by Tristan Vick
“So, it was you!”
Raven didn’t reply. She merely looked down at him feeing nothing but disgust. This was the man who’d had her parents killed and who had made her life a living hell.
But even as she wanted nothing more than to reach down and rip off his pruney little ball sack and shove it so far up his ass he would choke on it, she knew that exacting revenge on him now would defeat her cause. A cause she believed in with all her heart and soul. A cause to unite the Commonwealth under a banner of peace rather than war.
Although she had to eat a big serving of humble-pie, she pushed down her feelings of rage and calmed herself with the appeasing knowledge that the time was fast approaching when he’d get precisely what was coming to him.
“Is there nothing you wouldn’t do for her?” he scoffed, imperiousness saturating his every word.
By her she knew he meant Jegra. But he’d asked the question with such disdain she had to fight the urge to chew him a new one. She couldn’t let his negativity get under her skin. If she did, then he’d use it against her. That’s what Dakroth did. He manipulated you until he turned you against yourself.
“Unlike you, Lord Emperor,” Raven said in a straight forward tone, “Jegra wins people over with love, not fear. You could learn a thing or two by following her example.”
Dakroth balked at the suggestion. Annoyed by her self-righteousness, and not wanting to get into a moral debate with her, he promptly changed the subject. “You realize, don’t you, that abducting me constitutes treason?”
“As I recall,” Raven said with a sly grin, “You were the one who absconded with me. Remember?”
Dakroth looked away. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Raven held up a small holovid projector in the palm of her hand and an image of Dakroth seducing her in the transportation room lit up in 3D, filling the space between them. “Maybe this will help jog your memory.”
“What’s this?” Dakroth growled, noticing that the disguise Raven had tricked him with didn’t show up on the video. It was just him and her, as she appeared to him now.
“Isn’t it obvious? It’s you seducing me, right before running off with me.”
And by the evidence playing on the video, it really did appear as though it was he who had seduced her. Conveniently enough, the two of them slipped off camera before it could show her dosing him. Then the image was filled by the golden flicker of the transportation beam dancing about the room. It all fit his modus operandi so well that he knew she was right. Nobody would believe him. Still, he couldn’t let her know she’d beaten him.
“Nobody will fall for that fabricated nonsense!”
“Maybe. Then, again, maybe not. But if anyone is tempted to look for you, they’ll quickly discover this holovid feed and will know exactly what happened. You seduced me and then whisked me away to your secret bedchamber for a more discrete liaison. And the wonderful thing about it is, nobody will think twice about it. They’ll merely say to themselves, there goes Lord Dakroth again, on another one of his many dalliances.”
Dakroth frowned, but managed to squeeze out a smile. “Well played, Ms. Nightguard, well played indeed.” Raven bowed her head, accepting his compliment and then turned as though she were going to leave. “Just one question,” Dakroth said, stopping her and bringing her attention back around to him. “How in the galaxy did you tap into my ship’s video feed, anyway? Military encryption is impossible to break.”
Raven smiled yet did not respond. She brushed the white tuft of hair back between the layers of her purple ombre and tucked it behind her ear. Then, taking out the hyper-air-spray from the side pocket of her vest, she looked down at Emperor Dakroth and said, “I’ll wake you again when I need you.”
“No, wait!” Dakroth pleaded, but it was too late. The hiss of the medical spray shooting into his leg silenced his protest. His eyelids fluttered and then, with one last heavy breath, he fell into a drug induced sleep.
“Now, to get out of these ridiculous clothes and take that hot shower,” she said, looking down in disgust at the skimpy nurse’s outfit she was still wearing. Tucking the hyper-air spray back into her pocket, she looked back at the lightly snoring emperor one last time and, then, turned to leave, the doors whisking open before her.
Once she was out in the corridor, she turned and secured the doors behind her. Pressing her purple finger onto the biometric scanner, the circuitry under her skin in her forearm lit up bright pink as she input an asymmetric encryption key that not even Skuld or Gyllek could crack.
