by Scott Moon
“Please!” shouted the man as he tripped and fell.
Droon jumped on the man’s back with both feet, but gently enough to spare his life. A fraction of his weight impacted his victim, like a cat-creature’s paws pattering across a floor. Later, Droon would smash the spine and tear it free of the body.
It was enough for the soldier flee in panic — so rare with all of these Mazz and Earth Fleet warriors. “Break and run! I see you. Droon sees your dreams!”
He stalked the man for another day, wearing him down until, separated from his unit and full of despair, the Mazz soldier no longer kept his eyes open as he ran. In the darkest, quietest part of the Crashdown night, the soldier slept where Droon squatted over his body and sniffed his fear with wet nostrils flaring in the starlight.
Licking the man’s neck caused a violent spasm, but not enough to wake him. Droon watched. He waited. He savored the moment.
And then the dreams came in a violent torrent like water surging from a dam. For one instant, there was a second Droon — fierce and deadly — but unlike images in any of Droon’s previous victims, the scene was faded and distant.
Something else dominated the man’s psyche. Something like Droon, but larger and flecked with fire like a Slomn-da.
Far in the back of Droon’s awareness was an eclipse. His mind was the brilliant sun of Crashdown that changed year after year after year. He could not remember all the times that the light followed dark or that the dark preceded the light. The memory seemed eternal. It did not matter. What terrified Droon was knowledge of the vision.
In this man’s nightmare was a too-large Reaper with eyes that did more than glow with the malevolence of Hellsbreach. At the creature’s core was fire, burning like the sun that Droon could only stare into and fear.
Droon has no fear.
He trembled.
Droon is a liar. Droon lies to Droon!
For reasons he did not understand, he searched the Mazz soldier’s mind for memories of Kin-rol-an-da and saw his constant enemy at the head of a human battle formation. Sitting back on his haunches, Droon exhaled. He narrowed his gaze and forced himself to remember that his victim was sleeping and only dreamed. It was too easy to slip into the dream. After the recent battle, Droon knew little difference between the nightmares he invaded and the landscape he roamed.
Thousands of his Kindred scattered across the Crashdown planet after the Great Battle. Some lurked on the edges of the field tormenting injured souls. Others fled Clingers. Droon hated them because they were weak. More of his kind fled the parasitic killers than he wanted to admit.
The Kindred are strong. Stronger than Kin-rol-an-da’s people.
Droon marveled at the eclipse in his mind and relaxed. He looked around for his people but could not sense them. They are hunting. Soon they will need to be led by Droon again.
The sleeping soldier convulsed so violently that he sat up in his sleep and pitched to one side. His voice shrieked at the moons above, then he crumpled. Droon adjusted his position to avoid the flailing arms and legs. He moved closer. Closer. Closer. He squatted on his victim’s chest. Bending forward and opening his double-hinged jaws, Droon covered the man’s face and tasted his trembling sweat.
The dream crashed into Droon’s awareness, running beneath the Hellsbreach eclipse. Violence and blood were everywhere. The raw power of the nightmare should have been glorious. Energy should gorge his psyche and his soul, cause his heart to race and his muscles to twitch and the grooves of micro-teeth in his throat to click viciously. The scene was paradise to Droon until he understood the realm of fear could never be his dominion. Another creature stalked the inner mind of the soldier. The Reaper with the core of fire had not pursued this man for days, yet commanded the man’s attention. All the man’s imagination was obsessed with the terror he sought to escape so that even while awake and free of nightmares, part of him remained obligated to feeding the Reaper with the core of fire – the Burning One.
The Burning One. Droon hated this name for the stranger. The creature was not a Reaper. Too big. Its spots were shaped like a warrior’s spots but were scales much harder than a Clinger’s carapace or a human’s ceramic and steel armor. Under the scales, fires burned like the sun behind the darkening eclipse.
