19. Xandor

Chapter 19

Xandor

Paradise lost

A transparent shimming haze catches my eyes. In an instant, four plasma claws burst through the chest of my worthy opponent, rending him to sizzling pieces of gore. An agonized expression of shock is forever frozen on his floppy face as his lifeless body crumples to the ground. The cloaked figure of Logarn flickers back to visibility, his timing a perfect intervention filling me with relief.

As I rise to my feet, Logarn stands unwavering, his youthful features now masked by his warvisor, giving him a fearsome appearance. Hope floods through me at the sight of his functional warvisor, confirmation perhaps that only mine has been stolen.

“Thank you, brother,” I murmur, still shaking as the Rush surges through my veins. “I feared I was about to join the ancestors. Come, let’s find Noroth. He must be sleeping like a borack to have missed all this chaos,” I mock, gesturing towards the brutal scene of carnage and death.

Logarn only nods in response, his expression no doubt as blank as his warvisor. Thankfully, his stealthy flank attack on my opponent wasn’t enough to awaken his psychotic rage.

We turn our attention to the neighboring quarters. I press my ear against the door, the sounds of screams and grunts echoing through the material. With a growing sense of urgency, I kick, shattering the doorway to pieces, fearing my friend is under attack. Revealing a different horror than I expected.

Noroth grunts as he thrusts his thick cock into the moaning Love Shanks as she is bent beneath him on the bed. Both are stark naked except for Noroth’s polymer bandages and straps, their bodies glistening with effort. But they are not alone. Vespa the Glaseroid with her exoskeleton exposed clutches onto Noroth’s back, writhing and skittering her limbs over his chest. The disturbing scene leaves me speechless.

“Did you come to witness a true warrior mating?” Noroth mocks with a smile, still with merciless force pounding Love Shanks, who has her head buried into the sheets, and hands clutching on with desperation. I should be the one enjoying her passions!

“Um...” I struggle to find my voice amidst the shock of the scene before me until finally I compose myself. “We’re under attack. Those treacherous bastards, Triandale and Felacia, mean to reenact the Gorglaxian Conquest,” I gesture towards his war gear, resting near the bed. “Arm yourself and check your warvisor is intact. Mine was stolen and replaced with a forgery,” I spit the words out like a curse.

Noroth’s eyes dilate in surprise. “They dare commit such sacrilege?” he sneers as he extracts himself from the panting Love Shanks, who sighs in exasperation. “Voiding Gorglaxians, you can never trust them,” he adds while donning his armor.

Love Shanks and Vespa scurry to cover themselves beneath the bedcovers. Both look haggard, their eyes wide in disbelief. “I knew I wasn’t the only male for you,” I state with a smile, studying the Tuskarian companion. “It’s like I said... you’re a beautiful liar.”

She returns a soft chuckle followed by a gentle smile on her lips. “Just a liar,” Love Shanks retorts, her tone carrying a hint of sadness.

But before I can reply, the faint sound of the lift arriving reaches my ears. “I doubt that’s room service. Stay here until it’s safe,” I gesture towards Love Shanks and Vespa, before turning to exit the room, followed by my two companions.

Noroth glances down at the fallen, torn apart Gorglaxians near his door, a look of disbelief spreading over his flat face. “They nearly caught you with your pants down,” I grin at him.

Noroth scoffs, “My cock would have been the last thing they ever saw,” he retorts, eliciting a soft laugh from me.

Until the lift door slides open, the anticipation stokes my Rush, pumping it through my veins like boiling oil. “Defensive positions!” I roar, activating my arc shield, which flickers to life in an azure shimmer covering my entire physique. The others follow suit, together forming a protective wall of blue that encompasses the width of the corridor.

In an instant, a dozen attack drones whirl out of the lift, sleek disc shapes with pulsar weapons bristling. The sight of them fills me with disappointment, as murdering drones is such a tedious and impersonal affair. Indeed, there is no battle cry nor bravado, only a cold, efficient barrage of green pulsar unleashed in our direction.