Because, the truth of the matter was, if her and Jegra’s plan was going to work, she couldn’t risk anybody learning that she was holding the emperor captive aboard the Skywend. Not even her own crew.
35
A clear blue sky hung over the gladiatorial stadium in Arena City like a soothing blanket. Thorn birds, the only indigenous bird on the desert moon, flew across the sky and the steady buzz of Angorian cicada could be heard in the distance. From down in the arena, however, rose a cry so tortured that it ruined the peaceful scene with its dreadful shriek.
When Danica reached Jegra’s position she leapt into the air, roared out in rage, and thrust the arrow forward with all her strength.
In her mind she screamed for herself to stop, yet her body would not listen to her mind. It was as though she were possessed by some terrible force, and all it wanted to do was kill Jegra.
“Danica, stop!” Jegra said, leaping out of the way. “This isn’t you. It’s the poison. It’s poisoning your mind.”
Jegra’s pleas fell on deaf ears, however, and Danica merely took another swipe, aiming for Jegra’s neck. Jegra leaned back and then sidestepped Danica and slapped her on the ass, hard.
Danica stumbled forward, surprised by the familiar swat. Although it had nearly sent her toppling to the ground, she caught herself and spun around to face her opponent.
“I don’t want to have to hurt you, babe,” Jegra said, her hands raised defensively as she slowly eased away from Danica.
In the distance, Angor bleated and cackled as if he’d just heard the world’s funniest joke. Annoyed, Jegra shot him a menacing look over her shoulder and growled, “I’ll deal with you next!”
“Fine, fine,” he laughed, slapping his leg.
The twins began to rouse and sat up to see the red-skin woman, Ishtar, pinned against the far wall by both Salamandarians, the satyr rolling around in the dirt laughing hysterically, and the blue-skin, who was the empress’s best friend, fiercely attacking the empress. Helping his sister up, Apex asked, “What is going on here?”
“I have no idea,” Pallis answered, a slight frown settling onto her face as she tried to follow the chaos tearing up the battlefield. “Do you think we should intervene?” Pallis finally asked, turning toward her brother for confirmation.
Apex shook his head and then replied, “No, we’d best sit this one out until there’s a clear winner.”
Almost as soon as he finished saying it, he locked eyes with Angor. “Don’t even think about it!” he shouted, as the satyr snatched up his crossbow.
Apex began dashing straight for the goat, hoping to intercept him before he could get a shot off. But he was a few seconds too late. The arrow flew from the flight groove and streaked through the air. Apex raised his hand defensively, the arrow piercing his hand. Yelping from the pain, he stopped in his tracks, clutching his wrist. “You backstabbing little prick,” growled Apex. “We’re supposed to be on the same side!”
Angor simply kicked back his head and laughed. It was clear he’d lost his mind. Probably the trauma of losing his longtime companion. Either way, sane or not, Apex didn’t have time for games. But he suddenly felt weary.
“W-what is happening?” he asked, his vision beginning to blur.
“Same mind-control serum that I hit the blue-skin with.”
“But I’m already trying to kill the empress…” he said, staggering sideways, as if he lost his footing,
before catching himself.
“I don’t want you to kill the empress,” Angor said placidly, a sinister grin curling onto his goat face. “I want you to fuck and kill your sister. Strangulation sounds nice. Who knows, knowing you two, she might even enjoy it.”
A horrified look came over Pallis’s face as her brother tore the arrow out of his hand and turned toward her with that hungry look in his eyes.
“No, Apex. Don’t!” she pleaded.
But Apex moved so fast she barely had time to react. He pounced on her and they tumbled to the ground. She scrambled back, trying to get out from under him, but he threw himself on top of her and prevented her from getting away. Soon enough, one hand clutched her throat and, at the same time, she felt his other hand pull away her loincloth.
“Apex, no,” she wheezed, clutching his forearm to prevent him from crushing her larynx. But even though she struggled against her brother’s grip, his hand squeezed her neck so tightly she couldn’t breathe.
If fighting to breathe wasn’t difficult enough, Pallis cringed when she felt a different pain. She groaned out loud when her brother forced himself inside of her. It wasn’t the first time they’d made love, but it was the first time it was done in such a humiliating fashion. Still, she let him do it. There was no point in resisting. Not now.