Droon jumped back. When he realized he had retreated from a sleeping victim, he slaughtered the man. Anger powered his claws and his tearing bites that shredded the soldier before he awakened.
Not a good kill.
Droon did not care. Something was wrong. Something worse than Kin-rol-an-da. In that moment of clarity, he understood much about the human. There were many things about the Enemy of Man that he did not like. If Droon knew how to laugh, he would laugh now.
And cry.
Drunk with confusion and revelation, Droon sorted the detritus of his victim’s memories. He saw the Burning One again — saw it breaking free of the Earth Fleet troopers who had taken it prisoner.
Good. Now Droon can kill it.
He sensed the wave of fear breaking before the new monster. Narrowing his eyes, he considered another thing he could do.
Feed on the fear as it spreads. Then destroy the crossbreed abomination. Droon picked a human bone from his teeth without considering it as he once might have done. Droon can destroy the Burning One.
Shaking with agitation, he searched the trail behind him for followers. It was like something Kin Roland would do, a good idea, but inspired by fear. What kind of Reaper King is Droon?
RUNNING now, Droon sought other victims. He raced across the Crashdown landscape with more urgency than he had ever experienced. A group of Wingers burst into the air at his approach. They watched him. He sensed them watching him. With uncharacteristic caution, they retreated.
Droon interrupted a group of soldiers, either humans or Mazz — he no longer cared about the difference — as they raped a woman. Droon slaughtered them all and never looked for the woman or her dreams. None of these humans held dreams or memories of the Burning One. And yet they dreaded the creature as though it was a storm on the horizon or a plague that would kill every one of their kind.
The Burning One will feed on the Kindred. Droon stopped and turned in a circle to see where he was. Running blindly was the wrong thing to do. He scented the air, looked for movement in the darkness, and felt for vibrations in the ground beneath his feet. The potential of death existed in many directions. He ran toward the last place he had seen Kin-rol-an-da, not understanding why and not caring.
Hours later, he found an Earth Fleet trooper flinching his way through a dream landscape. Slipping into his nightmare was easy. Time distorted. Droon’s perspective was both limitless and focused; he could see the smallest detail and the largest panoramic vistas, but it was all one thing. The man turned toward him, aware that this was a dream but also his death. With dark circles around his eyes and movement weighed down by fatigue, the soldier could no longer flee the Burning One.
He approached Droon instead, slowly at first. And then at a dead run. “Help me!”
Droon stumbled backward, unable to conceive of a victim asking for his help.
“Help me!” This time, the force of the man’s words struck like an avalanche.
The Reaper-like Slomn charged onto the landscape in search of prey. When it saw Droon, it stopped, narrowed its burning-star eyes, and rushed forward.
Droon wanted to retreat. He understood they were all in the mindscape of the wounded soldier. The visions seemed real, and he knew they might kill him, but it was a dream. It was Droon’s kingdom. In dreams, no one was mightier than Droon.
Until now.
“This way!” the dreaming man said. He fled toward a temporary city — arms flailing and feet tripping — that had not been there before but did exist somewhere in the real world.
You will die, but Droon will live. He left the dream and disappeared into the night to watch the man startle from sleep and stagger forward. The Burning One, the Reaper that was a Slomn, raced
down a steep mountainside. He gained on his victim like an adult predator chasing a helpless lamb through darkness.
Droon followed. Fire leaked from the seams of the creature’s scale-spots. It ran like a Reaper, although it never seemed to tire and it was prone to smashing through trees and other obstructions rather than run around them. It caught the man in an Earth Fleet camp. The temporary structures were hardened against artillery strikes. What wasn’t underground was buried with sand bags and prefabricated armor panels.
The Burning One ripped the roof from a shelter and kicked down a wall. In it went, coming out as blood and body parts flew through the air. The original victim was dead, Droon thought. The attack happened so fast and with such senseless directness that it confused Droon for several moments.