The green bolts assault our shields with jarring force, yet we hold firm, unmovable and eternal as a mountain. We Klendathians are the greatest warriors in the known universe, honed by countless battles to a razor’s edge of brutal intent. In unison, we return fire from our arc blasters over the top of our protective shields. Green and blue bolts spark and sizzle, exchanged throughout the corridor, casting a kaleidoscope of hues marking our imminent victory.

I watch the drones take hits from our arc blasters, their green pulsar shields glow bright, trying with hopeless effort to resist the molten heat, the reflection of the Rush blazing in our eyes. Yet they are no match, their shields wilt, extinguished by the pitiless, liquifying super-heated destruction, that carry on dissolving through their armor like snow before a scorching sun.

In mere moments, the final buzzing of the drones halts, leaving behind only the cracking, sizzling sound of their melted robotic remains. I survey the once pristine and opulent corridor, now reminiscent of a war zone, laden with corpses, bullet holes and partly melted surfaces, complete with the potent smell of choking weapons discharge and scorched flesh.

“They think to defeat us with such as these?” Noroth waves his glowing arc blaster gauntlet with disdain over the robotic carnage, his voice laced with contempt.

My eyes flicker to Logarn, pleased to see he’s still in control of his psychotic rage. “Indeed, not even enough to provoke Logarn,” I state, giving the blonde-hair youth a hearty slap across his back. “Still, if these drones were sent by the security forces and not the Gorglaxians, we’re in for a long battle,” I add, the thought is a troubling one.

“Nothing we can’t handle,” Noroth assures, whistling from his broad, smashed face.

Yet I remain skeptical as the image of us running back to the ship darting between hundreds of thousands of attack drones inspires little confidence. Regardless, the first thing we need to do is exit Fluxom Paradise, the name now a twisted misnomer.

The door to my right opens, compelling the three of us to turn with our arc blasters raised, ready to extinguish any threat. A tiny Glaseroid its gender I cannot discern peeks out with beady frantic eyes as it observes the total carnage of the corridor. I suppress a laugh, noticing its antenna and arm limbs flutter with panic as I place a finger to my lips—a call for silence.

The insectoid darts back into its room, slamming the door shut behind it. Glancing at many of the opened room doors, it appears many guests have already fled, with only the stubborn or the hard of hearing remaining. As I lower my weapon, I hasten towards the lift, the golden doors still open and beckoning with a promise of escape.

As Noroth sets a heavy foot inside, a snapping groaning sound echoes in the distance, filling me with a sense of dread. With an instinctual movement and pounding heart, I grip Noroth’s back armor, yanking him backward with all the speed and strength the Gods have bestowed upon me, sending him clattering to the ground. He grunts in protest and shock for the briefest moment, before the lift drops like a boulder rolled from a cliff. We stare wide eyed in an eerie silence until an immense crash and bang shakes the very foundations of the building, cascading from the bowels below.

“Sneaky bastards!” I exclaim, edging closer to inspect the yawning chasm of the elevator shaft.

“Drones and now this!” Noroth roars, his voice laden with rage as he clambers to his feet. “Have they no honor?”

“They lack honor. Only a twisted thirst for revenge, fueled by hatred, drives them,” I reply, examining the doorway in the open lift shaft that leads towards the ominous stairwell. “But the treacherous Triandale will find only death at our hands,” I add, flashing a fanged smile at both my companions.

Noroth responds with a resounding pounding to his chest, his lips curling into a confident smile. With a nod, I turn to navigate through the open abyssal shaft once again, beckoning to the others to follow while mindful of the flimsy metal beams creaking under our impressive mass. The narrow metal groans with a sudden loudness which hastens my steps and tightens my chest, prompting me to leap the remaining distance in panic.

A wave of shameful relief washes over me as I enjoy the comforting sensation of the solid ground under my feet, devoid of any precarious yawning drops. “You leap and flutter like a frightened puffrio chick!” Noroth mocks as he joins me, traversing the abyssal lift shaft as if he’s strolling through Draxxi Forest.

“After all the borack steak and ales you consumed, I feared the beam would break under your flabbiness,” I retort with a hint of playful banter lacing my words as Logarn steps across to join us, moving as if he had not a care in the universe.