She looked over at Jegra, a fleeting glance that almost seemed apologetic in nature, then, grasping her brother’s other hand, she brought it up to her neck and helped him place it around her throat.
“Do it,” she whispered, her voice coming out raspy through a strained larynx. If it had to be this way, then she was glad it was him.
Angor began laughing even more as he watched the madness he had sewn. Reloading the crossbow, he turned toward the Salamandarian girls and, without so much as a moment’s hesitation, shot the red one in the back of the head.
The blue girl cried out in shock, seeing her sister go down. She turned to see who had shot her teammate but took an arrow in the neck before she could turn all the way around.
Stunned, she reached up and tried to catch the torrent of blood gushing out of her neck wound in her hands, but it just flowed between her fingers like a sticky crimson waterfall. Gurgling, she tried to speak, but her words were inaudible.
Ishtar watched her fall face first into the dirt next to her partner and almost laughed at the stupid look frozen on the girl’s face. Refocusing her attention on the chaos happening around her, she looked up in time to see an arrow arcing through the air for her. She reflexively leaned to the side and watched it impregnate the wall with its poisoned tip.
Ishtar bent down and slid the spiked morning star tail-guard off the dead combatant at her feet and fixed it to her right hand. “I’ll be taking this, if you don’t mind.” Swiveling around, she eyed the satyr with a ravenous look and licked her lips.
Startled by the wild look in her eyes, Angor reached back to pluck another arrow from his quiver but came up empty. “Graddack!” Not waiting for Ishtar to bash his skull in, he turned and loped away.
Ishtar ignored the satyr, who was already racing toward the weapons rack to fetch himself something to fight with, and ran straight up to the weak-minded green-skin asshole raping his own sister.
She unfastened the spiked ball from the fixture in the gauntlet and let the chain rattle out until it stopped just above the ground. Slowly, Ishtar began to swing her arm in steady arcs until the morning star picked up momentum and began spinning in full circles. Getting her hips into the act, Ishtar gyrated and tilted with the spiked ball as she swung it in a wide arc, spinning with it like a pirouetting ballet dancer. And with a powerful swing of the spiked ball she whipped it around so fast that if anyone blinked, they would have missed it. A tortured sounding scream rose from the back of her throat and she dug in her feet, took the chain in both hands, and drove a four-inch spike right into Apex’s temple.
The young man’s eyes widened with astonishment, the thought of what had just transpired not seeming to register due to the amount of damage done. A gurgle escaped his lips and then he slowly slumped to the side, falling off his sister.
Pallis scurried to her knees and then crawled over to her dead brother, ignoring the trauma he’d just inflicted on her. Gore oozed from the hole in his head and began to puddle at his sister’s green knees.
“Nooo!” she screamed in a hoarse voice. Then, her head hanging between her shoulders, she began sobbing deep, painful sobs. As a torrent of tears streamed down both cheeks, she sniffled and said in a meager voice, “Don’t leave me, brother. Not like this.”
As she wept for her dead brother, the spiked morning star landed directly on top of her head with a bone fracturing crack. Her eyes rolled back as it tore out of her skull and, losing the back of her skull in the process, she fell across her brother’s chest. A final embrace before their souls were ushered into the afterlife.
Ishtar brought the red dripping ball to her mouth and licked off Pallis’s blood. Grinning, her white teeth mottled with crimson, she turned toward the remaining contestants. Noticing Angor pick up a spear, Ishtar leaped over the twins and sprinted for the goat.
Angor turned in time to see the wild-eyed red-skin racing toward him. Launching the spear, he grinned as it grazed her left arm. But she ignored the scrape and continued for him, full speed ahead.
“Shit,” he grumbled, scouring the weapons rack to try and find something else he could use before the psychopath could pick him off. Fetching a dagger from off the rack, he spun back around just in time to take a mouthful of spiked ball.
