revolved until she faced Svetlana—though her head was still shied. “I will listen to you.”
“That you are turning from me causes concern,” Yigôzien said. “Have I angered you in some way?”
Oh God, she’s going to press it. Svetlana’s heart pounded.
“Of course not,” answered Akàziendi. “Something has blown in my eyes.”
Yigôzien tilted her head curiously. “May I look at them? Perhaps I can—”
“—no,” said the tasharin sharply. “I will be fine, please forgive me.”
Blinking, Yigôzien’s focus shifted to Svetlana. Her blue eyes lingered…then subtly darkened. “My goddess, you appear afraid.”
“I am not afraid. I am—” She was what? Concerned for Akàziendi’s eyes? She needed to draw attention away from them, not toward them. “I am very interested in what you have to tell me.”
Kraash-nagun, still silent, was fully attuned to the escalating conversation.
Svetlana’s gaze settled solely on Yigôzien, giving the invoker her undivided attention. All she wanted to see—the only thing that mattered to her—was the blue in Yigôzien’s eyes. It needed to brighten. It needed to radiate Shanras. It needed to return to form.
Instead, it darkened.
Oh no…
“I sense a desire between the two of you to keep something secret,” Yigôzien said.
Akàziendi interjected, still looking away. “You are imagining things.”
“I do not believe that I am.”
Of course she didn’t. Akàziendi refused to look at her, and Svetlana was heaving like she was having a heart attack. Everything about this screamed that something was up.
Eyes narrowing—something they never did—Yigôzien turned her feathered head Akàziendi’s way. “Look at me, sister.”
There was no getting out of this. There was going to be no shifting of the course of conversation. The invoker of custom was keyed into very uncustomary behavior. Even Ed’s anxiety now pulsed through the connection. Her hand inching toward her back, Svetlana prepared to grab her shock staff. She didn’t even know what she would do with it.
Akàziendi held her breath, then slowly angled her head to Svetlana, where their gazes, still out of Yigôzien’s view, locked. Where their final form of unspoken communication could manifest. Despite a connection existing between them, there was no need to communicate through one. The look Akàziendi was giving her was plain and clear.
Get ready.
Akàziendi spoke no words when she turned to behold Yigôzien. When she chose to reveal her identity.
Yigôzien reacted exactly as Svetlana feared. Gasping, she leapt back. Her dark blue eyes exploded bright red. “Why does Ophareim speak through you?” she demanded.
“She is ill!” It was all Svetlana could say—a desperate attempt to insert some sort of reasoning into the situation.
“If she was ill, it would be Istéres that spoke. I only see darkness!”
Svetlana looked behind her. There were numerous darishu still near the train. The moment Yigôzien proclaimed what she was seeing, every single darishu would make a beeline for Akàziendi. Some were already looking that direction with aroused interest.
“There is nothing to indicate something is in your eyes,” Yigôzien said, her own breaths intensifying. “There is only one conclusion I can draw, and I dare not say it, for I do not understand how it is possible! I have seen the Purities speak through you, yet what I see now is impossible!”
“You should lower your voice, Yigôzien,” said Akàziendi, whose own voice was growing more threatening.
Yigôzien stepped back. “You appear as a Kalareim! How is this so?”
“How do you think it is so?”
And there it was: the unavoidable truth. It struck like a hammer. Yigôzien’s eyes shot wide as plates—the down feathers atop her head stood on end. “You are Kalareim!” Frantic, she turned to Svetlana.
Svetlana was already holding her hand out. “Yigôzien, it is not what you think!” It was exactly what she thought.
“Did you know this?” Yigôzien asked, the fury in her voice directed at Svetlana. Hissing, she bared her teeth.
Akàziendi would have wanted Svetlana to play the innocent—to save herself while sacrificing the tasharin. But Svetlana wasn’t innocent. And she was through playing roles. “Yigôzien, you need to listen!”
I am having trouble holding the connection together, Ed relayed. The rage in Yigôzien is beyond any I have encountered.
“You have done this,” Yigôzien said, now positioning herself away from both Akàziendi and Svetlana—her gaze spread between both, her words directed at her goddess. “You have experienced Kukira and the Purities! How could you willfully ally with Ophareim?”
“I have not allied with Ophareim! That is what you must understand!”
There was a pop in the connection—a forceful ejection. In the same second that Yigôzien turned to the darishu by the train, Ed’s connection was forcefully ejected by the sheer power of the invoker’s anger. Toppling backward, Ei`dorinthal fell. “Darishu!” shouted Yigôzien in the Kalarael language.
Akàziendi reached for her shock staff. With a press of the finger, she extended it.
This was it. The moment it all unraveled. The moment when all of Svetlana’s efforts—all of the goodwill she’d curried with the Kalarael—crumbled to dust. Kukira’s Incarnate had just betrayed her own.
And it was then that it happened. Something far worse than the drama unfolding on the ground. Something that drove the confrontation to a screeching halt. Crackles of electricity erupted in the heavens. Everyone on the ground looked skyward.
They appeared one after the other, each preceded by a flash of lightning. One, then two. Three, then four. Behind Svetlana’s mask, her mouth fell open, as beside her, Akàziendi dropped her staff and stumbled backward.
Zone Runners.
The four spacecraft opened fire. Their white plasma blasts rocketed into the grounds of Winduster, sending pillars of fire skyward. The train itself was struck, the resulting explosion sending darishu flying in all directions.
Holding his hands out as if to brace for some unseen impact, Kraash-nagun asked, “What is happening?”
Rearing up on his haunches, Mishka roared.
It took several seconds before Svetlana could muster a response. “Zone Runners!” How was this possible? How had Zone Runners arrived at Winduster? The spacecraft strafed the base, cratering its grounds with a relentless bombardment.
“How have they found this place?” Kraash-nagun shouted.
“I do not know!” Svetlana answered.
Beside them, Akàziendi knelt and removed a small device from her garments. She shouted into it as farther behind her, Yigôzien stared at the spacecraft slack-jawed.
* * *
THE FOUNDATION of the research center shook; Tauthin reached out to brace himself against one of the cylindrical tanks. The Bakma prisoners in the tanks did the same.
Toro-shun, standing several meters away from Tauthin, reached for his shock staff as a shrilly alarm resonated from the walls.
* * *
THE FIRST OF THE Zone Runners touched down in the center of Winduster, scorching the turquoise fauna with its thrusters. As Kalarael ran in every direction to escape, its antechamber door opened. Step after terrible step, the towering monstrosity within emerged.
It was armored almost entirely from head to toe in bronze-colored battle gear. Its four legs, each a massive bone spike that stabbed into the ground with every step, carried it into the panicked fray. Staring out of the eyeholes in its helmet, the towering, green-scaled warrior—the mighty Nerifinn—raised a fist into the air and bellowed. Bakma poured from the Zone Runner behind it, plasma rifles firing as Kalarael were felled.
Behind the lead spacecraft, the other three Zone Runners touched down.
* * *
SVETLANA WAS ALREADY mounting Mishka when the Zone Runners landed. Even at a distance, she could see the Nerifinn and the swarm of Bakma emerge. Wide-eyed and heart pounding, she grabbed hold of Mishka’s reins with one hand as she extended her shock staff with the other.
Tauthin and Wuteel. They were both right there where the Zone Runners had touched down—right where the assault was taking place. In that instant, the whys and hows of the situation disappeared from her consciousness. The only thing that mattered was rescuing her comrades.
The presences of Akàziendi and Yigôzien reemerged in her mind, connected once more by Ed. She sensed Kraash-nagun, too. Whipping her head back to them, she said, “We must get Tauthin and Wuteel!”
Yigôzien, now black-eyed in terror herself, stood frozen.
Akàziendi, on the other hand, came alive. Turning to Yigôzien, she pointed at her and hollered, “Contact Sélestere and tell them what has occurred! I will muster the darishu!”
That wasn’t going to work. “Your eyes will give you away!” Svetlana said.
“Not anymore,” Akàziendi said. “Ophareim now speaks loudly through all Kalarael here!” Looking back at Yigôzien, she snapped, “Did you hear my command?”
