Growling, Tenthil raised the blade slightly and swung its tip toward the Master’s head with a flick of his wrist.
The Master’s black robes fluttered as he leaned backward, avoiding the energy blade, and lifted a bent leg. He released Tenthil’s wrist and straightened the leg suddenly, his boot striking Tenthil in the ribs. Even through his armor, Tenthil felt the blow, and he was launched away, stopping only when his left shoulder and the side of his head slammed into the shadow-masked wall. He hurriedly disengaged the energy blade before it cut him again.
For Abella, Tenthil repeated in his head. He had to succeed for her. Had to overcome this final obstacle so he could give her the life she deserved, the life she wanted.
He had to win so she could live.
“Your little human cannot help you,” the Master said. He maintained the few meters of distance between them his attack had opened, making no move to advance on Tenthil again. “Such base, animalistic drives are what brought you to this point. Though I must confess, her fiery spirit has inspired me to offer you one final gift before I end you. A last secret you may carry to the void.”
Tenthil pushed himself off the wall and swayed as his legs reluctantly took his weight. For a moment, his vision blurred. If he’d been forced to choose between taking another of the Master’s kicks and getting run over by a tralix, he would’ve picked the tralix without hesitation.
The Master raised his hands, grasping his mask with one and his hood with the other. He pulled back the hood and slid off the mask simultaneously.
Over his years in the Order, Tenthil had speculated as to the Master’s species many times, though he’d never come up with any solid guesses. There’d been too few clues to pierce the cloud of mystery the Master had kept around himself.
He would never have guessed the truth.
The Master was a kal’zik—a member of the ancient species who’d founded the Consortium and built Arthos. A member of the species who lorded over the Infinite City and a huge swath of the universe beyond.
A member of one of the most powerful races in existence.
The Master stared at Tenthil with four pairs of red eyes, and his dark lips were quirked up at one corner. He tossed his mask aside, grasped the inside hem of his robes, and pulled them apart, shrugging the garment off. The dark robes fell to the floor, revealing a lean but solidly built body clad in a form-fitting combat suit and a second set of arms.
Stretching those extra arms, the Master turned and walked to the side, preserving the distance between himself and Tenthil. “This is my gift to you. My final boon. Look upon the face of your Master before the Void takes you.”
Tenthil shook his head, forcing away his lingering dizziness.
He held no illusions as to whether he deserved a quiet, happy life, but he would not give up his chance at one. He would not lose a single thing more to the Master.
The Master stood between Tenthil and Abella. That made him another obstacle to be eliminated. Nothing would keep Tenthil from his mate.
Tenthil grasped the hilt of the energy blade in both hands and reactivated it. He held the Master’s gaze; the blade’s glow gave the Master’s white skin a green sheen.
“If nothing else, I will always recall your tenacity with some fondness,” the Master said.
The chill presence in Tenthil’s mind slithered over his conscious thoughts. He growled and shoved it aside, charging at his enemy.
Tenthil attacked with speed and precision, seeking out any possible gaps in the Master’s defenses, anything of which he could take advantage. The flashing blade traced green arcs through the air.
But the Master was just a little faster, keeping one step ahead of Tenthil. He didn’t draw a weapon of his own—he simply sidestepped, swayed, and dodged, avoiding each of Tenthil’s attacks, occasionally throwing a punch or a kick that struck with enough force to throw Tenthil off-balance.
Each time he was knocked away, Tenthil threw himself back into the fight with increased ferocity, but he remained cognizant of their positioning—steering the battle as far from Abella as possible.
His eyes darted to her for an instant. She looked so small and frail here, so worn, so spent.
The Master caught Tenthil’s hands in all four of his own, wrapping his long fingers around Tenthil’s fists and squeezing. The energy blade’s hilt creaked and groaned beneath the viselike pressure.
“She is a distraction,” the Master said, leaning closer to Tenthil. The energy blade crackled between them, its reflection blazing in the Master’s eyes. “A distraction for an ungrateful beast.”
