Page 54 of Uncovered By the Alien Commander
The strange one gestures behind him. “The Suns of Omega saw her flee that direction.”
Relief washes over me, learning she’s escaped and is alive. As I dash in the direction the hooded Jungarian indicated, he raises a halting hand. “You know she’s a slave?” he says with a sigh, his eyes turning towards the pile of broken bodies. “So young and pretty, I knew the instant I saw the strange girl, that monster Kaanus stole her, probably killed her parents, enslaving her. I would have freed her, yet she fought to protect him... her own enslaver.” His eyes flick back to me, his face twisted in sudden hatred. “I almost had the bastard after all these years, but she shot me at the crucial moment! The universe is merciless, it seems... I’m sorry, Alanya,” he finishes with a whisper, his eyes distant.
His words hang heavy in the air, like pieces of a puzzle I struggle to place. Kaanus must have led the crew here, only to be attacked by this Jungarian seeking revenge, forcing Tyrxie to flee. I had once suspected Kaanus of being a slaver, yet Job had dissuaded me from the notion. However, looking into the sincere and passionate eyes of this Jungarian reveals the truth. Kaanus was a slaver, and he had enslaved her.
It all makes sense, her frightened behavior; her sulking under the gangways of the ship, the constant bruising, the fact she knows nothing about Earth or her people. My heart wrenches at the thought of the lost Tyrxie cast adrift, alone.Yet if I renderedjustice upon Kaanus, would she thank me?She seems to fear him, but still sees him as a fatherly figure. I breathe out a loud sigh, wondering how I’ve got entangled in this mess.
“Rest easy, strange one. Kaanus will pay for his crimes,” I assure him with a solemn nod, resolved that after he delivers me to Nebia and, with Tyrxie’s consent, his life shall atone for his sins.
The hooded Jungarian gives a brief nod. “Go save her, as I could not save my Alanya,” he commands, yet his words only add fuel to the blazing inferno that is my molten determination. With blinding speed, I resume my dash in the direction the strange one showed.
I press on through the sea of monotony. The seething underbelly of poverty becomes more pronounced with each additional step. A terrible, overwhelming sense of wrongness surges within me. Is this because I’m drawing closer to Tyrxie, or is her situation growing more precarious? Deep in my soul, I know the answer as it drives me on like a venefex is tearing at my heels.
Following my instincts now, I somehow sense Tyrxie’s location as a vague direction, like a lingering hint gnawing at my consciousness. Shadowy figures peer out windows at me, filling me with anxiety not for my safety, but concern for Tyrxie. The scent of fresh blood catches my attention, and I hasten towards the source.
I find a near-naked Jungarian with flaxen fur, his body lifeless and crushed by brutal blows, his belongings stripped from him, assuming he had any. As I peer down at him, my breath increases with anxiety, fearing Tyrxie might also be broken somewhere nearby. Yet, the merciless tug pulls me onward, thundering through my mind with growing intensity, fueling my Rush and baring my fangs.
Continuing through the mangled streets, the aroma of Tyrxie reaches me, like the sweetest nectar washing away the disgusting stink of the piles of refuse. I follow her scent with each long stride, increasing its potency, and I know I’m only moments behind her now as I stand before a broken building almost indistinguishable from the countless copies.
I know she’s in there. The open doorway, while shrouded in darkness, beckons to me like an ocean in the deserts of Nardune. Rushing into the entrance, I emerge into a hall-like area, with remnants of rooms demolished and smashed, creating a space of drunken debauchery. The ragged patrons gasp and recoil at my presence as I dominate the space, looming over them all. “Where is the female?” I demand, my eyes ablaze with murderous intensity.
Many of the fearful attendees gesture towards the end of the hall to one of the few intact rooms remaining. I thunder towards the door, not looking back, fortifying my mind for the terrible sights that may be revealed beyond. I deliver a brutal kick, splintering the door into thousands of pieces, an ominous smell of burning flesh assaults my senses.