Blinking, Yigôzien turned her focus back to Akàziendi—all former animosities suddenly thrown out the window. After a stutter, she said, “Yes! I will do it!” Reaching down, she pulled out her communicator.
Akàziendi looked at Svetlana. “I have contacted Tributurian. The Kalareim will come, but I do not know how quickly!” Turning her focus to the battlefield, she said, “I must go.”
“Go,” Svetlana said. If Akàziendi could rally the darishu, Svetlana wasn’t going to stop her. Turning to Ed, she pointed in Kraash-nagun’s direction. “Give him your sight!”
As the connection with Akàziendi and Yigôzien was broken, the Ithini looked at Kraash-nagun with focus. A second later, Kraash-nagun flinched—a telltale sign of restored vision.
“Get to the Zone Runner and see if Wuteel can lift off!” Svetlana said. “I will try and find Tauthin. The time to leave has come.”
Though there was no verbal acknowledgment from Kraash-nagun, a swell of understanding came from the connection. Without another word, he and Ed ran in the direction of the distant hangar.
* * *
IN THE CENTER OF Winduster, the assaulting force of Bakma and Nerifinn—the latter of which there now numbered four—laid waste to all Kalarael in their paths. The towering, four-legged monsters propelled themselves across the battlefield on their spiked legs like spiders, their plasma rifles unleashing hell.
The attacking marauders met resistance as Kalarael security forces and darishu engaged them. Their projectile rifles sent pulsing, blue streaks across the battlefield, striking some of the Bakma on the front line as they made their advance. But there were far more invaders than Kalarael, and in less than a minute, the defenders were being pushed into cover behind various buildings.
At the forefront of the Kalarael defensive was Tauthin. Differentiated from the attacking Bakma only by his silver jumpsuit, he had emerged from the Research Center right into a close-quarters fracas. With the help of Toro-shun and other nearby Kalarael, the Bakma in the immediate vicinity were dropped. Having claimed a plasma rifle from a fallen Bakma adversary, Tauthin positioned himself alongside the Kalarael. Engaged in active combat for the first time since the Assault on Novosibirsk—since his one-on-one brawl with Scott Remington that rendered him a prisoner of war—he fired his weapon with the fervent bloodlust of a starving animal. With outright, unforgotten savagery.
There was no immediate indication as to where the Bakma or Nerifinn were going. They were spreading out in all directions, casing the whole of Winduster.
Unable to communicate with any of the Kalarael around him, Tauthin unleashed bolt after bolt of plasma-charged energy, singlehandedly dropping more Bakma than any of the Kalarael around him. Only when his weapon ran out of charge did his hand release the trigger—and only long enough to claim another strewn weapon from the ground.
* * *
SLIDING BEHIND A parked Kalarael vehicle, Kraash-nagun motioned for Ed to look around it to the hangar ahead. The Ithini complied, and the Zone Runner came into view. “There!” the blinded elite said, pointing. “We must find a route to it that does not place us—”
Suddenly, there came a loud emanation from the Zone Runner—a pulsating hum from the vessel’s core. Kraash-nagun’s body tensed as he ducked behind the vehicle. Ed did the same.
The explosion sent shockwaves in every direction. In the span of a second, the Zone Runner and the entire hangar were disintegrated by fire. The vehicle that Ed and Kraash-nagun hid behind launched through the air, crashing to the ground far behind them and flipping end over end. As for Ed and Kraash-nagun themselves, they were tossed to the ground like rag dolls, rolling repeatedly across the turquoise surface of Winduster. Ed’s connection with Kraash-nagun was severed.
Even from a distance, Kraash-nagun could feel the heat from the fire on his face. Turning his head in the flames’ direction, the blinded elite stared into darkness. Turning from side to side as if that would make any difference, he listened for any sound of his Ithini companion. He heard only the roaring inferno.
“Ei`dorinthal!”
There came no response—no sound of movement in any direction. Whipping his head from side to side, he screamed the Ithini’s name again.
* * *
SVETLANA WAS halfway to the Research Center when Winduster’s hangar exploded. Mishka halted, rearing up and roaring as she tugged at the reins to keep him steady. Turning her head to the smoldering hangar, she stared at the wreckage. The wreck that had once housed their means of escape. Where she’d sent Wuteel.
She hadn’t seen whatever attack had struck the Zone Runner, but whatever its cause, there was no way that Wuteel could have survived it. There was no reason to believe he was alive.
Yanking Mishka’s reins, she pointed his nose back toward the Research Center. She ordered him ahead.
* * *
THE RESEARCH CENTER was almost entirely abandoned. The majority of its staff had made their way up the corridors to the surface, where the Nerifinn and Bakma were assaulting. Only a single scientist remained, hurriedly moving from console to console as she monitored the power levels of the facility. A single Kalarael left to safeguard it all.
A single obstacle in Wuteel’s way.
The scientist never heard Wuteel approach behind her, the engineer having snuck into the facility through a back doorway. By the time she registered his presence, it was too late. Upon whipping her head around, she found herself grabbed by the throat and slammed back against a wall. Over and over, Wuteel pounded her against it, until her eyes were pitch black in fear. Only then did he cease.
From their cylindrical tank prisons, the captured Bakma watched the unfolding scene. From his own cell nearby, Caragbuul rose to his feet.
Pointing back to the cells behind him, Wuteel issued his order—a single command, untranslated but understood. Her down feathers bristled.
Wuteel spoke a second time, this time lifting a sharp piece of metal to the Kalarael’s neck. He pressed it into her throat until it penetrated her skin enough to bleed. After yanking her from the wall, he led her to a console near the center of the room and shoved her down over it.
After a hesitation, the Kalarael’s hands went to the console. Several taps later, the command was inputted. The doors to the Bakma prisoners’ cylindrical tanks opened.
Releasing the scientist, Wuteel approached the cylinder that held Caragbuul. As the Khuladi stepped from the tank, he turned his head Wuteel’s way. He observed as the engineer knelt—then his eyes went to the back wall. Right to the deep, violet armor atop the table there. Right to the colors of Vasvuul. Walking toward the table, the Khuladi ran his fingers over the cold battle gauntlets. Claiming one, he slid it down over his wrist. As soon as it was in place, it constricted to grip his skin.
The Khuladi’s brow lowered.
* * *
EJECTING A SPENT charge pack, Tauthin darted into the open to snag a new one from the ground. Plasma bolts whizzed past his head, passing so close he could feel their heat. Sliding, he grabbed the fresh pack, plugged it into place, then lifted his plasma rifle to fire.
He was attacked before he could pull the trigger. A squad of Bakma emerged from the front corner of the Research Center, not far from where he and the Kalarael were holding position. Bolts of plasma streaked past his head, forcing him to abandon his efforts to fire and instead attempt to dive back to cover. Though the plasma rifle stayed in his grasp, he had little chance to use it before the gap was closed. The wave of attacking Bakma and Kalarael collided, and all were thrust into close-quarters combat.
There were two other darishu along with Toro-shun, and all met the attackers with shock staffs on maximum. Though the Bakma attacked with light plasma pistols and drawn blades, the darishu made short work of them, their staffs twirling and striking their targets like a choreographed reenactment.
The whizz of plasma fire slowed—there were too many in hand-to-hand combat. Holding his plasma rifle like a double-sided scimitar, Tauthin thrust it upward at the chin of a Bakma running past him. The strike connected, and the Bakma was flipped end over end.
The act did not go unnoticed, as a pair of nearby Bakma caught sight of Tauthin’s treachery. As one charged to engage hand to hand, the other lifted his plasma pistol to fire. The bolt of energy whizzed past Tauthin’s head as he swung his weapon at the nearest assailant. Though the attack missed, it caused the targeted Bakma to lean back and stumble. Tauthin repositioned his plasma rifle, and with the extra second granted him, took aim at the Bakma with it. He pulled the trigger, knocking the Bakma off his feet.
A sudden ruckus came from the other direction—from inside the Research Center itself. Turning his head toward it, Tauthin’s eyes widened when he saw the jailbreak. A throng of Bakma captives—enough to fill an entire Zone Runner—charged forward, shouting as they collided into the Kalarael defenders from behind. Blindsided, the fox-eared aliens adjusted their efforts to face a threat that now came from two directions.
