Aspirant: A Sci-Fi Harem Adventure

by Whittaker, Maxx

  Another two scaag break free of the line, charge us, mouths gaping, trailing lines of shimmering saliva.

  I take one in the head. The other in the stomach. They dig deep furrows in the dirt as their corpses slide toward us.

  I take Mika’s free hand in mine. “Let’s go! No stopping! Watch for Syl.”

  Mika nods, eyes still unfocused, but at least she’s watching the fray and not me. “There she is.”

  Syl surfaces from the ocean of scaag like a gore spattered dolphin from a churning ocean of flesh. Her claws are everywhere, piercing skulls and necks and hearts. A scaag follows her ascent, rising behind her. It’s using another scaag’s dismembered arm as a club, and it swings for her head. I fire a quick burst, shredding its chest, and it goes down. Syl doesn’t notice, face devoid of emotion as she dives back downward, cutting, killing.

  She can’t last in there. This has to end.

  I tug Mika along, firing at the fringes of the battle, clearing a path. My wrist reads 00:02:17. No time to stop, no time to think. Just have to go.

  A scaag drifts too close, and Mika detonates it. She’s surer with every step, somehow; it has to be the spores. I guess it makes sense. If she’s going to mate until she dies, she’s going to need her strength, right? It’d be disturbingly funny in any other circumstances.

  I’m just happy that she’s not too far gone to defend herself.

  The main battle rages in a knot before the building we need to get to. Because of course it does. We skirt the outside of the fight, killing as we go. The hail of scaag has dwindled, and only a few still mount the wall, spitting and throwing rocks down into the fray. But below there are dozens left that surround the small knot of Threvians still alive. They’re back to back, four of them, firing into their attackers from inches away, and they’re in bad shape.

  But they distract enough scaag that Mika and I manage our way along the base of the wall. Not unnoticed, and a trail of a half dozen dead lay behind us. We stop in a little alcove of shadow, Mika behind me as I pick off a few more. None seem to notice us, and it’s not hard to tell why.

  Syl’s surrounded by a knot of scaag, and everywhere she moves, something dies. It’s like a ballet of blood, and it’s hard not to stop and stare. She’s incredible, terrifying. But she’s not unscathed; her scales are torn in a half dozen places, and as I watch a club clips her shoulder, spinning her. She recovers impossibly fast, slicing out and taking her attacker in its eye. But she’s tired, hurt. I can see it in her stance.

  She won’t last.

  Not like we have time to hesitate, anyway. The door is fifteen feet away; a short distance that feels like a fucking mile. Scaag, alive and dead, litter the path we need to take.

  This is going to be bad.

  “Ready?” I shout.

  Mika’s hand at my back is all the answer I need. We rush out together, immediately draw the attention of four gigantic brutes lurking at the fringes of the fight.

  They turn together, bellowing. I fire twice as we close the distance, and though I don’t have time to aim, I don’t need to be accurate this close. My shots take one in the leg, ripping it from its body in a welter of gore. My other misses my target, but they scaag are so closely packed that its hits the beast next to it, carving a hole in its chest.

  Mika’s staff flicks out, detonating the head of the third scaag.

  The fourth hits us.

  Its fist bashes into my chest like a hammer. I gasp in agony as ribs crack and I’m flung like a ragdoll, tumbling into a sitting position against the wall of the building we’ve been trying to reach. My head smacks the wall. Hard.

  Holy fuck. They hit like trucks. If not for my armor, I’d be pulverized. How the hell has Syl survived this long?

  At the corner of my vision, Inferno twirls, kills my attacker, but it’s a distant thing I barely notice. I can hardly breathe, and blood mists from my lips each time I rasp in a desperate puff of air.

  I sit, watch the battle, unmoving. My thoughts are detached, drunken, like they’re coming from a vast distance. Some part of me screams that I have to move, to help, but it’s a little voice buried under a mountain of pain.

  Mika stands wearily in front of me, Inferno waving back and forth with her good arm. Three or four scaag stand back, eyeing it, real fear on their faces. But it won’t keep them from attacking. Not for long.