Angor flew up into the air, teeth and blood exploding out of his face. His tiny goat body crashed to the ground with a thud, and he fought off the blurriness best he could. All manner of shapes and colors came in and out of focus, until, finally, he looked up to find Ishtar standing over him. An excited grin pulling her thin lips tight across her blood-soaked teeth as she stared down at him. She wasn’t a warrior. She was a rabid animal. Chuckling, he spat at her feet and then hissed through his remaining teeth, “Go ahead, you insane cunt.”
Ishtar’s already impossibly tight grin tightened even more. “My pleasure,” she growled in a disturbingly deep voice.
A wet crunch sounded as she brought the morning star down on Angor’s face. The crowd let loose a round of cheers for the gruesome deathblow.
Four down and two to go, Ishtar turned and flung the morning star to the ground. Looking up, she watched Jegra put Danica in a choke hold.
Danica kicked her legs and scratched behind her head in a desperate attempt to try and break free of Jegra’s sleeper hold, but it was no use. Jegra both outweighed and out powered her. Soon enough, her body grew lethargic and she felt herself gradually slipping away.
“Sorry, my love,” Jegra whispered, gently laying Danica’s limp body onto the arena sands. Putting her ear to Danica’s chest, she checked to see if she was still with her. The sound of a heartbeat and soft breathing confirmed the good news and Jegra let out a sigh of relief.
“Now it’s just me and you,” Ishtar said, pointing her finger at Jegra as though she were issuing a challenge.
Jegra slowly stood up, holding Ishtar’s gaze the whole time, and watched as the televid drones swooped in to get a closeup of the inevitable showdown between the two most vicious warriors the arena had ever seen.
“If you’ll recall,” Jegra said, “the last time we faced off, I handed you your ass.”
Ishtar laughed. “Last time, I didn’t have this.” Throwing out her arm, Ishtar’s bio-organic limb changed shapes and transformed into a long sword. Whipping her arm back, the sword separated into a series of segmented blades all strung to a chord. Swinging her giant razor whip about in a figure eight, she let it go with a crack so loud it sounded like thunder.
With no time to react, Jegra leaped out of the way and tumbled to the ground. When she looked up again, she saw the series of blades grating through the sand as Ishtar reeled them back in.
Worried about Danica�
�s safety, Jegra pushed up and charged Ishtar. She arrived within striking distance at the same time Ishtar had fully retracted her blade. The sword changed forms and a battle-axe appeared on the end of Ishtar’s forearm.
Barely skidding to a stop in time, Jegra leapt back just as Ishtar swung her axe-hand. Ishtar moved too quickly though, and Jegra yelped as a deep gouge opened up along her abdomen.
“Ha!” Ishtar laughed. “Whose ass is getting handed to them now?”
The empress looked down at her bleeding gut and pressed her hands against the wound. Removing her hands a few seconds later, revealed that the wound was already beginning to mend. “You’ll have to do better if you want to best me,” Jegra taunted.
Ishtar laughed. Then, through gritted teeth she answered, “Challenge accepted.”
Not wanting the royal pain in her ass to get the upper hand, Ishtar launched a series of relentless attacks. But for every move, Jegra had a counter-move. After several minutes of lacerating blows, she began to tire. Jegra was just too fast and too strong to take down with brute force.
Ishtar had never seen anything like it. The empress was maddeningly difficult to kill. Growing frustrated, she threw out her arm and it transformed into a crossbow. A series of red arrows launched in rapid succession.
At close range, Jegra wasn’t able to avoid the arrows, so she used her forearm to catch them all like a pin-cushion. “Ahhg!” she cried out in agony, as five arrows jutted out of her arm like porcupine quills.
All of sudden the arrows exploded one-by-one. Jegra screamed and turned her face away as her flesh sheared from bone in a terrible blast of fire and smoke. By the time the smoke dissipated on the breeze, from the elbow up, only her skeletal limb remained.
Unable to fire any more explosive tipped arrows, and unable to change her arm again due to the fact that each arrow used up a portion of the mass of her prosthetic, Ishtar reached up and twisted her fake arm just below the shoulder. It unhinged with a click and she dropped it to the ground.