Tauthin was right there with them.
* * *
SVETLANA SAW THE Bakma emerge from the Research Center far ahead. With Mishka running at full gallop and her blue eyes searching for Tauthin in the fray, she readied her shock staff and prepared to engage.
The Nerifinn appeared before she could, intercepting her on its four spiked legs. The towering monster almost appeared out of nowhere to cut her off.
Mishka’s claws dug in and the canrassi skidded, its gaping maw opening to roar at the new enemy before it. The Nerifinn raised its weapon to fire.
Mishka’s momentum had already been carrying Svetlana forward. Leaping clear off of Mishka’s back, she allowed his momentum to throw her right at the Nerifinn. As she flew toward it, shock staff raised and ready to strike, the giant, reptilian warrior swiveled its weapon from Mishka to her.
Svetlana got there first. Swinging her staff as she came down, she brought its end crashing down atop the Nerifinn’s weapon. There was an eruption of sparks, and the weapon exploded out of the monster’s hands, the burst from the shock staff destroying it. As the Nerifinn reared back in startlement, Svetlana landed on the ground in front of it. Twirling her staff, she held out her forearm and activated the force shield on her gauntlet.
The Nerifinn lurched forward, its bone spikes striking the ground as Svetlana dove out of the way. Swinging her staff around, she aimed it at the Nerifinn’s torso, but one of the monstrosity’s back legs moved to intercept. The tip of her staff struck bone, its shocking effects rendered moot as the Nerifinn jutted its leg out to push her aside. The spiked leg smacked Svetlana in the chest, and she caught air before landing in a roll.
Mishka surged forward, his gaping maw clamping down on one of the Nerifinn’s front knees. The Nerifinn roared and raised its other front leg to try and impale the canrassi. Mishka tugged backward like a giant, frenzied dog, ripping out a chunk of the Nerifinn’s flesh and backpedaling just as the leg spike came down. The Nerifinn roared in pain, pouncing forward with its two front bone spikes raised. There was nothing Mishka could do to avoid the strike—one of the spikes sliced through the side of his back thigh. Mishka yelped, then stumbled back and fell.
“No!” Svetlana yelled in Bakmanese, extending her hand as if it could reach her beloved beast.
The Nerifinn’s head swung to face her. Through its shielded crocodilian jaws, it asked, “Do you speak the tongue of the god-chosen, sub-creature?”
She didn’t care that its focus was now on her—she just wanted it off Mishka. Readying her staff, she narrowed her eyes. “The Khuladi are no god-chosen.”
“You blaspheme in ignorance. Your judgment awaits!” Pouncing forward, its spiked legs followed Svetlana, strike after strike, as she dove and dodged out of the way. Bringing her staff around, she struck at the monster’s legs—once again, its bone spikes deflected the blow. With a hard kick, the Nerifinn struck Svetlana in her side, sending her flying backward a second time. This time, the monster followed through. Reaching behind its back, it pulled a second plasma rifle over and into its arms. With a quick pull of the trigger, a plasma bolt was sent toward Svetlana.
Engaging the force shield on one of her gauntlets, Svetlana raised the shield in front of her body. The energy’s impact was forceful—it knocked her back several feet—but it didn’t take her out. The shield faded, its energy momentarily depleted, just as a second bolt was released. Diving to avoid the blast, Svetlana rolled to a crouched position then readied her staff for an attack.
Behind the Nerifinn, Mishka staggered to a stand.
Svetlana didn’t wait to see what her companion would do. Jabbing forward with the staff, she forced the Nerifinn to lift its spiked feet to deflect. Though the beast continued to fire its plasma weapon, none of the shots came near to her, the Nerifinn clearly taking care to not inadvertently shoot its own legs. Just the same, Svetlana was making no progress. Every swing of her staff was met with bone.
She had to get inside the monster’s perimeter—she had to get past those massive, spiked feet, so she could strike actual flesh. After twirling her staff, she sent it once again swinging into the Nerifinn’s bone spike—but this time, she followed through with what was essentially a tactical pirouette. With her back following the curvature of the spike, she retracted the staff back to its carry size. She wanted nothing in the way of her getting inside.
As luck had it, she had help from the other side. Lurching forward as best it was able, Mishka latched onto one of the Nerifinn’s back, spiked legs. Though the canrassi’s teeth met solid bone, it was enough to cause the Nerifinn to glance back.
It was all the time Svetlana needed. Upon finishing her maneuver, she found herself within the perimeter of the monster’s defenses—right between the leftmost back and front legs. There was only one thing for her to do. With a solid jab, she shoved the tip of the retracted staff into the side of the Nerifinn’s torso. Her fingers moved quickly on the switches, and she pressed the button to extend it in its spear-tipped form.
The two sides of the staff jetted outward with lightning speed, one side passing harmlessly by Svetlana’s side, while the other pierced straight through the Nerifinn’s flesh, disappearing deep inside. As the Nerifinn reared back and roared, Svetlana retracted the staff again. The Nerifinn stumbled backward, its bloodcurdling shrieks loud as its feet lost their footing. In the next second, it toppled and fell—right by Mishka’s head.
It took no command from Svetlana. The canrassi’s jaws opened wide as the Nerifinn tried to rise. Before it could get one foot upright, Mishka enveloped its head. The Nerifinn’s body spasmed as Mishka twisted sideways and pulled, its razor-sharp teeth slicing deep into the monster’s neck. In a final yank, what little flesh remained between head and body was severed. The top of the Nerifinn’s spine snapped; Mishka shook his head from side to side, sending the Nerifinn’s decapitated head flying.
Svetlana fell to her knees, exhaling and pushing her hair out from her face. She allowed herself only a moment of recuperation before pushing up again. Rushing past the dead Nerifinn’s body, she came to Mishka’s side. The canrassi took a step backwards then fell. “Mishka!”
The injury was great—she could only hope it wasn’t grave. The Nerifinn’s bone spike had sliced into the side of the canrassi’s thigh deeply. Laying down, Mishka reached around with his neck to lick at the wound.
Svetlana wanted to care. How she desperately wanted to. But the sound of warfare pulled her out of nurturing mode. There was no way she could spend time at Mishka’s side now. But at least she could keep him safe.
“You stay,” she said, pressing her hand deep into the beast’s fur. “You stay here, you good boy. I will be back, I promise.”
Mishka nuzzled his head against her hand.
Rising to her feet, Svetlana turned to look at the Research Center. Plasma bolts and the blue streaks of Kalarael weapons fire soared back and forth, begging her to intervene. Holding the shock staff out, she once again extended it fully. Flicking her finger on the button, she switched out its pointed tips for its shockers—maximum voltage. Sucking in a preparatory breath, she took off in the direction of the Research Center.
* * *
THE RESEARCH CENTER was a maelstrom of warfare. Beyond the projectile and energy weaponry streaking back and forth across the battlefield, there was a flurry of melee combat taking place right by the building’s entrance, where the Bakma escapees had turned on the Kalarael, supplemented by a force of Bakma warriors from the Zone Runners. In the middle of it all was Tauthin.
The Bakma leader was holding on with a small team of security personnel and darishu, Toro-shun among them. There were only seven warriors remaining on their side, but between their combination of projectile weapons fire and shock staff whirling, they had proven far more stalwart a defense than their numbers would have indicated.
As for Tauthin himself, he had personally taken out four more Bakma assailants with a fighting style that couldn’t have been more diametrically opposed to the Kalarael around him. Whereas the Kalarael flowed like water, their attacks and defenses seeming more synchronized routine than combat, Tauthin staved off his adversaries with all the finesse of a pit fighter. Two of his kills had come at point-blank range with a plasma weapon, while the others had come in old-fashioned, bare-knuckled brawling. It was just the right amount of savagery to perfectly complement the elegance of the Kalarael—an X-factor the opposing Bakma had no choice but to account for. With every second that passed, it seemed like the numbers were drawing more even.
Then, in a blink, everything changed.