Something popped in Tenthil’s left hand as his weapon’s hilt buckled and collapsed. The pulsing blade flickered and went out.
Tenthil grunted against the pain and tensed his leg, meaning to kick the Master; before he could even move, the Master stomped on his foot and leaned his weight forward, pinning it painfully in place.
“I made you,” the Master said. “I own you. I am inside your head. There is nothing you can do that I will not foresee.”
Heat flared in Tenthil’s chest as he struggled against the Master’s hold. The cords on his neck stood out, his breath caught in his throat, and his arms trembled with the exertion. The Master swayed slightly as Tenthil poured more strength into his struggle. The energy blade’s grip crumbled further, and pieces of it dropped to the floor with metallic pings.
For Abella…for…
The Master grinned, revealing a mouthful of pointed teeth. “Once you are resting in the Void’s embrace, I will send her to join you. You may spend eternity searching the darkness for one another in vain. Two animals chasing each other’s tails through nothingness.”
Tenthil’s eyes flicked aside; he could see Abella’s head and shoulders just past the master’s black hair. She remained in the slumped position she’d been in when he entered.
She’d suffered so much already—because of the people who tore her away from her home against her will, because of Cullion and his cronies, because of Tenthil’s rash decisions. Because of the Master.
Tenthil knew the agony of the Master’s mental intrusions. He knew what it felt like to have his secrets ripped out of him like overripe fruit plucked from a tree, knew the pain of being totally vulnerable and utterly exposed to a hostile being.
The Master had caused her current suffering. The Master had threatened her life, and Tenthil knew the Master made no idle threats.
As Tenthil stared at his mate, the heat in his body intensified, creating an immense pressure more painful than any injury the Master had yet inflicted.
Abella was his. His to hold, his to protect, his to love. That was the truth in his mind, in his heart, in the deepest, most primal parts of his soul—his.
Rage, possessiveness, and love smashed together and erupted from his chest in a deep, powerful roar.
Tenthil released control, released his years of training, released conscious thought. Instinct swept in, dark and bestial. A red haze swept over his vision as his muscles swelled.
Protect.
Destroy.
The Master’s grin faltered.
Tenthil snapped his head forward, slamming his forehead into the Master’s nose. There was a wet crack, and the Master reeled backward, but he did not release his hold. Tenthil tugged him back into another headbutt.
Snarling, the Master abruptly released Tenthil and staggered away. Black blood oozed from his nostrils. Its scent deepened Tenthil’s crimson haze; he needed to smell more, to see more, to feel that blood coating his claws.
Red eyes burning with fury, the Master stepped forward, swinging two of his arms in a fresh attack.
Tenthil leapt at him head-on. The blows struck him in the abdomen and chest, thwacking against his armor, but Tenthil’s charge prevented the Master from putting his full force behind them. Tenthil’s shoulder hit the kal’zik’s chest. The momentum knocked them back several paces, but the Master held his footing. Tenthil threw his arms around the Master’s middle a
nd buried his claws into the Master’s sides.
Releasing a pained cry, the Master rained blows onto Tenthil’s back and head. The pain registered distantly for Tenthil; it wasn’t a concern.
Kill.
Planting his feet on the floor, Tenthil sank his claws deeper and lifted the Master up, heaving him overhead. He arched his back to bridge the throw. The Master hit the floor on his back with a grunt, and Tenthil dropped his weight atop him.
Tenthil rolled aside, but one of the Master’s hands snagged a fistful of his hair. The Master threw two quick punches, hitting Tenthil’s nose and mouth; on his third strike, Tenthil opened his jaw wide and caught the Master’s fist between his teeth. He bit down as hard as he could, sinking his fangs through tendons and muscle, feeling them scrape against bone. Bitter blood mingled with the venom he forced out of his glands.
“I will not succumb to your poison, you—”
Tenthil caught two of the kal’zik’s wrists, shredding the combat suit and the flesh beneath with his claws. The Master punched Tenthil on the ear with his free hand.
