by T C
It all felt so real, memories of previous couplings merging with her fantasy to the point she could actually feel his cock inside her. She was close now, gasping and moaning and trembling as she chased her climax.
At the same time her nerves beseech her release, her senses caught something else. Someone else, nearby. It was an effort to stop, as she tried to focus on the unexpected presence. Part of her thought it might be Quentin. Wished it were Quentin. Wished he were here, now, to take her into his arms and make love to her the rest of the night, consequences be damned. She just wanted to be Kaydia again, one last time…
Three heartbeats. Not Quentin then. Disappointment took a backseat to concern, as she eased herself from her bath. Had someone discovered what she had done at the Porish residence? But as she opened her mind to see the intruders she was hit with a cold bitter wind psionically, and she knew who was here for her was far worse than the bodyguards of a wealthy executive. What the fuck had she stumbled into?
Scarlet barely had time to tie on a robe before the door opened in on her, a mountain of a man closing in on her. She saw the flicker of silver as he pulled his plasma blade, and flew into a shoulder tackle before he could ignite it. She slammed him into the back wall, twisting his fist into his chest so his blade seared into him, watching briefly as the light left his eyes. To her right she heard the snap hiss of two more plasma blades stirring, and she had to jump to her left to avoid a slash from a woman with blue hair and burning orange eyes. The heated blade caught only her robe, incinerating her last defense as she rolled behind her bed.
A pale human male jumped at her, an overhead strike that she could not defend against. She psionically pushed him with all her might, sending him through the window with his own momentum on her seventh-floor room. The remaining woman responded in kind, sending Scarlet into the far wall. Scarlet was just able to roll out of the way as the woman brought down her weapon, leaping to her feet and towards the door. Her fingers gripped the knob, slippery from her bath and from the sweat of the fight. As twisting failed her, she felt the burning blade sink into her thigh, her body collapsing as it could no longer hold up her weight.
She turned as slumped against the door, catching the sadistic smile on the face of her attacker. “The famed Scarlet is mortal after all. Hmm, the flavor of your fear is lovely.” Unwilling to die just yet, Scarlet found the plasma blade of her first attacker, pulling towards her and igniting it in a single motion. It caught the woman in the back, as it moved to Scarlet’s hand, severing her spine before she could move to finish her off.
Alive, but barely, there wasn’t any time to rest. She examined her injury, relieved that the heat of the plasma blade prevented much blood loss. That her leg wasn’t completely sheared off was a miracle, and she focused her power to mending the slash. Muscle and skin bonded and repaired itself, closing the injury. She didn’t have it in her to completely heal her leg, but it was enough to stand and walk on it, limping a bit. Exhaling hard, she forced herself up, managing to tie a wrap dress around her.
These people weren’t Digital Sun. This was something far darker than the criminal organization, something far more sinister. Whatever Quentin was investigating was catching up to her, and she knew now that she needed his help, if there was hope to survive. Collecting her plasma blade and the holodisk, she left to seek him out, hobbling along on her injured leg.
***
The shower wasn't helping. Not really. The needle jets of nearly scalding water lashed his skin, bringing a reddish cast to hi mahogany skin, and it did nothing to calm his whirling thoughts. He could taste her, feel her skin sliding against his, and he hardly noticed as his hand curled around the steel bar of his shaft. He braced himself against the wall, pounding his meat into his hand as he imagined - felt - her slick heat gripping and squeezing him.
The water was like fingers, like the soft heat of her body, as it coursed over him. He gasped, thrusting harder and faster into his fist, the distorted echoes of his self-pleasure transforming into her cries of passion as he drew closer and closer. She moaned into his ear as he fucked her into the glass, her lewd demands and the jealous eyes of the other guests driving him to new heights. "They're watching," he breathed. "Does that make you hot? You like getting fucked, where everyone can see how much you love this thick cock?"