Tauthin caught the sudden, new movement briefly—just out of the corners of his eyes as he was body-slamming an escaped Bakma captive to the ground. It was a blue-black blur that appeared like a shadow. As Tauthin’s knee came crashing down on the escapee’s exposed neck, cementing his seventh kill, he whipped his head in the direction of the new arrival. Eyes widening, the Bakma leader held his breath as he saw its attack unleashed.
It was the kind of attack—the kind of kill—that Tauthin had not seen in a very long time. Ruthless. Cold. Quick. Divine judgment in the form of two split, protruding blades. He saw a darishu, impaled twice right through the chest, then sliced cleanly in two by a crisscross so violent, blood spatter sprinkled Tauthin’s face. This new threat, far superior to anything else on the battlefield, was about to change everything.
Caragbuul.
The Khuladi was free.
Three darishu had been nearby when their brethren’s corpse had been torn asunder, and all three immediately switched their focus from the Bakma to the Khuladi. Clad in its violet battle armor, the dark destroyer leapt toward one of the darishu as split blades from both battle gauntlets went slicing. Even had the darishu had time to assume a defensive posture, it would have mattered little. The first split blade knocked the darishu’s staff clear out of his hands. The second sliced his head in two clean down the middle.
The Bakma in the vicinity withdrew and rushed for the Zone Runners. Tauthin recognized this not as cowardice, but as not wanting to get in the way—for the Khuladi as a species cared as little for the well-being of their slaves as they did the suffering of their adversaries.
It gave Caragbuul an open playground. As the darishu whirled their weapons around to strike, Caragbuul struck out on his own, his blades quickly retracting, replaced by wrist-mounted plasma blasters that were fired in two directions, felling two darishu in a single, multidirectional attack. Rolling to avoid a staff strike by Toro-shun, Caragbuul emerged in a crouch with one wrist pointed at him and the other at one of his few remaining counterparts. The split blades struck out again, Toro-shun narrowly avoiding the kill strike, though the other darishu was not so lucky. The blades penetrated his neck before being retracted so Caragbuul could fire his blaster.
Toro-shun whirled around, sending the tip of his shock staff toward Caragbuul’s torso. The Khuladi brought his split blades up, around, and down with lightning speed, catching the staff right between the split. With a flick of the wrist, the staff was snapped in two. Toro-shun had barely taken a step back when Caragbuul spun around backward, brought his other hand around, and jetted its blade out like a striking spear. It impaled the darishu two times, back to back in the chest before the blades were retracted, replaced once more by blasters. As Toro-shun fell dead, Caragbuul focused on the lone darishu that remained.
Tauthin knew the last darishu would fall within seconds. He also knew that he would be Caragbuul’s next target. Diving for a plasma rifle strewn on the ground, Tauthin rolled up and aimed the weapon where Caragbuul had been standing. By the time his opaque eyes had gone there, the Khuladi was already gone.
The next thing Tauthin registered was the barrel of his plasma rifle being cut in two. In that quick span of time—barely two seconds—the Khuladi had killed the final darishu, dashed to Tauthin’s blind side, and disarmed him. Hand releasing the butt of the useless weapon, Tauthin stumbled backward out of sheer surprise.
Caragbuul stood motionless. His black, bulging eyes were solely on the Bakma defector. The Khuladi’s split blades retracted into his battle gauntlets, no plasma blasters emerging to replace them. He wanted this kill with his bare hands.
Caragbuul leapt forward, hitting Tauthin with a midair kick so hard that it nearly knocked the wind out of him. Tauthin rolled several times on the ground before he stopped, lifting his head to regard the Khuladi as it marched slowly toward him.
So far as Bakma warriors went, only elites—those trained in hand-to-hand combat by the Khuladi themselves—surpassed the prowess of designated leaders like Tauthin. But versus a Khuladi, Bakma leaders were completely outmatched. Wincing with his hand clutching his chest, Tauthin struggled to crawl away on the ground. Caragbuul slowly walked behind him. Summoning his strength—and at long last, catching his breath—he pushed up to a stand and backed away until he could raise his fists.
Suddenly, Caragbuul’s head whipped to the side. The Khuladi’s body tensed, and he quickly extended his battle gauntlet in Tauthin’s direction and sent the split blade streaking out. Eyes widening, Tauthin pivoted to avoid the strike. The dodge only partially worked. The blades struck through Tauthin’s shoulder, a burning pain searing up his arm and into his chest before the blade was yanked out as quickly as it’d been inserted, and Caragbuul leapt backward. But now, his eyes were no longer on Tauthin. Through grunts of pain, Tauthin turned to look in the direction of Caragbuul’s new focus.
Akàziendi.
The tasharin was backed by four darishu, all of whom had their shock staffs at the ready. Unlike the darishu that Caragbuul had ambushed, these were well aware of the Khuladi’s presence—and well positioned to fight. The purple-feathered tasharin—the sole warrior without a helmet—stared down Caragbuul with black-eyed hatred. Caragbuul wasted no time. With both split blades fully extended, he leapt into their midst.
For the first time, Tauthin watched one of the Khuladi’s attacks parried, not by Akàziendi, but by one of the darishu fighting alongside her. Though the defensive effort was short-lived, as the darishu was eviscerated by a close-range plasma blast from Caragbuul’s battle gauntlet, it still offered a glimmer of hope that the Khuladi’s attacks could be staved. Akàziendi was the next to attack, her staff aiming for Caragbuul’s backside and actually impacting his armor, though no part of the hit touched flesh to deliver a stun. Akàziendi deftly leapt back before a split blade could strike her.
Two darishu attacked simultaneously, both their attacks deflected by a battle gauntlet blade—though the distraction was enough to offer Akàziendi a chance to engage from behind. She thrust forward with her staff; the Khuladi attempted to dodge. After lowering his body and twisting his shoulder around, he shoved both darishus’ staffs aside as he tried to whip around to counter-strike Akàziendi. Her staff made contact. Though not a solid hit, it touched enough skin to send the Khuladi airborne. Rolling on the turquoise surface, Caragbuul grabbed the ground with a hand to stop his momentum. From his elongated, two-slit mouth, he hissed in pain.
Now was Tauthin’s chance—and possibly his only one. Leaping toward the momentarily downed Caragbuul, he raised his hands to slam them down on the Khuladi’s back, fighting through the excruciating pain in his shoulder and allowing adrenaline to carry him through. Caragbuul was slammed against the ground, hard. Climbing atop him, Tauthin wrapped his forearm around the Khuladi’s neck from behind in a chokehold. His muscles tensed. He strained with all he could muster. It wasn’t enough.
Caragbuul raised his wrist, pointing it straight at Tauthin’s head. Tauthin released the Khuladi and leaned out of the way just before the split blade could protrude and impale him through the brain. Caragbuul twisted sideways and kicked Tauthin square in the chest. For a second time, the Bakma felt the wind ejected from his lungs as he toppled backward.
Akàziendi and the three darishu had already begun their attacks by the time Caragbuul had rid himself of Tauthin, their staffs swinging toward him. Caragbuul leapt backward and out of their reach. Immediately, Akàziendi and the darishu maneuvered their staffs in a position to defend.
Upon aiming his fists in their direction, Caragbuul unleashed his fury in the form of plasma bolts. They struck two of the darishu and Akàziendi, only the latter managing to get her force shield up in time. Though it prevented a kill shot on her, the force sent her flying backward against the side of the Research Center wall.
The final darishu stood little chance against a Khuladi one-on-one. Just the same, he attacked Caragbuul with pure aggression. After angling his body sideways, Caragbuul protruded his blades and deflected the darishu’s first strike, then the second, then the third. Dropping to the ground, Caragbuul leaned his body backward, one hand stopping his downward fall while the other aimed straight at the darishu’s face. The wrist blaster reemerged. As the plasma bolt tore through the darishu’s helmet, ending with an eruption of blood and brains, the darishu’s hand released his shock staff, which was in spear mode. After snatching it out of midair with the same hand he’d blasted with, Caragbuul spun around to gain momentum, then hurled the spear where Akàziendi had fallen. The tip went straight through the side of the tasharin’s shoulder, pinning her to the wall. Rearing her feathered head back, she screamed in agony.