Numb to the pain and unfazed by the ringing in his ear, Tenthil scrambled atop the Master. He planted a knee on the kal’zik’s abdomen and leaned on it. The Master strained against Tenthil’s hold, sinking Tenthil’s claws deeper and causing more damage to his flesh. Two more rapid blows struck Tenthil’s cheek, breaking the hold of his teeth on the Master’s hand. He felt a gush of warmth along the seam of his right scar. His red blood splattered onto the kal’zik’s face.
The Master writhed beneath Tenthil, craning his neck back and exposing his throat.
Tenthil tore his claws free and thrust his fingers to the underside of the Master’s chin. Baring his sharp teeth, the Master clenched Tenthil’s wrists just as the claws pierced his skin, halting their progress. Black ichor welled beneath Tenthil’s fingertips.
Venom dripped from Tenthil’s fangs and onto the Master’s face as he leaned over his prone enemy, forcing more and more weight and strength behind his hands. The Master punched and clawed with his free hands, but the power of his blows was waning, and Tenthil’s bunched shoulders shrugged off the attacks.
Tenthil’s nostrils flared at the aroma of the kal’zik’s bitter blood. Staring into those eight red eyes, he roared and shoved down. His claws sank deep into the Master’s flesh. Something crunched beneath Tenthil’s fingers, and the Master’s hold further weakened.
Hatred contorted the Master’s face as he dug his fingertips into Tenthil’s forearms and released a wet, choking cry. Blood bubbled from between his lips.
Icy, alien tendrils slithered through Tenthil’s mind, but there was nothing for them to latch on to, nothing for them to extract.
Dropping his face close to the Master’s, Tenthil roared again, spraying blood and venom on his enemy’s face as he forced his claws deeper still and pressed his thumbs into the Master’s throat.
“For Abella!” Tenthil shouted and squeezed with all his might.
The Master’s neck crunched, and a fresh flow of blood burst from his lips with the release of his final, gurgling breath. His hands fell away one-by-one, splaying around him amidst a growing pool of black.
Tenthil tugged a hand free, curled it into a fist, and hammered it down on the Master’s face repeatedly, snarling as he did so, releasing all his hatred, bitterness, dissatisfaction, and rage until the red eyes and white skin were an unrecognizable mass of glistening black.
He shoved himself up from the corpse and onto his feet, grabbed the Master by the ankles, and dragged him as far to the edge of the room as he could—as far away from Abella as possible. He drew a knife and stabbed it into the Master’s stomach, cutting open a slit. He dropped his left hand, still dripping with black blood, into his explosive’s pouch and withdrew a fusion charge. After activating the charge’s timer, he stuffed the explosive the slit and hurried to shield Abella with his body.
The slightly muffled explosion was punctuated by the sound of wet chunks of flesh splattering on the walls and floor, several of which struck the back of Tenthil’s armor harmlessly.
Ensure your target is dead. It was one of the Order’s lessons, one of its tennets.
Tenthil knelt in front of Abella and looked her over for injuries before collecting the Master’s robes from the floor. He used the garment to wipe away as much of the blood and gore clinging to his clothes and skin as he could. It was only as he did so that his injuries made themselves known. The dull aches suddenly permeating his body were nothing compared to the sharp, pulsing stings at the right corner of his mouth and on his right forearm.
He forced himself to take a moment to ease a self-sealing bandage over his cheek and retrieve his fallen blaster—dropping it in its holster—before he returned to Abella. He knelt again—this time beside the chair—and slipped one arm behind her knees and the other behind her back.
Her soft, warm breath brushed over the skin of his neck as he lifted her against his chest. She seemed so slight, so delicate.
Tenthil bowed his head to place a kiss atop her hair. For several seconds, he remained on one knee, lips pressed to her hair, and inhaled her scent, fighting a strange stinging in his eyes. His exhalations were shaky. The pressure in his chest hadn’t subsided, though its source had changed; this wasn’t rage and hatred, this was relief and love, this was a gratefulness so overwhelming that words could never encompass it.