Noroth scuffs, “Pure Klendathian muscle here, brother,” he replies, strolling towards the stairwell, maintaining his confident demeanor.

Yet I have my doubts about what awaits us below, prompting me to place a halting hand stopping Noroth in his tracks. “Wait,” I command, as my ears strain, picking up the faint sound of movement and hushed breathing below, confirming my suspicions. “They’re expecting us. Engage cloaking and get a visual,” I add.

Noroth nods a solemn acknowledgment as he dons his warvisor. In an instant, his form shimmers and becomes translucent, mirroring the surrounding environment, appearing invisible while remaining motionless. The fact his warvisor is not a forgery like mine brings a sense of relief. Someone stole my mask onboard the Mutalisk Hammer after my battle with the monstrous Mutalisk.

The thought that right now some treacherous crew member is attempting to sell my sacred warvisor causes my face to twist into a snarl as my blood boils and seethes threatening to erupt into murderous fury. With a concerted effort, I redirect my troubling thoughts back to more pressing matters, seeking bloody vengeance on the one responsible... Triandale.

Noroth wastes no time approaching the stairwell, only his quick movements betray his presence as his warvisor induced cloaking struggles to keep up. I can just make his shimmering outline, peering down at him from our vantage point as he approaches the breach I created escaping floor seventy-one earlier.

With his back pressed against the wall, Noroth peeks his head through the breach. He mustn’t like what he sees as he turns darting back up the stairwell, his heavy boots echoing through the space in frantic urgency. Indeed, the deafening sounds of many snapping ballistic and zapping pulsar and graviton fire thunder out annihilating the deceptive silence.

The stairwell erupts into a hail of bullets which careen and ricochet, embedding themselves into the stone surfaces. Green pulsar and obsidian orbs always crash into the surroundings, rending huge fissures from the walls, and warping and twisting massive chucks from the ground. After one burst, the room below is already a chaotic, dusty, broken mess.

“Now, that’s a frightened puffrio chick!” I mock, laughing at Noroth’s scramble up the stairwell.

“You’d be running too! A dozen or so of the bastards, fortified in an entrenched position,” Noroth reports. His shimmering form stands before me until he removes his warvisor, revealing his shocked expression and full appearance.

The sensation of a trap tightening around my throat urges me to scratch the back of my neck. “They can detect our cloaking and we can’t stay here. They’ll likely pull the entire building down in their desperation to kill us,” I reply. The thought of charging through their position may work, however, with Noroth injured and Logarn’s bloodlust. The chance of success leaves a lot to be desired.

“We need a diversion to disrupt their entrenchment,” I declare, letting out a large exhale as a terrible, yet brilliant, idea forms in my mind. “Wait here for my signal, then join the fray, rending them to bloody pieces,” I command, my gaze flickering between the pair.

Noroth expression shifts to a frown. “What signal?” he inquires, inspecting his arc blaster gauntlet.

I extend my natural claws, smiling with menace, a promise of what’s coming. “Screams,” I state simply, before turning to once again traverse the perilous gap that was once a functioning lift shaft.

Emerging into the corridor of floor seventy-two, an eerie silence permeates the area, a stark contrast to the destruction and death lining the walls. I waste no time rushing towards my quarters, which once promised relaxation and pleasure, now a harbinger of righteous fury.

Entering the room, I approach the polymer window, running my hand along its surface. With ease, I crash my armored fist through the translucent material. It shatters into a hundred pieces at my might. Just like the Gorglaxians will in mere moments. The thought almost ignites my Rush.

I climb through the smashed opening and I’m greeted by the dizzying sight of the streets and alleyways below. A wave of vertigo almost overwhelms me as my vision warps and I feel myself tilting, forcing me to grasp the window frame to steady myself. I must be voiding mad to attempt this!

The garnish drones skitter and zoom overhead, casting their lights over the sprawling cityscape, as people appear like tiny specks mill around. Some stand, peering up at the building as others stream out the entrance, running in fear, some almost naked in their haste to escape their guest quarters. I’ll need to end this quickly before station security becomes involved.