He calmed himself and settled onto his haunches to watch. His hunger would wait. His injuries would heal more slowly, but he would remain Droon as he always had. This new monster was not something he could understand — not like he understood Droon and Kin-rol-an-da and the home world.
CHAPTER TEN
Rickson
WATCHING Earth Fleet gather the Toines, Marceau, Philapo, and Reginald families into lines and march them off was the hardest thing Rickson ever did. There had been a confusing time when he wasn’t sure if he had a crush on Gabby Toines or wanted her to be his mother. She was ten years older, and he was an orphan. He watched Johnson-Smith argue with Fleet officers and prayed the man wouldn’t fight. He was carpenter, bricklayer, and welder with big hands and broad shoulders, but not a fighter like Kin.
“We did the right thing,” he said.
Ogre huffed.
Rickson scratched behind the dog’s ears without rising from his prone position. Kin had taught him how to lie flat, legs spread behind him with toes out to each side and heels down like a sniper. The lesson hadn’t been intentional. He had watched Kin and imitated everything that seemed to have a military use.
Ogre huffed without rising from his own position of stealth. His muzzle hovered over his bandaged forelegs as his body shifted anxiously.
Rickson turned his head, aware that sudden movements drew attention, and stared at the dog. What was the animal trying to say? Why was he in a bad mood?
“I know you found Kin. I saw the entire mess. What could I do?”
Ogre put his chin on his paws and dog-grumbled.
“We got Smith and the others away from the Mazz. They weren’t going to avoid Earth Fleet forever and, to be honest, I’m not sure this planet is safe now. Everything is changing.”
He watched the people of Crater Town being marched away like prisoners, lacking only tied hands and guards with whips. He spotted a Mazz patrol sneaking through a grove of trees along the path of his friends and neighbors and was glad Earth Fleet — even if they weren’t friends to Crater Town — were here to protect them from the common enemy.
“Time to make ourselves scarce.”
He backed away from the ridge and searched for a trail that hadn’t seen Earth Fleet, Mazz, or Reaper feet for a while. Three times he avoided Mazz soldiers. Each day, he observed Westwood’s force and the expanding operations of the Mazz. The new Earth Fleet ships remained apart from the others. Before the Bleeding Grounds battle, he would have sought Kin’s advice. Those days were over. He needed to make his own decisions, even if that meant he stayed on Crashdown without a single companion.
“Do you smell something?” he asked.
Ogre cocked his head and picked his way through a tangle of underbrush. Rickson followed at a distance, trusting the animal’s skill and judgment.
What he saw in the secluded clearing confused him.
For a moment, it seemed he was looking at two versions of William. Orlan’s son rarely left the side of the Mazz Emperor, and only by trickery. Watching the boy change shape and fool his guards had been Rickson’s primary entertainment for several days.
This was different. There were two Williams.
Then there was William and Iso-tri-tross, the shape changer enslaved by the Mazz.
William became Iso and Iso became William. The process repeated several times.
“I want to hear what they are talking about,” Rickson said.
Ogre didn’t move. He held the position he assumed just before going after a rabbit, head down, one foot raised, eyes unblinking. A bird landed on a branch, hopped around as birds do, and took flight. The gray-winged creature wasn’t as smart as a hopper bird, all of which had vanished not long after Earth Fleet arrived. Rickson wondered if the messengers had been captured or destroyed, as Kin claimed.
Ogre crept forward two paces. Rickson followed.
They held their position until Rickson feared the boy and the Mazz spies would finish their conversation and leave before he could learn their purpose.
What are you two doing?
“This is dangerous, boy,” Iso said.
“You don’t have to help me,” William said.
Iso laughed. “I’m in no danger. There are two shapeshifters able to surpass my skill, and only one with my experience. I could be the Emperor if I wanted.”
“You shouldn’t brag.” William gripped his hands together as though praying, but the tension in the boy’s face belied religion. Rickson felt for the kid; he had experienced his own dark and lonely place and could see the son of Orlan was ready to give up.