Her head rolled back, a keening cry tearing from her throat as they neared completion, and then the illusion was gone. He gasped, grunting in shock as his cock pulsed in his grip and his semen spurted against the wall in thick jets. When he finished, he splashed water on the wall and cleaned off, then began toweling himself off mechanically.
What was that all about? Well, he understood. But... he hadn't jerked off like that since... well, since... since the assassins arrived.
The last thought propelled him into action. He hurled himself to the ground, reaching out with Psionics as the door of his suite exploded in. Three of them, he saw as his plasma blade flew towards his hand. Three men, all bearing plasma blades of their own. "No you don't, Justiciar!" one of them snarled as, reaching out, he redirected the flying weapon.
Quentin's eyes went wide as he realized they had some Psionic training of their own. But he was moving as he realized it, the bracelets on his wrist opening into mesh gloves just in time to block his first attacker. A pale crimson blade snapped and hissed as he deflected it with his palms and he used the shock that resulted to drive his fingers into the man's throat, crushing his larynx before snapping his elbow.
The dead weight of the gagging man became a makeshift shield, blocking the other man's strike as he ducked under the third's slash. Stomping down, he popped the dead man's plasma blade up and caught it, igniting it in just enough time to parry the human's overhead stroke. Before he could riposte, though, the third was driving him back with a flurry of blows.
Quentin gave ground, but knew he couldn't do so for long. The suite wasn't that big. So he batted a stroke aside and stepped in, driving a thumb into the man’s eye. There was a wet pop and a sizzle, and the harrowed screamed and staggered back. Then there was a crimson blade in his field of vision, and Quentin barely parried the living assassin’s blow. Lightning flickered and strobed as blades connected, and then Quentin spun his blade around the human's and lunged. The man went pale as the blade speared into his chest and then tore out.
A roar of fury caught Quentin, and he struggled desperately as long, thick arms wrapped around him and lifted him from the ground. "Gonna kill you, Justiciar!" the wounded assassin bellowed. "Snap your bones. And eat your heart!"
It wasn't an idle boast. Quentin could feel his ribs creak under the powerful grip, and his captured plasma blade had petered out in nerveless fingers. Spots danced before his eyes, and it was more luck than skill that flailing feet caught and kicked at the wall. Even then, had the assassin not tripped over a dead comrade, things would have gone poorly. Instead, Quentin managed to twist and drive his psionically-shielded fists into the man's face. Once. Twice. The third blow cracked the thick skull and the fourth crushed it in.
Gasping for breath, Quentin stared around the room. Justiciar. They'd said Justiciar. Which meant that, even though he'd been victorious, Harlan Kwan-Don was of necessity dead. Because he was known, now.
Moving swiftly, Quentin pulled on a nondescript grey jumpsuit and buckled his utility belt. Justiciar, he thought as he slipped his plasma blade into a thigh pouch. They'd said Justiciar. He was hunting a Apostate Lord, and Psionic-sensitive assassins had come to kill him. To kill a Justiciar. But... how had they known?
His blood went cold as he realized the only possible answer.
Kaydia.
Emotions Running High
Immediately, Scarlet identified a problem with her plan to run to Quentin for help. Well, a problem besides her inability to run at the moment. How could she find him? There was one way, and her stomach twisted in knots to consider it. She could reach for him, in the psionics. Open her mind to the way the psionics ebbed and flowed aro
und her. It was terrifying, to have her mind so open, after spending months trying to keep Linora out. But as she limped through the halls of the hotel, she knew there wasn’t another way.
Opening herself, she was immediately hit with rage and violent intentions. He was close…and in danger! She pushed herself, wincing each time her wounded leg touched the ground. Bursting into the stairwell, she cringed as she felt his presence three floors above her. Fuck, she really could have gone for some inertia now. It would dull the pain, and make it easier to get to him. But it would also make her unable to care if she got to him, unable to motivate herself to fight or help him. Breathing deep, she climbed the stairs, each step agony, but not slowing her pace, despite the way still healing muscles begged for mercy. Still it took her longer to get to his floor than it had taken her to scale the building starting at the ground floor earlier.