All of this had taken place before Tauthin had even caught his breath. Turning in the Bakma’s direction, Caragbuul stared him down a second time.
Suddenly, the sky erupted with a chorus of ear-piercing shrieks. Both Tauthin and Caragbuul flinched, their gazes turning skyward as they watched a squadron of arrow-shaped aircraft scream low overhead. Orange flashes erupted from their wings, headed straight for the Zone Runners on the ground.
The entire center of Winduster erupted with fire, as Zone Runner after Zone Runner was engulfed. The attacking Kalarael fighters peeled off to set up a second run.
Caragbuul took off in an all-out sprint, his legs propelling him toward the explosions—toward where his means of escape were dwindling away.
Spared a second time from death, Tauthin clutched his chest and struggled to stand. Across the bloodied battle zone by the Research Center, he heard a loud, tormented scream. Focusing his gaze its way, he saw Akàziendi slowly pulling herself free from the staff that impaled her, dragging her entire body through it until she came out the other end. After she collapsed to the ground, she lifted her head to look at him. Teeth bared, she and Tauthin locked eyes.
* * *
SVETLANA WAS IN the middle of a battle at the front of the Research Center when the explosions came. Turning toward them, she watched as every Zone Runner except one was obliterated. The combatants around her—Kalarael, Bakma, and Nerifinn alike—watched the Kalarael fighters streak past and loop around. The aircrafts’ guns fired a second time, and the last Zone Runner exploded with such power, it sent a shockwave across the battlefield.
There was a sizzle in the air—a shimmer and spark of electricity. Right behind the streaking Kalarael fighters, a lone Zone Runner materialized. Before the fighters could alter their courses, the Zone Runner’s plasma cannons erupted, sending streaks of white tearing through the two aircraft. Bursting into fiery death spirals, both aircraft plummeted toward the far end of Winduster, their final resting place christened by a pair of earth-shaking, orange plumes.
Its landing thrusters engaging, the Zone Runner angled itself for a hard, fast descent.
The melee resumed, Uladek’s faithful urgent in their fervency as their last means of escape touched down. Svetlana activated her force shield to deflect a plasma bolt then spun around with her shock staff to strike at the attacker. The Bakma was caught in the arm, the staff’s voltage erupting with a powerful discharge that launched the purple-skinned warrior backward.
The nearest Nerifinn turned its attention to her, aiming its plasma rifle to send a bolt her way. Her shield not yet recharged enough to absorb another blow, Svetlana dove to avoid the strike, coming out of the maneuver in a crouch. Her eyes locked onto a plasma rifle on the ground, then quickly returned to the Nerifinn. Extending the points of her staff, she hurled it like a javelin toward the lumbering monster. The four-legged beast snarled, leaned its torso sideways, then snatched the staff in mid-air with its claws. By the time its focus returned to Svetlana, its fate was sealed. Svetlana was already aiming the plasma rifle right for its head. The last thing the Nerifinn saw was a single flash of white. As the Nerifinn fell, its head concaved and twisted where the bolt had struck, Svetlana took aim at several Bakma nearby and fired.
Behind Svetlana, the Zone Runner rocked to a landing. Its side door burst open, and a squad of Bakma fired their weapons from within.
It was right then, just as the new combatants emerged, that she saw it—beyond the skirmish of Bakma, behind the darishu and the Nerifinn. Caragbuul.
The Khuladi captive had emerged from around the corner of the Research Center, intercepted by a small force of Kalarael security that it was now eviscerating with its blades. The last of the Nerifinn, apparently, saw it, too.
“The god-chosen!” the beast bellowed, pointing one of its black talons in the Khuladi’s direction. “We must retrieve him!” For the first time, the motivation behind the attack came to light. They’d come to rescue the Khuladi.
The battle around Svetlana had been slowly tilting in the Kalaraels’ favor, but with the addition of Bakma forces from the Zone Runner, those scales were rapidly shifting. Even worse, the proclamation that they’d found the god-chosen seemed to elevate the slaves’ fervor. Whereas darishu were ably handling single Bakma before, now the Bakma were attacking with rabid ferocity. The lone Nerifinn was dropping Kalarael by the second. When its immediate threats were eliminated, it turned toward Caragbuul.
“Clear the way, consummated ones!” the Nerifinn roared. “The god-chosen must be saved!”
The seconds that followed were the most savage and frenetic that Svetlana had experienced. The Bakma were leaping at the darishu like kamikazes, seeming to possess little to no regard for their own safety as what remained of the Kalarael forces was pummeled from all directions. Svetlana, having dashed to the Nerifinn she’d killed to retrieve her staff, was now whirling it with every ounce of speed she possessed. A plasma weapon served no purpose now—the enemy was too close. They were leaping at her like necrilids.
Fall back.
If she stayed where she was, she was going to die. Even the Kalarael around her were trying desperately to escape what was turning into a slaughter. As the last of the Bakma in her vicinity fell, she spun around to sprint away.
Far ahead, she could see Mishka on his feet, stomping and grunting through whatever pain he must have been enduring. Plasma bolts whizzed past Svetlana from the Bakma in the Zone Runner. At one point, she’d been forced to block one with her force shield, though the effort took her off balance so much that she deemed future attempts futile. It was better to run and hope she’d make it.
Mishka, having caught sight of her running toward him, proceeded to run at full speed toward her. Though the beast’s gait was clearly affected, he was nonetheless much faster than she was, and within seconds, she was in range to quickly mount him.
It was all coming undone. The Kalarael were scattering. Plasma bolts outnumbered the blue streaks of Kalarael weaponry. Fire consumed half of Winduster. The whole place was on the verge of total destruction.
Svetlana’s stare locked onto Caragbuul from far across the battlefield. His adversaries vanquished, he was now running for the Zone Runner as the Bakma and Nerifinn fought what little Kalarael forces remained. There was nothing between him and freedom. Between him and a personal message to Khuldaris declaring that Kalar was ripe for the picking.
Nothing between the Kalarael and subjugation.
Yanking on the reins, Svetlana tugged Mishka’s nose in the Zone Runner’s direction. Kicking her feet and shouting, she gave him the order to charge. In the next second, the beast was romping across the battlefield, moving to intercept.
Heart pounding in her chest, Svetlana’s eyes locked onto Caragbuul as he ran across what remained of Winduster. No mind was given to her fear, nor to the simple truth that she stood no chance against this creature. Only one thing—only one outcome—was present in her mind. She could not allow Caragbuul to escape.
Blond tendrils windswept behind her, she tightened her grip on Mishka’s reins as she zeroed in. The Bakmas’ firing from the Zone Runner was concentrated in other directions. No one was paying attention to her. One-handing her staff, she tried to activate its shock charges only to find that the toggle was jammed, right where the Nerifinn she’d killed had clutched it mid-air. The monstrosity’s hard grip must have locked the staff into spear form. Mishka’s massive paws dug into the mossy ground as he neared the intersection—a small, open area directly between Caragbuul and the Zone Runner. A point of inevitability.
Svetlana ordered Mishka to stop. She focused her eyes on the rapidly approaching Khuladi. Caragbuul, too, locked his knees and slid to a halt, his bulging eyes settling on the woman who was now leaping off her steed to stand in his path. The woman who’d just made herself his last obstacle.
Svetlana snapped the staff into a readied position in front of her chest. Without looking at Mishka, she yelled, “Go!” When the beast didn’t comply, she turned to him again, issuing the command harder. Huffing a loud, guttural sound, the canrassi turned and ran away.
Once more, she tried to work the toggle switch, to no avail. Of all the possible bad times to lose the staff’s shock capability, this was the worst. It was par for the course.
Caragbuul angled his head as he watched her. The Nerifinn and Bakma were still fighting the Kalarael far behind him. The plasma fire from the Zone Runner was focused on what few clusters of Kalarael were still in the vicinity. She had Caragbuul all to herself.
And he had her. Upon jolting his arms forward, he extended the split blades from his gauntlets. Silent and still, he observed. He waited—until at long last, he marched her direction.
Had she a moment to rationalize the situation, she might have wondered what chance she—a woman who’d scarcely beaten a Kalarael trainer and a blind Bakma—could possibly have against a Khuladi. But she had no such moment to take the situation in. She had only time to react.