  Beyond her, Syl fights on. One of her arms is bent at a terrible angle, and bone protrudes from just above her elbow. But her claws never stop moving, and her tongue is a weapon itself, grasping a stolen club that smashes into a scaag’s head with terrifying power, dropping it instantly. But she’s so weak, so battered, and Mika can hardly stand.

  It’s almost over. I have to help them. My thoughts sharpen, and my swimming head clears somewhat. There’s no way I should be able to shake off a head injury like this one, but not much about me is normal anymore. I get one hand on the wall, find some reserve of strength.

  Shit. This is bad. The scaag’s fist did something terrible to my insides. My heart beats erratically, and I still can’t draw a full breath. When I try, it’s like shards of glass in my chest rip through my lungs.

  But we’re so close. So close to the exit. To healing.

  I raise my rifle in shaking hands. Somehow, I haven’t dropped it. I take down a few of Mika’s fan club with three quick shots.

  She turns to me, eyes wide, tears running down her cheeks. “Sam!”

  “M’okay,” I lie. “Have to go.”

  “But Syl!”

  “Get the door, first.”

  She nods, looks more tired than I’ve ever seen a person look. Her whole body trembles like a leaf, and she licks her lips constantly; from heat or the poison, I don’t know.

  We stagger the remaining few feet to the door, supporting each other, almost out of strength. If the scaag attack us with any coordination now, we’re done.

  Luckily, there aren’t many of them left, and those that remain alive are focused on Syl. A mountain of dead surrounds her, and she stands atop it, almost one of them herself. I kill one of her attackers, but the rest are too close to her, and I don’t dare fire.

  Shotgun mode would be pretty fucking handy right about now.

  One thing at a time. Mika and I reach the door. It’s closed, doesn’t budge as we push at it. “The panel,” I say. “Can you open it?”

  Mika rests heavy against the wall. “I can try.”

  “I’ll help Syl.”

  I turn, aim, but curse, dropping my rifle. It’s too late.

  Syl’s buried under the last of the scaag, at least eight of them piled on top of her. Her claws lance up, rip the throat from one, but the rest beat down at her with fists and clubs, and her arm falls limp. The sound is sickening, their brutal strength hammering into her flesh over and over. Her dark, tight scaling lightens. That can’t be good. Has she lost consciousness?

  No.

  Dark rage boils up inside me. This can’t be happening. Not when we’re so close.

  Desperation crystallizes inside me, a dark core of energy I recognize from before, and the world freezes. Details, hazy in the cauldron of battle, become clear. One scaag’s arm, upraised, about to smash down with killing force, its mottled fur spattered with Syl’s blood. Another, his face upraised with fangs bared, threads of spit trailing between its teeth. Ready to dive low, rip her throat out.

  I see all of it in a heartbeat that lasts a lifetime. Seven scaag, poised above Syl, their hearts hammering with bloodlust. Hearts I can sense, can see in my mind like little lights.

  Lights I snuff.

  The power in my soul darts out, seizes the scaag’s beating cores, and squeezes. Seven scaag hearts explode in their chests, and seven scaag fall, burying Syl in flesh.

  I’m not finished, not satisfied. I lift their bodies with my mind, pulling them from her. With a flick of that I only half understand, I send them hurtling against the outpost wall. They impact so hard that their bodies liquefy, splattering like grot
esque melons.

  Then I collapse. It’s too much. Too much. My heart is weak in my chest, and blood gouts from my nose, fills my mouth.

  “Sam!” Mika’s voice comes from a long distance, as does the sound of the door sliding open behind me.

  Dirt is hot under my cheek, baked by twin stars that watch impassively from far above. When did I fall over? I don’t remember. It doesn’t matter. I lay, watch the pile and hope. Ignoring the pain that flays my consciousness, so intense it’s abstract. Please, please… I pray I wasn’t too late.

  Mika paws at me, tries to pull me up. I hardly notice.

  Please.

  And then, a scaled arm raises.

  “Syl,” I whisper. A mistake, as even that leaves me coughing blood.

  She stands, terrible and magnificent. Her body is battered beyond recognition, so covered in blood that I can’t see her scales anymore. Her face is smashed, one eye closed and weeping. She looks like a corpse, like she should have been dead long ago.