Fear and hatred radiated from a room, his room, most likely. It was hard to tell how many heartbeats there were, as violence raged on. Staggering, knowing she was reopening the wound, but not caring, so long as she got to Quentin in time. The door was still opened, and she could smell the death and ozone seeping out of the room. Plasma blade in hand, ignited in pure crimson fury, she burst into his room.
“Quentin?!”
***
He was grabbing the last of his emergency kit, the feel of a presence seeking him in the Psionics driving him to faster action, when the door flew open.
Ten minutes ago, he'd hoped to hear her voice again. He'd dreamed of hearing her voice again. But that was before he'd realized she'd betrayed him. Sent the assassins, or given his identity to the one who had. It wasn't the voice of Kaydia, not anymore. It was the voice of Scarlet he heard, as she stood there with crimson-blade ignited and braced in a battle stance. Scarlet, feared assassin of the Digital sun, come looking for him. He could sense that in her mind, mingled with fear and rage.
"Scarlet," he answered, turning to face her. And then psionics flowed through him, striking with power enough to slam the bodies of the dead into the far wall as he drove her back into the hallway. The sound of pain she uttered as she slammed into the far wall pierced him like a blade, and he forced himself to harden his heart against it. Scarlet was a killer, pure and simple. He'd seen her kill, and he knew he had to strike without hesitation if he hoped to live.
The Psionics lent speed to his motions, and he crossed the distance between them as she was still rebounding from the wall. His own plasma blade ignited an actinic blade as he swept it up. "I trusted you!" he cried, agony in his voice as he slashed downwards. "I looked for you!"
***
“Scarlet.”
The name stung as he spoke it, echoing the way Linora had reinforced the assassin identity with unending terror and suffering. She froze, briefly incapacitated by memories of agony, long enough for him to push her back into the hallway wall. The unexpected impact drew a pained cry from her lips, mingling with confusion of why he was attacking her. Looking into his eyes for answers, she found only bitter pain.
She was just able to bring up her plasma blade to defend herself, straining against her leg threatening to go out underneath her again.
“I trusted you! I looked for you!” He screamed in her face.
“You looked for me?” She managed, finding that core of despair to draw renewed strength from. “When? Where?” She lashed back at him, forcing him back with the fury of her strikes. “Did you think to check if Linora took me back to Miruta? You know, that place where we met?”
“What is it, Quentin? Couldn’t be bothered to confirm my death? Must be easy for you. Just write me off as dead to assuage your guilt in giving up on me.” The pain in her leg was distant now, fueling her as she drove him back, until he was pushed against the wall. He moved to strike back, and she moved to parry, only for him to feint, knocking her off balance. He stood over her, the blue light of his blade filling the halls, distorting his features until they were monstrous. She kicked at his knee before he could bring his weapon down, dragging him down to the floor with her. Screaming as the gash in her thigh pulled, she crawled over him, punching him in the gut, again and again.
“I betrayed her for you, and you left me to rot. I choose you over her, and how do you think she repaid me?” She screamed, feeling every violation on her skin all at once. Hammering it into him, fists connecting with his ribs. “You told me you loved me! That you needed me! Yet you abandoned me, you sanctimonious Justiciar fuck!”
He deflected her punch, sending her off balance, enough that she fell against the wall. “Again…” she gasped, sitting up as he got to his feet, watching the plasma blade fly to his hand. Her thigh was soaking with her blood now, and she wasn’t sure she could stand again. “I betrayed her. I couldn’t kill you, so they sent assassins after us…”
Quentin screamed in pain as her heel slammed into his knee, and the only thing that saved it from breaking was crashing heavily to the ground. Even with that the joint felt like it was aflame. Before he could recover, she was on him, her fists hammering into his gut and chest with Psionically-augmented strength as she hurled accusations of her own at him. With an effort he batted her fist aside and slammed her into a wall with his shoulder, using the twist to bring him to his feet
"Is that what you tell yourself?" he demanded, calling his plasma blade to his hand once more. His knee throbbed, and the stabbing pain in his ribs made it hard to catch his breath. "Are those the lies you told yourself, to justify embracing that bitch?"