Raising his arms, Caragbuul dashed toward her, sending the split blades screaming upon her from above. Side-stepping one split blade, she crashed her staff into the second with as much strength as she could muster—just enough to knock it aside. She’d seen this same Khuladi dispatching trained Kalarael on the other side of the battlefield with ruthless efficiency. Compared to those kills, this was a basic effort. A test strike. Moving quickly away from him, she repositioned her staff for an offensive strike—then she hesitated.
Caragbuul did not. Thrusting his weapons toward her, he forced her out of position and into a quick defense. Svetlana swung her staff down hard, knocking one of the split blades into the ground but leaving her backside open for attack. The Khuladi spun backward, his other blade smacking her broadside squarely in the back. She was knocked to the ground. Shuffling backward, she scrambled into a defensive position again. For a second time, the Khuladi merely observed.
Holding the staff like a spear, Svetlana thrust it forward, shuffling quickly in Caragbuul’s direction as the Khuladi backed up and parried.
Thrust high, thrust low, thrust high, sweep. Thrust high, thrust low, thrust high, sweep.
Svetlana repeated the pattern twice, each attack brushed aside by Caragbuul’s split blades like he was going through technique drills. She shifted gears, sped up her attacks, reversed them. All led to the same result—until Caragbuul suddenly became the aggressor. Pressing in between her thrusts, the Khuladi leaned back and kicked his foot straight into her chest—a move more for attaining distance than injuring. The moment that distance was established, his real attacks came. The Khuladi’s split blades sliced through the air, their whipping velocity mere inches from contact as Svetlana deflected them with all she was worth, all while steadily being pushed backward. In a final lightning-quick move, Caragbuul caught the middle of her staff between one of the split blades and wrenched it away with a twist. As the staff flew off, Svetlana leapt back to get out of close proximity. She wasn’t fast enough. Spinning around, Caragbuul sent the other split blade whipping toward her head with a backhanded strike. The impact came hard, the blade sparking as it struck her metal mask. The mask flew from her face to the ground, and she stumbled and fell. Looking quickly to where the mask had fallen, she saw that it was completely wrecked. Had she not been wearing it, it would have been her face sliced to pieces on the ground. Turning back to Caragbuul, she saw him stand over her with expectation.
This was all this was going to be for him: an opportunity to test a new species. Caragbuul wasn’t taking this fight seriously. By the look of it, he didn’t need to.
Turning his back to her, Caragbuul began walking away from her. Pushing up from the ground, Svetlana dashed toward her staff, literally diving to reach it with hand outstretched. And it was right then, right as her hand curled around the weapon, that she saw something in front of her, a good ten or so meters in the distance: the unmistakable silhouette of a slender, crouched Bakma, motionless against the burning backdrop of Winduster. A Bakma who looked like he desperately wanted to react to his surroundings, but lacked the ability to do so. One in the middle of the fight, but not part of it.
Kraash-nagun.
He was oblivious to her presence. He wasn’t even looking in her direction. Instantly, the idea sprouted in her mind.
I cannot defeat Caragbuul alone—I cannot even touch him. But if I fight with Kraash-nagun, maybe we have a chance.
Screaming his name at the top of her lungs, she waited to see if he would turn. Indeed, almost as if startled by the sound, he did. “Connect us, Ed!” she shouted, though she didn’t see the Ithini at all.
Turning away from her, Kraash-nagun hunched down over something on the ground. A small lump, about the size of…
…of a child.
Oh no.
Turning her head back to Caragbuul, she saw that the Khuladi was still waiting. He hadn’t even moved. Looking back at Kraash-nagun, she saw him doing something over the lump—over what she knew had to be Ed. At long last, the weak pinprick of a connection emerged.
…master…
There was no time to waste. “Connect me with Kraash-nagun!” she shouted from the ground. Seconds later, she felt the connection widen. “Kraash-nagun, I am fighting the Khuladi—he escaped! If you can help me, we can defeat him.” Looking back, her heart jumped. No longer was Caragbuul standing there. He was striding toward her with both blades poised to strike. Rolling onto her back, she skedaddled backward then stood, lifting her staff to block his attack with nary a second to spare.
Dashing away from Caragbuul like a boxer dancing around the ring, she continued her plea. “You can help me, Kraash-nagun! Ed, give him your eyes!” Spinning her staff, she struck out hard at Caragbuul’s upper body. After parrying it with one blade, he brought his other blade thrusting forward. Though she tried to dodge, the strike impacted, and an incision was made clean across her stomach, right through her stone blue jumpsuit. Clutching the wound, she stumbled but maintained her footing. Had that strike been a few inches closer, her guts would have poured out. Through tears of pain, she cried out again. “Help me, Ed!”
I am unable to move, the Ithini relayed. Kraash-nagun would not benefit from my vision.
Unable to move? Had he broken his spine?
Kraash-nagun’s thoughts emerged. The hangar exploded as we were sent to it! He was injured. I cannot see to what extent.
All deeply concerning—and not for discussion right now. “Kraash-nagun, I need your help.” Hand clutching her stomach, which was bleeding profusely, she limped in a circle around Caragbuul, who was readying his weapons for another attack. “Please! If we work together, we can do it!”
Ed cannot see where you are. If I approached a Khuladi blind, I would be dissected in a second! I cannot help you.
“You must! Please!” The attack came, Caragbuul spinning toward her like a bladed whirling dervish. Putting both hands on her staff to steady it, she was able to deflect the first two strikes before the third knocked her entirely off her form. She activated her force shield in a last-ditch effort to defend herself; Caragbuul’s blades slammed into the shield with hammering force. She was thrown entirely off her feet, the staff once again flying as she rolled to a stop. Pushing hair out of her face, she winced and shuffled backward. Through clenched teeth, she grimaced and said the only thing that came to her mind. The only thing that, at this stage, could make any difference. “Ed, give him my eyes!”
Even embroiled in the fight, she felt curiosity swell in the connection. Then, her eyes throbbed. The Ithini had complied. Kraash-nagun was seeing what she saw.
Yes. That was the answer! Pushing up with a hand covering her stomach, she staggered toward the staff, dropping to her knees to grab it. But this time, instead of spinning to face Caragbuul, she reared back with her hand and threw it with all of her strength…straight for Kraash-nagun’s feet.
“I submit to you,” she said, breathlessly. “Kraash-nagun, I cannot defeat you—not in a fair fight. I never could.” Lowering her head, she grimaced as she felt her stomach bleed. She turned back to look at Caragbuul—to put the Khuladi dead in her sights. “I have been terrified to lose control. I confess that sin now. I have wanted to hold onto power, but I do not deserve it.” Caragbuul was hesitating—staring at her. Like he was wondering who she was talking to.
“I wanted you to respect me, but I tried to do it in the wrong way. I was wrong to do it, and I was wrong to expect you to submit to it. And so I submit myself to you, Kraash-nagun. Tauthin gave up his chair for me. I now give it to you.” Caragbuul would only wait so long. “Please. We can do this. You can do this!”
Something swelled in the connection—an emotion she couldn’t quite define, somewhere between eagerness and doubt. It was barely discernable, but it was there.
“Use my eyes, take my weapon, and together, we will kill this vecking thing.”
Caragbuul had waited enough. He charged at her with surprising speed—far more than he’d exhibited in their prior clashes. Leaping toward her with his blades lifted, he sent them flying down toward her.
Svetlana had no choice but to use her force shields. Activating them in her gauntlets, she lifted them to each deflect one of the blows. The shields flashed to life as the split blades crashed into them, serving their purpose in preventing them from penetrating, but at an exhausting cost. Even with his strength stunted, he was powerful enough to push her back. But unlike against the plasma bolts, the shields held.
Darting backward, Caragbuul crisscrossed his blades and swung low at her—a sweeping, scissoring strike that nearly removed her ankles. Leaping backward, Svetlana lifted the force shields to defend against a new, invigorated assault. With every blow against the shields, she was pushed farther and farther back.
“Kraash-nagun!” she screamed. The Khuladi pressed harder. A spinning strike, a straight spear, a combination high, low attack. Over and over, the dark destroyer struck with his weapon. Over and over, she moved her shields to defend. But this would not last. “We can do this! Together, we can do it!”