After a steadying moment, my gaze turns to the window below, the target of my audacious plan. To my relief, it also has a narrow ledge similar to the one I’m perched on. I scrutinize it, wondering if it’ll support my weight should I drop. Maybe? I shrug to myself, turning round to face the building, drawing in a deep calming breath that does nothing of the sort.

My heels shuffle inch by inch over the edge, until in a sudden rush I plummet like a massive rock of awful ideas. The terrifying weightlessness threatens to overpower me with mad, flailing panic as the ledge below rushes to meet me. With a crashing, jarring thud, my foot connects, though the momentum carries me off center, my lifeline just out of reach.

My vision spins, and I think I’m flung sidewards as I careen off the ledge. My left hand shoots out instinctively and in desperate panic, I clutch the ledge with just my fingertips, just enough to halt my descent. The jolting force yanks my arm and rips the air from my lungs as I dangle from the ledge like a broken branch swaying in the wind.

“Praise the Gods,” I wheeze in a breathless whisper as I swing my other hand round to clutch onto the stone shelf, my frayed nerves returning to normal. It’s a trifle to pull myself up onto the ledge as I speculate if this was my most foolish idea yet.

I peer through the polymer window, thankful to see the room is empty with a tidy, arranged bed and spotless furnishings. Eager to render murderous revenge on the ones responsible for forcing me to slide down a building, I thump the polymer window with just enough force to crack it, intending to create as little noise as possible, hoping to remain unseen—for now.

Pressing my armored hand through the crack, the reinforced polymer gives way under my might, allowing me access. I crouch through the opening, moving with careful steps as my ears strain to pick up any noise. I approach the door of the quarters, steeling myself, knowing that beyond lies the corridor, likely teeming with enemies.

Activating my arc blaster that hums and crackles with lethal intent, I open the door, peeking around the corridor to see the backs of many armed Gorglaxians, their attention fixated toward Noroth and Logarn. Amongst the group almost hidden due to her tiny size, is Felacia.

The sight of the duplicitous Nebian causes my blood to boil as I switch my arc blaster to arc claws. Knowing the close-range plasma claws will make quick work of their shields, I skulk forward like a shadow, their creeping death about to erupt into bloody reality around them. Close enough now to see their tentacles fluttering as they shuffle with nervousness. Felacia tinkers away at a device that resembles a modified ship warhead.

“I’ve nearly got the timer set,” Felacia states in her soft voice, a shocking contrast to the sinister implications of her words.

“We’ll hold them off until the building is evacuated—” Triandale rises further down the corridor, but I’ve heard enough. I’m now directly behind the closest prey. With a primal roar, I lash out, my arc claws arching with molten death, raking through a lanky Gorglaxian. Who, to my dismay, dies before he can even scream. I just hope my roar is enough to alert Noroth and Logarn.

I waste no time seizing the initiative, taking advantage of their stunned surprise. As my glowing yellow eyes leak wisps of burning Rush, a golden promise of their imitate deaths, as time slows and my body swells with increased strength and speed. It’s as if the ancestors themselves bolster my every sinew, their chosen avatar of war.

Felacia and Triandale recoil in slow-motion horror as I press forward, whipping my claws towards my next prey, who still has not turned to face me. So slow to react, but so quick to die. I thrust my azure claws that burn with the heat of a thousand suns through his armored chest. His lifeless body crumbles and falls, further eviscerating against my plasma claws.

“We’re under attack!” Triandale roars, the quickest sentence he’s ever delivered, fueled by his obvious fear, his death by my hands mere seconds away.

My next Gorglaxian prey turns towards me, but I loom before him. In his terror, he holds his rifle out like a barrier, a fatal mistake, although any action he takes would produce the same result—his imminent demise. I snarl, thrusting my claws into his fluttering tentacled face, relishing the look of horror spreading over his expression, until his head is no more, reduced to a gory blue molten slop.

“Detonate the explosive now, Triandale!” Felacia screams, as she brandishes her tiny laser pistol directed at me, its deadly power giving me pause. A streaking red beam strikes just above my head as I leap to the ground, putting an end to my murderous charge in an instant.