  Yet, somehow, she steps forward.

  And falls.

  She tumbles down the pile of bodies, hitting the ground hard. There she rests, dying, tongue hanging limp from her mouth.

  Her remaining eye opens, locks on mine.

  Stand , I think. Stand up.

  Her mouth curls, so slight it’s almost imperceptible. The smallest of half smiles. Not without you.

  We are not dying here today.

  Mika rushes to her, takes her unhurt arm in her own, and pulls. Syl comes with her, unfolding like a broken shutter, and rests her weight heavily against Mika’s body.

  Just me left.

  I’m in terrible shape. Maybe dying, I don’t know. I shy away from examining everything wrong with me; my destroyed insides, what saving Syl did to me. It won’t matter in a few minutes. I’m not dead yet. I get my hands under me, rising to all fours. I hang there for a moment, blood trailing in a thick string from my lips.

  Just one more thing to do.

  Somehow, I’m on my feet. Into the building. Mika and Syl shuffle after me, as wrecked as I am. Above the door: 00:00:22.

  We rest against it, get our hands up, into place at the plate.

  It dissolves, and chased by renewed roars of the scaag, we fall through together.

  Into salvation.

  15

  Convalescence Field #4

  Aspirant #2239

  Room Timer: 00:10:00

  You’d think I’d be used to this by now.

  You’d be wrong.

  Everything, the respite area, my companions, even the floor beneath my back ceases to exist. I writhe, moaning, body rigid as the healing radiance puts my broken flesh back together. I exist in a cocoon of pain and heat, eyes shut so tight I’m afraid I’ll be blind when this torture is finally over.

  I can barely hold a thought as muscles knit and bones I hadn’t realized were broken set. My lungs, coughing blood moments ago, heal almost violently, and I take in one desperate gasp before they lock up, as frozen as the rest of me. My insides repair, slower than the rest, and I feel every bit of it; one more horrible memory I’m sure is going to leave me with PTSD or something. My weak heartbeat picks up tempo, sweet relief that’s short lived.

  All of this hurts like fuck, but it’s nothing compared to the ember of agony in my brain. I don’t know what the hell using my new ability did, but it feels like my mind is flayed, like my synapses have fried like bacon. The brain is impossibly complex, right? Is this going to leave me with brain damage? It’d be some kind of fucking heartlessness, giving me amazing powers and then leaving me a drooling vegetable if I use them, but I wouldn’t put it past the Citadel. But any fear I have of the healing being insufficient evaporates after only a few seconds as my thoughts clear, as the fugue of all this fades like darkness chased by the sun rising.

  It’d cold comfort. Brain repair with no anesthetic blows .

  I don’t know how much time passes. The pain fades, my muscles relax, and my heartbeat slows.

  I don’t want to open my eyes. Not yet. I know Mika and Syl are probably waiting for me, but for just a few moments, I want this peace to last. This place is a nightmare, and that was only the fourth trial, only the fourth “room,” and it was so, so bad.

  What will we face next?

  But maybe… I make fists, flex repaired muscles. Damn. They feel… Good. Like I’ve lifted weights every day of my life up to this point and ran a couple hundred marathons to boot. This “levelling up” is more profound than what’s come before. Even my mind feels noticeably sharper and quicker.

  I wonder if it has to do with how jacked up I got this time. Maybe the more damaged I am, the more I power up. Maybe letting myself get injured on purpose during the next trial…

  I shy away from that thought. My wounds may be gone, but the memory of them is not. I can still feel black metal separating my arms, can still feel my insides shredding as I saved Syl. The memories are fresh, vivid. Sharp panic clenches my throat.

  Nope. Not going to do that again if I can avoid it.

  “Sam.”

  The word is low, quiet, a long syllable that hangs on the S.

  Syl.

  I finally let myself open my eyes.

  She crouches next to me, hand to my shoulder, real worry in her eyes. “Sam, are you operational?”

  I laugh. It’s weak, but it feels good. “Yeah. Good to go.”

  Syl sits back on her haunches, nods. “Good. When your healing ended, but you did not wake, I worried… That the damage was too profound. That your mind may have been taken by the battle fear.”

  “Battle fear?” I ask, sitting, searching for Mika.