“That job is already taken,” William said without looking up. His entire body trembled, clenched against fear, and darkness spread over his expression.
Iso cleared his throat and looked around like a thief or traitor caught in the act. “Okay, so I couldn’t be the Emperor. Why would I want to?” He paused. “I can be you, for a time, but we will both die if you’re caught.”
“What if you’re caught?”
Iso laughed.
“Kin Roland protected the people of Crater Town,” William said.
“He killed your father,” Iso said.
“I don’t believe that.” William backed away from the older shapeshifter and performed one of the disturbing tricks that unsettled Rickson. The boy didn’t change into a Reaper, not on the outside. It was as though he took the form of a monster beneath his skin and was ready to explode.
Rickson pulled back, careful not to reveal himself. He stopped after moving only a few inches. Without blinking, he waited for the worst to happen.
Ogre whimpered.
“The Omega says he did. That is enough for you,” Iso said.
A figure materialized in the shadows near the two shapeshifters, or that was what Rickson’s mind tried to tell him. The harder he looked at the specter, the more his mind blocked out everything. He was about to pass out — and he never passed out — not from exhaustion, not from blood loss, and especially not from fear.
Eyes moved like the glow of two small lamps recently extinguished. The dark creature blinked, then turned to Iso. “It is good enough for you as well, yes?”
Iso fell to his knees, then stretched out on his stomach with his face buried in the surface of Crashdown. William squatted and whimpered. Trembling, the boy could not turn away from the manifestation of terror.
“This isn’t good,” Rickson whispered as he put his hand on the back of the dog’s neck. The animal trembled once, then relaxed.
“Omega, forgive my arrogance,” Iso said.
Silence.
The shape moved closer until Rickson observed similarities between the newcomer and William’s recent metamorphosis. Omega was the size and shape of the Mazz Emperor, with every feature rendered in dark, glossy blue — like midnight poured from a jar.
“Are you my rival?” Omega asked.
“No, Lord!”
“Are you my equal?”
“No, Lord!”
“Are you ready to die?”
Iso’s hesitation was short. “Yes, Lord!”
Omega walked around Iso-tri-tross several times, looking down, curling his lips in a brief sneer before all evidence of emotion vanished. He
moved to William and pushed the boy into a prone position so that he lay face down beside Iso.
“The Rage has allowed himself to be captured against my wishes. Do you also defy me?”
“No, Lord!” Iso said. “The Rage cannot be captured or defeated. No human, Reaper, or Slomn can stand against him!”
“Him?” Omega asked.
“It, Lord. I meant to say it,” Iso whispered.
Omega stood above William. “I will allow your little adventure. Spy on the Enemy of Man but do nothing to alert him of my presence until the time is right.”
William, if he was able to answer, chose not to.
A moment later, the shapeshifter called Omega was gone. Rickson remained motionless until Iso and William left the area.
“Are you scared, dog?” Rickson asked.
Ogre huffed indignantly.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Mistakes Were Made
“No one must hear what I tell you now,” the Mazz Emperor said. He appeared confident, despite his proximity to the most deadly and treacherous man in the galaxy.
Kin studied the room, looking for a trap, searching for hidden bodyguards with drawn weapons.
“Do you know why you were selected to destroy Hellsbreach? Do you understand why you were ordered to remain on the planet until it was done?” the Emperor asked.
“I try not to think about it,” Kin said, moving closer to the door.
“Perhaps your ignorance is for the best,” the Emperor said. “Or perhaps not. The reason, Kin Roland, is that when you die, so do the Reapers. Your captivity changed you. This change would never have been possible for anyone else. One in a thousand might survive, but none could hold the Reaper Blood Knowledge as you did. Why is that?”
“I’m just lucky,” Kin said.
The Emperor smiled. “You are the last of your line and stronger than your predecessors.”