Spinning through the air backward and toward her, Caragbuul sent the full force of both blades slicing at her upper body. Svetlana clamped both shields together, their energy combined into a single, strengthened point of defense. The blades struck them at a force not yet experienced. The shields flashed vibrantly; she was pushed to her knees. Screaming as she pushed back with every fiber of strength she had left, she tried to form words with which to cry out again. But she couldn’t. Through the flickering shield, she stared up at Caragbuul’s bulging, black eyes. She stared into the heartless gaze of the god-chosen. The Khuladi was straining—pushing himself through her defenses with sheer will. Driving her to the ground. With a final flex of might, he knocked her flat on her back. Her shields flickered then faded, their energy depleted. As Caragbuul prepared to deliver the kill-strike, Svetlana moved her powerless gauntlets in front of her face. An act of pure instinct. It would make no difference at all.
Look at me!
The words came to her urgently—just as Caragbuul raised his weapons.
Look at me!
She sensed a presence behind her. The world shifted into slow motion. She turned her head to look back.
Adjusting the angle of his sprint from mere meters away, Kraash-nagun leapt through the air toward Svetlana, twisting his body sideways with staff in hand. She kept him in her vision until both he and Caragbuul came into view above her. The Khuladi’s downward driving blades hit the staff with no time to spare.
Clang!
Metal struck metal, the blades and staff sparking upon contact. His blow deflected, the startled Khuladi stepped back.
The extra second was all Kraash-nagun needed. Spinning up from the ground where he’d dived to block the kill-strike, the blinded elite turned to face Caragbuul with weapon ready.
Caragbuul stepped backward—his aggression staved for the first time. His opaque lenses zeroed in on the eyeless Bakma.
“Give me an angle!” Kraash-nagun bellowed.
Wasting no time, Svetlana rolled to the side, eyes focusing immediately on both Kraash-nagun and Caragbuul. Keeping both combatants plainly in sight. In her peripherals—peripherals she dared not focus on, lest she wreck Kraash-nagun’s focus—she saw the attacking Bakma and Nerifinn gather around. None of them were advancing. They all stood to watch the duel.
Svetlana’s eyes locked solely on Kraash-nagun, knowing her field of vision was all he had to work with. She was afraid to even blink.
Angling his head with calculation, Caragbuul observed Kraash-nagun before making his move. Raising a single split blade, he took a step toward the blinded elite and swung the weapon at medium speed—an attack that gave all the indications of a test. Kraash-nagun didn’t hold back. Swinging the staff sideways, he knocked Caragbuul’s split blade to the side before backstepping and assuming another defensive posture. Once more, the Khuladi stared curiously.
He sees Kraash-nagun has no eyes, Svetlana thought. He is trying to figure out how this is possible.
Kraash-nagun struck. Whipping the staff around, he dashed at Caragbuul, the staff’s pointed tip coming within a hair of the Khuladi’s head before he leapt back and parried the follow-through. For a second time, after once again putting some distance between them, Caragbuul hesitated.
But only for a moment.
The Khuladi leapt toward Kraash-nagun, one split blade cocked back to jab while the other was positioned sideways in front of him for defense. Side-stepping the attack, Kraash-nagun knocked the jab out of the way, quickly shifting his feet and bringing the tip of the staff down to deflect a follow-through with the second blade. Flipping the staff in his hands, the Bakma swung it at Caragbuul’s head. The attack was blocked, and with a hard shove, Kraash-nagun was forced backward.
No time was allotted for curiosity now. His split blades slicing furiously through the air, Caragbuul surged at Kraash-nagun like a tornadic switchblade. Each attack, each wind-slicing maneuver, was parried by the blinded elite. For every jab, Kraash-nagun blocked. For every swipe, he leapt out of reach. For every dual strike, he deflected, ducked, and countered. As Svetlana slowly turned her head to follow the battle, she found herself caught up in the mere sight of it. This was Kraash-nagun like she had never seen him—faster even than when he’d dueled her at Ban-Hezikal. Then, at long last, the Bakma got in his lick. As Caragbuul came around with what would have been a chopping blow, rather than bothering to deflect it, Kraash-nagun planted the tip of the staff into the turquoise earth like a pole vaulter, leapt clear over the slice, twisted his body, and planted his foot squarely against the Khuladi’s jaw. Caragbuul’s head was rocked back, and he stumbled.
Behind the two combatants, the Nerifinn and Bakma collectively gasped.
Whirling his staff, Kraash-nagun weaved and struck, his staff a blur against the fiery backdrop of Winduster. Every deflection from Caragbuul, every dodge, was pushing him farther and farther back—and one step closer to falling on his knees.
Catching her breath, Svetlana watched Kraash-nagun with a locked stare. Every body movement, every spin of his staff, every plant of his foot, was done with conviction—with unabolished hatred. This went far beyond any animosity he’d felt toward her. This was righteous rage. Pure vitriol. He swung his staff upward from the ground. Caragbuul swiped the attack aside and tried to follow through; his split blade was deflected before the attack could even develop. Spinning around and dropping low, Kraash-nagun swung the staff at Caragbuul’s feet; the Khuladi barely leapt over it. A quick thrust, a narrow dodge. A twirling follow-through, an off-balance counter. Every attack Kraash-nagun made came closer and closer to landing—until at long last, the Khuladi was stung. Leaping toward Caragbuul, who was reeling from another awkward deflection, Kraash-nagun struck with his staff like a Spartan warrior. The tip pierced Caragbuul just off from where his rib cage would be. Caragbuul hammered at Kraash-nagun broadside with his split blade, the force of the blow—his last, desperate defense—enough to force Kraash-nagun back. But Caragbuul did not follow through. Instead, he covered his wound and hobbled back. With one split blade retracting as to not slice himself open, he pressed his hand against the injury and looked up at the recovering elite. Once more, for a span of what felt like several seconds, he stared at his eyeless adversary. He stared like a being in search of an explanation. And then, ever so slowly, he turned his head to Svetlana.
Goose bumps rose on her arms. For the first time, her focus shifted solely to Caragbuul. The moment she did, Kraash-nagun froze, no longer in her line of sight.
And Caragbuul noticed.
…oh no…
The next seconds passed like a blur. Bolting up from the ground where he’d been kneeling, Caragbuul dashed toward Svetlana with lightning speed. Her eyes shot wide as she stared at him, all concentration on Kraash-nagun lost. Through the connection, she felt the blinded elite’s panic. The next thing she saw was Caragbuul leaping through the air toward her, split blades raised in preparation to kill. In what fleeting moments she had, she raised her force shield gauntlets to try and desperately block. She could only hope—she could only pray—that they’d had enough time to recharge.
Caragbuul’s blades crashed down upon the shields, the force knocking Svetlana to the ground as she strained to resist. She could feel the energy in them fluctuating—trying to hold back the attack. Screaming as if channeling power through it, she shoved back at Caragbuul with everything she had. The shields flashed in a single burst of brilliance—just enough to force him away. As Svetlana rolled to escape, she saw something land on the turquoise earth barely two meters in front of her. Her eyes fixated on it. It was her staff.
At the same time, a thought was relayed from her once Bakma rival.
Slay him!
Diving to where the staff had landed, Svetlana clenched it and scampered to her feet.
In the same second as she readied herself, Caragbuul charged. Hands white-knuckling the staff, she swung it upward to parry his blades. Following her own momentum with a backward spin, she sent the side of the staff hammering toward Caragbuul’s torso—right where Kraash-nagun had stuck him. Contorting his body, Caragbuul shifted one of the split blades to intercept.
Keep him on the defense!
The thought was from Kraash-nagun. He was still seeing through her eyes.
Keep him on the defense.
Blocking another attack, Svetlana rotated the staff and jabbed one of the spear tips at the Khuladi’s chest. Her effort was blocked, but she was still moving in. From the swell of affirmation that came to her mind, Kraash-nagun approved. Caragbuul struck again, this time with the intent of pinning her weapon between the split blades and wresting it away. The effort missed by a mere inch, and she quickly withdrew the weapon.
