Chapter 10

“Wake up.”

Morrigan blinked, most of her body hurt, and what didn’t hurt ached like it had been hurting.

Immediately she tried to remember what had happened, everything flashing before her eyes, but it took a moment to sort out.

She’d been at Transdot, reporting the vision she’d had. The one officer hadn’t believed her. Then the other Transdot officer had walked her out. Friendly. Nice.

But she’d made Mori feel uneasy.

Her head pounded, and the woman’s voice echoed in her mind. She wasn’t kind. She wasn’t nice.

Something else, however, had jarred her out of her unconscious. Another voice. Deeper, darker, and not happy.

Had the other officer gotten her?

“Wake up.” This voice was cold. Firmer than either of the officers she’d encountered in the Transdot tower.

She blinked and winced at the light glaring in her face. Her head pounded. She was bound to a chair, inside a dark, utilitarian metal room. At least, from what she could tell. The light was inhibiting her ability to see anything.

Now, this would be a great moment for my powers to surge, she thought. Whatever this wasn’t it wasn’t good. All more proof that her vision was more accurate than she realized.

She jerked her arms, but they didn’t move, and she could feel the restraints biting into her skin, and her hands made the metal clatter against her chair.

“Who’s there? What is this?” she asked, her voice choking as she called out. “Why am I here?”

Steps echoed. “You should know exactly what this is,” the voice replied. “You’re Novian. Warrior Priestess. Surely you know what a POW is.”

There was anger—a hatred in the voice.

“There is no war,” she replied. “Not yet.”

Steps brought the man closer, and as he cleared the edge of the light, she could see him taking off his shirt.

What is this? She wondered. “What are you—” What was he about to do? Panic welled inside her.

Please, powers. Please. Unlike before, that surge of information didn’t come. She couldn't access her powers.

Damn.

She could only watch in abstract horror, fearing what tortures were about to befall her.

He pulled his shirt off, revealing his chest and arms, though she couldn’t make out much of his face, the light still inhibiting her vision.

Lines drifted up and down his right arm and over his shoulder, a soft pulsing light indicating cybernetic parts. His hands were laced with the lines, and the lines came together to make a larger thread that ran around his arm and up.

Mori stared at the lines. She’d not seen a true cybernetic human before. Not this close anyway.

“There is always a war. Surely you know that, Novian.”

She shook her head. She could almost feel the anger radiating off him. “You seem to be still fighting it,” she said.

He smirked. “War will kill me,” he said.

“Hate does that,” she replied, trying to figure out who he was.

He must be with Human First. Was he another officer in the Transdot? She didn’t remember seeing him, or rather, hearing that voice before.

Her vision must be correct if Human First had gone to this kind of trouble to make sure her vision wasn’t reported.

She felt sick, wondering how high up the Transdot chain the Human First integration went.

“That it does.” He came a little closer.

“What do you want from me?”

He came closer still and didn’t say anything. She still couldn’t see his face—the bright lights blinding her.

“I asked you a question,” Mori said.

He said nothing else. Just came next to her chair. He reached out, one of his cyborg fingers extended, like he was going to caress her cheek.

She pulled away.

He reached toward her head.

She froze, not sure what he was doing. At least, for a second, she wasn’t sure what he was doing.

Then he yanked her two hair sticks out. Her hair tumbled down her back.

She jerked away but was unable to stop him. “Stop it. Why are you doing that?”

“Taking your weapon.”

“Those aren’t weapons, they’re only hair ornaments,” she said, smiling and trying to sound sweet. It had worked before; surely it would work again.

“Only stupid Transdot officers fall for that.” He stuck them in his pocket.

“But it is the truth.”

“Don’t lie. I know your kind.”

“No, you do not.” Humans knew very little about Novians, beyond the basics. Novian were not common, either—there were only a few of them, compared with other races. Their weapons were even less known, yet he’d recognized what her hair sticks truly were.

Who was this man?

“One must always know their enemy. You should know that, Novian.”

“So, tell me who you are so I may know who I fight.”

He twirled her weapons on his fingers. “I am The Butcher of Nova Wars.”

* * *

The Butcher had left Mori after his announcement, and she felt a tiny bit of relief. If only so she could try to determine the best way out of her cell.

Not that she had many choices—her chair was anchored to the floor, and the blinding light was too far away for her to turn off or knock over.

Mori tried to tap back into her gift of the battlefield, but nothing would come.

She had no idea if she was still inside The Colony—though Mori doubted she was outside the massive structure. The planet LC-426 was a dead, barren world, and horribly hot. Likely she was hidden somewhere.

Underground? Possibly, because that would be where they’d keep storage, she guessed, and from what she could see, this looked like a small storage locker of some kind.

She tried to remember that moment at work when she’d seen the layout of The Colony in better detail. Her memories faulted her, though, and she could not recall the images.

Frustration coiled.

What kind of wicked trick of Krevik’s was this? Was he truly so cruel to show her she still had power, then to hold it back when she truly needed it? If she ever made it back to Nova, she would certainly give him a few choice words.

She gritted her teeth and tried to think, though the light glaring in her face made it hard to concentrate.

All of this was much bigger than the vision she’d had. A woman, an ambassador who’d helped bring peace between the Novians and the humans, was going to be killed.

And it looked like The Butcher of Nova Wars was going to do it.

She felt sick.

Unable to see the whole picture, she knew not what she must do. Within her deepest core, however, she felt that killing this ambassador would cause an upturn of violence that might obliterate any chance the humans and Novians had for peace.

It would bring about the destruction of The Colony, and a new war would come. Darker, bloodier and even more violent than the last one.

Somehow, she had to get out of here, and find a way—

The door opened and in came a shadow. She couldn’t see him around the light but was certain it was the same man.

The Butcher.

It was the same stature, the same walk. He was back. A little glow crept from his hand, she could barely see it as he moved toward her, but it was enough to guide where he was in the dark. And this time, he carried something.

A knife.

Morrigan closed her eyes, and a wash of emotions ran over her.

So, this was how it would end. Death by The Butcher of Nova Wars in a storage locker. What remained of her warrior's heart was disgusted.

Unable to defend myself.

A death for nothing—an errant vision. After all she’d been through, war after war, she would die here.

Because of a vision.

“Such a dishonorable way to die,” she whispered, though more to herself rather than anyone else.

Where was the sense in her death?

He paused for a second, though he didn’t speak, he did mumble a curse of some kind, but she couldn’t make out the words.

“Killing me won’t protect you. I told others about my vision.” She hoped her bluff would give him pause.

It didn’t. He didn’t break stride.

She shivered as he stepped behind her chair, his posture methodical and cold.

She tipped her head back and inhaled a breath, prepared to feel the cool bite of the blade as her last sensation.

That was not what she felt.

Instead, a snap freed her hands. She pulled her hands to her chest. “What?” She started glancing around, trying to figure out what he was doing.

The Butcher came around and knelt before her, his face emotionless as he sliced the straps that bound her feet.

Adrenaline surged, and Mori launched herself backward, doing a flip over the chair. Had she had her wings, she would have taken to the sky and flown out of the room. Or at the very least landed more gracefully.

Instead, she stumbled, her hands out, ready for a fight and she backed away from him.

He stood, his silhouette blocking the light that had been blinding her. She blinked a few times to take in the details better, her eyes needing a moment to orient.

“I’m not cruel. You’re not an animal. You be civil, this will be easy,” he said.

“Until it’s time to kill me?” she asked.

“Until your vision doesn’t matter.”

She blinked. “You’re not going to kill me?”

“Not if I don’t have to.”

She hoped he didn’t have to.