He shifted his head, pressing his chin to her hair, and squeezed his eyes shut as tears flowed from them. His throat burned, but it had nothing to do with his mutilated vocal cords. In that moment, he’d felt more than he’d ever felt before, and he knew beyond any doubt that he would go anywhere for this female. He would do anything for her. Would give anything for her.
Blinking away the moisture from his eyes, he forced himself to his feet. “Just a little farther.”
He didn’t cast a single glance toward the Master’s remains as he carried Abella out of the room.
The wide hallway was as silent and deserted. He walked at a steady pace, his aches more insistent with every step, and took her back along the path by which he’d come.
A few meters beyond the blast-damaged portion of the hallway, Abella jerked awake. Her eyes, glassy with confusion, flashed open. Her muscles tensed as she screamed and struggled against Tenthil’s hold.
Tenthil stopped walking and lowered his head again. He clutched her close to him. “Shh. I have you, Abella.”
She stilled and finally met his gaze. Her chest heaved with ragged breaths. “Tenthil?”
He rested his cheek against her forehead. “I have you,” was all he could manage to say before his throat constricted.
She burst into tears and threw her arms around his neck, clinging to him as her body shook with her sobs. “He was inside my head. I couldn’t stop him, couldn’t keep him out. He took everything. I thought he’d take you, too.”
“He’s gone. One with his precious Void.” Tenthil brushed his lips over her hair. “He could never take me from you. Nothing can.”
She sniffled and pulled back. Her watery, red eyes found his again. Lowering one of her arms, she cupped his face, brushing her thumb over his cheek. Without another word, she kissed him. It was a desperate kiss, nearly broken by another sob, but she didn’t stop; she only held him tighter.
Tenthil’s aches and pains fell a way while their lips were together. He’d have endured tenfold more suffering for that single kiss, would’ve fought the world for it. When she finally drew away from him to take in a shuddering breath, he licked her taste from his lips. Despite everything, he wanted her, then and there.
But they weren’t safe. Though the Master was dead, they were still in his house.
“Little farther to go,” he said as he resumed walking, turning onto the staircase that led down to the main floor. “We can rest soon.”
Her grip on him tightened briefly. “I can walk.”
He frowned; he didn’t want to let her go, didn’t want to have
even the slightest distance between them, but he knew she’d be better protected if she were walking—at least then he could use his weapons freely and shield her with his body as necessary.
When they reached the bottom of the stairs, he gently set Abella on her feet, keeping one arm around her back. She put an arm around his waist and leaned against him for a few moments, swaying slightly. They moved on once she’d found her balance.
Tenthil drew his blaster and walked with Abella tucked against his side, angling himself so he was ahead of her. Neither of them spoke as they passed the scene of his battle with the borian, groalthuun, and daevahs. They encountered no living beings in those halls—not until they emerged into the courtyard.
Eight acolytes stood in front of the closed double doors that led into the vestibule and the garage beyond, armed with blasters, energy blades, and shock staves. Tension crackled through the air; though the acolytes kept their faces serious, their expressions hard, several of them fidgeted and repeatedly flicked their gazes toward their comrades as though uncertain of themselves.
Tenthil guided Abella behind him as he swept his gaze over his foes.
“Tenthil,” Abella whispered fearfully.
He felt the gentle pressure of her hands against his back armor and found strength—found comfort—in her touch. He walked toward the Well of Secrets slowly, keeping his eyes on the acolytes, who made no move to attack despite their number advantage. Abella kept close on his heels as he mounted the broad steps to the edge of the well.
“I reclaim our names,” he called. “Tenthil and Abella. The Void no longer holds claim to us.”
Several of the acolytes exchanged startled glances.
Tenthil released a slow breath. He’d have, at best, a second to act if things went wrong. It wasn’t enough—not against so many. “Our contracts are closed. Do any of you object?”
The acolytes’ eyes were fixed on him, and the weight of their gazes was heavier than the silence that settled over the courtyard.
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