Stay close! Kraash-nagun relayed. Force an adjustment!
She adhered without hesitation. Spinning toward Caragbuul, she retracted her staff while keeping the tips out, effectively turning it into a pointed baton, which she sent toward his chest. For the first time in her battle with him, she forced him into pure defense mode. Unable to deflect such a close attack with his blades extended, Caragbuul instead crossed his arms in front of his body and slammed them down upon her staff. And right then, as her face was literally inches from his, she saw the opportunity. There was no need to wait for Kraash-nagun’s prompting. This strike, she would take on her own. Sending the crown of her forehead at Caragbuul’s face, she headbutted him right between his eyes. It was a barbaric move—one completely lacking in refinement.
And it connected.
Caragbuul’s head rocked back, and the Khuladi stutter-stepped away.
Close the gap!
Kraash-nagun’s urging was immediate, as was Svetlana’s compliance. As she charged in again, Caragbuul retracted his split blades to dagger length.
And Kraash-nagun altered the plan.
Back off! Go long-range!
Svetlana was already extending her staff. She understood now the game Kraash-nagun was playing. In a physical match, there was no chance that Svetlana could defeat a Khuladi. But in a mental one? In that, there might be hope.
The response from Caragbuul was immediate, as once again, his split blades extended fully. But that half-second of reaction time was a half-second more that Svetlana had stolen from him—and it made the difference. Leaning forward on one leg and jabbing the point of her staff forward, she managed to scratch his skin before he was able to slam his blades down and knock her staff away. Instead of yanking the staff back to her, she retracted it again and pressed in.
And it was right then, when she once again became the aggressor, that she saw the first chink in the Khuladi’s armor. It was barely a second long, but it was significant. Darting away from her, he retracted both split blades to dagger length, extended one fully, then quickly retracted it again.
He was guessing.
Extending her blade just when she’d drawn close, she ducked low and swung it at the Khuladi’s feet. Caragbuul leapt out of range, once again extending one, then both split blades in an effort to adjust.
He has never faced a weapon like the one you wield, nor has he faced force shield technology! Kraash-nagun quickly relayed. He is injured and out of his element, unaccustomed to a creature that does not fear him. Do not relent!
She had no intention to. Switching constantly between baton and fully extended staff lengths, Svetlana kept the pressure on Caragbuul as he adjusted back and forth. Each moment that Svetlana stole from him—each fraction of a second he had to dedicate to making a decision—was one that benefited her. And each second she was able to press in was one more that her force shields were able to recharge. But as those seconds passed for her, they also passed for Caragbuul—until at long last, he had mentally caught up. Extending both of his split blades halfway—a best of both worlds approach—Caragbuul parried the last of her strikes with so much force, it nearly knocked the staff out of her hands. As she fought to hold onto it, he moved in to attack. With one hand dedicated to keeping the staff, Svetlana had no choice but to rely on the force shield gauntlet on her other arm to save her. Upon activating it, she deflected one of his blows then quickly repositioned to deflect another.
Do not lose the edge!
The edge was already gone. Caragbuul had flipped his aggression on like a switch, whatever advantage of uncertainty that Svetlana possessed having vanished in a blink. She was forced to retract her staff and use both gauntlets to deflect his strikes, one after the other, after the other. Caragbuul swept low with one blade. She dropped to one knee, slamming down her shield to block it. He jabbed straight at her head with the other. She angled her head out of the way in the nick of time then parried his blade with her other shield. He lifted one blade high; she matched it. With the other, he swung to cleave her throat; she bent her forearm to block. All of her aggression, all of her offensive capability, had been extinguished. Caragbuul was attacking with lightning speed now, with complex, arcing strikes in rapid succession. Nothing Kraash-nagun could say could help her. The god-chosen was ready to make his kill. As he struck inward with both blades in a scissoring attack, Svetlana swung her forearms inside-out to halt them. The moment her torso was exposed, Caragbuul leaned back and sent the heel of his foot slamming into her chest at full strength. Unprepared for the setup, Svetlana was knocked backward, clean off her feet. She landed flat on her back on the turquoise earth.
Look at him!
The words came to Svetlana’s mind even as her head was jostled and the wind was knocked out of her. Blinking, she stared up at her adversary, who now towered over her to deliver the death-strike—a strike she was in no position to defend.
Keep looking!
She didn’t want to keep looking. She wanted to close her eyes. She wanted to tense her body before the blades went in—as if that would make any difference at all. But she held strong. She did exactly what the voice in her head told her to do. She locked her eyes on the dark form standing before her. And it was then—only then—that she saw what she was meant to see.
With himself squarely in her borrowed vision, Kraash-nagun sprinted straight at Caragbuul from behind. In that split second, as Caragbuul raised his blades and Kraash-nagun charged, the Bakma’s intentions became clear. He would distract Caragbuul. The Khuladi would hear him and turn to strike him, thus opening himself to attack from Svetlana. Opening himself to attack from the woman who was yet to score anything more than a glancing blow. To a woman outmatched in every way. Kraash-nagun was about to sacrifice himself—to be slain—for that woman to have another opportunity.
…no.
The impulse came to Svetlana immediately. She went with it. Gliding her arm upward, she tossed the baton-sized staff over Caragbuul’s head. Caragbuul halted his attack to watch the weapon fly above him. As he did, Svetlana shoved up to her feet with her palms, all the while keeping her eyes on the baton and Kraash-nagun. As a split second of panic emerged from Kraash-nagun through the connection, Svetlana relayed her assurance. She relayed what he needed to hear.
You’ve got this.
There was no time for the Bakma to do anything but react. Leaping into the air at full sprint, still meters away from Caragbuul’s backside, he reached out his hand to grab the baton. In that same second that his gnarled talons found the airborne staff—that perfectly thrown, God-guided staff—Svetlana opened her arms and collided into Caragbuul’s chest while he was distracted. No effort was made to knock him to the ground. That wasn’t what she wanted to do. Wrapping her arms around him with all of her strength, she held him in place.
Live, my friend.
Kraash-nagun repositioned the staff in mid-leap. With the push of a button, he extended it fully. Thrusting the staff downward, he drove its pointed tip into the Khuladi’s back. Only then, upon impact, did the blinded elite lose his vision. Only then, did Svetlana close her eyes.
Unable to evade with Svetlana clinging to him, Caragbuul was skewered from behind. The pointed staff went straight through him.
And straight through her.
As Caragbuul arched back in pain, releasing a bellowing groan from his mouth slits, Svetlana felt the staff impale her chest. Leaning her head back, she too screamed in agony. Pinned against the Khuladi with the very staff she’d been given by Yigôzien, Svetlana lifted her head to stare at Caragbuul’s face. The Khuladi, eye bulges protruding, stared back at her. Slowly, a dark blue liquid seeped from his slits.
The pain never left Svetlana. Even as she found herself staring into his dark abysses, her body trembled in excruciating agony. In the second worst agony she’d ever felt. But Caragbuul would never know it. She wouldn’t let him.
Eyes glossing over, she stared straight into Caragbuul’s face from two inches away. “We got you,” she whispered breathlessly.
“Setana!” Kraash-nagun bolted around the side of Caragbuul as the life seeped out of the Khuladi. When a final attempt was made by the dark warrior to attack from his pinned state, a quick twist of the neck by the blindly feeling Bakma put an end to the effort. The next person he felt for was Svetlana.
Svetlana turned her head to regard the Nerifinn and Bakma who’d been observing, but who were now being engaged from behind. She couldn’t make out what was going on. She could barely make out anything at all.
A rush of sound emerged from above, as if the skies themselves opened up. Turning her head skyward, she watched as streaks of gunfire lit up the ground around the Khuladi slave forces. Kalarael fighters? Her vision was blurry—she couldn’t tell.
“Setana!” Kraash-nagun said again. Severed from his connection to her, his trembling hands felt her body and the staff that’d gone through her.
More sound. More eruptions of chaos. Streaks of weapons fire were coming from all directions—both on the ground and in the sky. A new rush of warfare. And then…
…darkness.
Svetlana’s world fell to black, as the Fury of Shanras closed her eyes.