Standing in the corner is a Tuskarian, his form mending in the darkened room, looming over the crumpled, unconscious figure of Tyrxie. Her face is bruised, her upper body exposed, and a blistering scorched logo of a beast with horns burned into her soft, pale flesh. The sight turns my stomach with molten rage; already my eyes mist with golden fury as my claws extend of their own accord.
“You marked her!” I roar, stalking towards the Tuskarian, his eyes full of surprise as he peers up at me, yet in his foolish ignorance he shows no fear, only beady, shifty, calculating eyes. He lunges towards me with a wide blow delivered with comical sloppiness. I sidestep his attack, the attack of a brute, relyingonly on his meager strength that lacks the precise artistic technique I execute in retaliation.
I twist my body, slamming a thundering fist into his chest. My prey grunts in surprised agony as his sternum cracks under my blow. Perhaps enough to stop his heart, yet I do not know its location in Tuskarians. It would be better for him if his heart had ceased beating, for I retracted my claws, intending to send him screaming in agony to his ancestors as a twisted, broken mockery of his people.
My prey falls to one knee, his snouted face now loaded with rank fear, each rasping wheezing breath a torture. I reach for his hand that still clutches the branding device he used on poor Tyrxie. His feeble hands resist my superior strength, but I twist and clamp down, snapping his fingers into useless, broken things. He screams in rightful suffering, his beady eyes staring at his ruined hands in disbelief and shock.
Yet I watch his pain with unflinching fury, the sight of the injured scarred Tyrxie the only reminder I need to continue. I activate the branding device, witnessing the ominous searing orange heat emanating from one end. As I approach, my prey coughs phlegm as he squirms backwards, terror stamped on his face, engraved like runes on his tomb. “Please, I beg you,” his pathetic muttering only fuels my wrath.
“Did Tyrxie beg before you branded her? Yet you never stopped!” I spit at him. He shakes his head in pointless denial as I press his own device into his fleshy cheek. My prey roars in agony as the brand burns and chars his skin. He swings his arms, trying to fend me off, but I keep pressing harder, melting more of him, the device reaching bone.
Distracted by the Tuskarian’s suffering, I don’t notice Tyrxie stirring, limping across the room. Her silent movements are hard to detect amidst a shadowy cacophony of sizzling agony. I turn to see her standing with boldness despite her exposedbreasts, her tiny pistol in her hand, pointed at the crumpled pathetic form of her attacker.
Her former sad green eyes are now cold like the void of space, as she squeezes the trigger. Her bullet catches the Tuskarian on the forehead, ending his torment, a merciful end too good for the savage. “He’s suffered enough,” she whispers, her voice devoid of emotion, before, to my shock, she levels the gun at me.
“I’ve suffered enough.”
Chapter 22
Tyrxie
Blood
“Tyrxie...” Xandor whispers, surpriseetched on his face with an outstretched hand. Appearing innocent and full of earnest concern, yet only moments ago I saw his true nature, a sadistic torturer.
If he’s come for this warvisor, he’ll do the same to me.
The realization strikes like a blade, but I feel only detachment and calculating resolve where my fear should be.Where it used to be. Urgnaw, the brutal Tuskarian, scorched it from my soul. The fresh stinging agony of the brand and my injured ribs pounds at the back of my mind like a ceaseless hammer.
Xandor steps forward, feigning concern. “Don’t voiding move!” I demand, redirecting my gun to his towering head since my bullets would do nothing against his thick arcweave armor.He halts, his shoulders slumping as he lets out a sigh, devoid of fear, devoid of patience.
If he does not fear me, then why hasn’t he attacked? Does he not realize I have his warvisor?
Frantic thoughts buzz in my mind. My plan to sell Xandor’s warvisor is dashed. The crew I abandoned are probably dead. Now, my only option left is to eke out a living on this wretched station. But I’ll never lower my guard again.