He staggered a little as he ignited his plasma blade, catching himself on the wall as his knee rebelled. "I tore Miruta apart! By the time I left, there was no Digital sun presence!" He gritted his teeth as the shout made cracked ribs grind together.
"Grab your plasma blade," he snarled, gesturing at the fallen weapon. "Have the guts to try and kill me to my face."
He glared at her, ignoring pain that ran deeper than his injuries, waiting for her. Then he shivered. A cold, cloying presence filled the air as a slow, sardonic clap echoed down the hall. "Oh, bravo. Bravo."
Quentin loomed. At the far end stood a slender man, dressed all in black with a spray of pearly-grey lace at wrist and throat. A black velvet cloak hung from his shoulders, and his long hair was so blond it was nearly white. "I do so love a well-performed tragedy."
"Who are you?" Quentin asked, shifting to defend himself from both Scarlet and the newcomer.
"I?" The newcomer offered a half bow. "I am the Baronet Aldane ha-Florindel, and I have the honor of being your executioner." He smiled warmly. "I would have preferred to meet you in better health, but I fear my Master was most insistent that you die."
With a flamboyant gesture he drew a jeweled hilt with a filigree silver guard and offered a wry salute. "Will you amuse me first, Justiciar? Or your lady? Or shall we engage in a ménage a trois?" He smiled at his little joke, and with a gentle hum a meter-long crimson blade appeared. "Come. Let us play."
***
Scarlet froze, blood draining from her face at the sight of the newest interloper. Aldane, who had worked with Linora to transform her from Kaydia into Scarlet. The man whose degradations and psychic violations had pierced into the very depths of her being. She’d be lucky if he merely killed her now. And her best bet for a quick death was to fight back now, with Quentin by her side.
Quentin thrusted first, deflected and pushed back. She followed up with an overhead strike, which he blocked, and spun away from. Two quick lunges from Quentin were turned back with a flick of Aldane’s wrist, with the baronet’s free hand jetting forward to grab Quentin’s wrist. Controlling the Justiciar’s movements, Aldane slammed the butt of his plasma blade into Quentin’s forehead, before kicking him to the ground. Spinning, he met her slash with his own, pushing her away with a hand on her shoulder. Aldane just brought his blade up to block Quentin, once more grasping his wrist, pulling him forward to meet Aldane’s knee, as he brought it into Quentin’s stomach.
Aldane turned towards her,
a swift lunge she was just able to sidestep. Pulling a page from his book, she grabbed his arm as it moved towards her, spinning him against the wall. Aldane retaliated by grabbing her free wrist, twisting hard hard she dropped her plasma blade. He spun around behind her, the heat of his weapon nearly touching her throat.
“Oh dear, what have I done? Now you just have to thrust through her to get to me, eliminating both of your problems at once. She is going to die regardless, Justiciar. You can live if you strike the killing blow.” He smirked, singing her skin with his blade until she screamed.
***
Dizzy from the impact, Quentin groped for his plasma blade. He'd been wrong, he realized dully. Scarlet - Kaydia - hadn't sent them. If she had, this Apostate wouldn't be trying to kill them both. Or... would he? Perhaps she had just failed, and he was cleaning up? But then, why would she try to protect him? Why not just run, while the Baronet was busy?
His head cleared as he found his weapon, leaving only a dull ache behind. Dragging himself to his feet, he ignited his plasma blade and then froze. The assassin had Kaydia's arm in a lock, blade at her throat. He ignored the man's taunts, tried to ignore the stink of scorched flesh and the sound of her screams, and concentrated.
"Why do you hesitate?" the Baronet laughed. "It should be a simple equation, for a Justiciar."
Calming his breathing, Quentin stretched out his perceptions in the Psionically. Subtlety was needed here, not brute strength.
"A burnt-out junkie whore, and a murderer besides, for the good of the galaxy?"