  She lays a short distance away, on her back. Her eyes are closed, lips parted, and if I couldn’t see her chest rise and fall with each breath, I’d be worried.

  “Yes,” Syl continues, turning to watch Mika with me. “When a warrior’s trials are too harrowing, when they cannot escape the memories of their wounds, of their terror… They change.” She looks away. “They are broken. I have… Struggled with it, myself. Since I died.”

  Her voice is ragged a moment, emotion I haven’t heard from her before. But I don’t know her well enough to press yet, so I lay I hand over hers and squeeze.

  Syl’s eyes widen in surprise. She tenses, almost jerking her hand away. Her scales are stiff, unyielding, but almost immediately relax, softening until they’re like pebbled skin. She’s warm, almost hot to the touch, and we sit frozen like that for a long time.

  I get the impression she’s not used to a gentle touch. She’s deadly, terrifying, a living weapon. I wonder how much of her existence before this was war. Whether she had lovers, someone close that touched her like this. She doesn’t move, and her slit eyes never leave my hand.

  I give her a last squeeze, then break contact. “Mika?”

  Syl shivers, closes her eyes a moment. “She lives. Her body is repaired. But the tree’s poison is potent, and it fights the healing. I do not know how long until she will wake.”

  “What’s the point? If the tree wasn’t real, was a construct of this place, why not just…” I make a fwipping noise with my lips. “Zap it out of her? Save her this torment?”

  “I do not know. Maybe the suffering is part whatever lesson we are being taught? There is much about this place I do not understand. When we escape, I will have… Questions. For whoever put us here.” She bares her teeth as she speaks, and her claws extend slowly, maybe unconsciously.

  “Glad I’m not that guy,” I smile and try to take the edge off.

  Syl stiffens. Her claws retract, and she ducks her head. “Yes. I would also regret that. I have not fought with you long, but you are worthy clan. Surprisingly dangerous, for softskins.”

  “I’m going to try to take that as a complement.”

  She blinks. “Why would you not?”

  I laugh quietly. “Never mind. Thanks, Syl. Anyway, what about you? Any love spores still rampaging in your veins?”

  She f
lexes. “No, not that I am aware of. My species is incredibly resilient to infection, and my dose was minor compared to hers.”

  I sit next to Mika, rest a hand on her bare stomach. Her arm is rigid at her side, trembling slightly, and though the rest of her is relaxed and repaired, it still has a sickly greenish hue and sweats like it ran a marathon without the rest of her body. She’s hot to the touch, and still smells strongly of salt and sex.

  My fingers slide idly over her skin, letting her know I’m there. I watch her face for some sign of recognition, some sign that she’s getting better, but aside from her quick breaths, there’s nothing.

  “You care for her.”

  “Yes,” I say, not looking up.

  Syl crouches across from me, something I can’t read in her alien features. “Did you know her, before this place?”

  “Nope. Only know her a few hours longer than you, actually. Woke up naked and scared shitless next to her, had never met her before that.”

  “It was the same for me.” She raises a hand, holds it still near mine where it rests on Mika. “Though, I was alone.”

  I finally look up. “The trials before meeting us…”

  Syl shudders. “Yes. As I said before. Three of them. The last one, I barely survived. That shadow creature, The Shepherd… I almost did not escape.”

  I remember, her tossed across the respite area like a rag doll as the Shepherd cut its way into the room. “Weird.”

  Syl frowns. “That I escaped? Why is that strange to you? I am a trained warrior, have survived many battles, and–”

  “Whoa, whoa, wait. Not that.” Damn, touched a nerve, there. I guess even aliens get sensitive when their badassitude gets questioned. “What I meant was, why not put us together from the start? Why introduce you so late?”

  Syl’s tongue flicks out unconsciously, and she lowers her eyes. “This,” she says, nodding to where my hand still rests at Mika’s belly. “Perhaps I would have been too much, would have ruined… This. What you two have built.” She sounds sad as she says this. “Trust.”

  She’s right. I mean, I would have been pretty head over heels for Mika no matter what. She’s incredible, the kind of person I’ve looked for my whole life and not realized it, and thrown into a place like this with only each other…