More Gorglaxians peel from the room with the stairwell to reinforce Triandale and Felacia, their weapons drawn and burning, hatred etched on their dropping faces. Felacia readjusts her aim as I spring from the ground, engaging my arc shield just in time to absorb another of her crimson death blasts. The impact has no kinetic force yet overcomes my plasma shield in a purple flash, my large defensive barrier blinking out of existence, almost taking my hopes of victory with it.

Switching my gauntlet back to arc blaster mode, I unleash blue bolts of liquefied murder amongst their ranks as I leap crashing through a doorway, seeking refuge from Felacia’s brutal, efficient laser weapon. But even as I flee, indiscriminate red streaks of laser penetrate the walls, forcing me prone to the ground yet again.

“Quickly, Triandale, before all is lost!” Felacia shouts, her voice cutting through the growing clamor and chaos emanating from the corridor. “The Klendathians mean to attack Nebia—they must be stopped!”

The crazy Nebian female means to blow up the entire building, murdering everyone! “Don’t do it Triandale. We work against the Scythians and seek an alliance with the Nebians!” I roar back, crawling towards the bed, seeking cover from the imminent attack that is no doubt heading my way.

“Lies!” Felacia spits, her anger and hatred manifesting in more sporadic laser beams piercing the walls of my room. “Scythian deceivers! For the future of the entire universe, you and all your kind must be exterminated, no matter the cost!” followed by more haphazard blasts casting ominous red hues throughout my area.

“She’s a crazy fanatic Triandale,” I retort, as I pull down wardrobes and desks, forming a defensive position in the room’s corner. “If you kill all these innocent people, you’re as twisted as the Scythians who you claim to hate!”

The only response is the arrival of more Gorglaxians at the doorway, their weapons drawn, their runny eyes twisted with hatred “For Gorglaxia!” Their war cry intoned together, directed towards me, the living totem of their burning anger and bitter loss. They unleash a barrage of weapons fire, causing the room to explode in a hail of deadly projectiles and blasts.

With desperation and brutal accuracy, I return searing blue bolts from my arc blaster. Chunks of black stone wall explode and erupt into debris as my makeshift cover splinters and snaps, absorbing the onslaught.

My own shots find their targets, but to my dismay my attackers’ graviton shields deflect the molten blasts, sending them pooling near their feet. I attempt to re-engage my arc shield, but the stubborn thing refuses to activate, still recharging after absorbing the cursed Felacia’s laser beam. The situation grows grim, cornered with enemies pressing in. But as my blood thunders through my veins, I know no fear, only a savage determination to drag as many enemies with me to the halls of my ancestors.

Finally, the shield of one Gorglaxian gives out under my barrage, the black haze blinking out until disappearing, leaving him merciless before the molten blue death, which consumes him, reducing him to a pile of gruesome glop. But In retaliation, bullets whiz and ping off my shoulder and chest armor, jolting me backward, disrupting my aim.

Through gritted fangs, I regain a steady aim, not giving an inch, my life inconsequential, my fear nonexistent. The Rush melts such trivial concerns, leaving behind only a murderous fury that can never be satiated.

Accurate graviton rifle orbs shatter my cover, their immense gravitational force rendering it useless against their onslaught. With lightning reflexes, I leap while firing, seeking refuge behind the flimsy sanctuary of the bed, the only barrier between me and certain death.

Bullets jolt and spark upon my armor as I retaliate with searing azure blasts, as the graviton orbs crash into my previous location warping and twisting the very walls, rending huge meshed cracks that expose the room to the outside. My new cover is already a torn and shredded heap as soft materials and dust fill the air as bullets and energy weapons snap and whizz overhead.

I switch my arc blaster to arc claws, intending to make a last charge, to die with honor, my head held high. With a bellowing roar, I launch from my destroyed refuge, noticing blue arc bolts whizzing down the corridor towards my Gorglaxian attackers. Noroth and Logarn attack from the other flank! Like a blessing from the Gods, the Gorglaxians appear confused, hesitating for a split fraction, but a fraction is all I need to craft their demise.

Still, some Gorglaxians remain focused on me, their projectiles tracing my twisting, darting, murderous charge. Shots ping and bounce from my arcweave armor as I shield my face with my plasma claws, my golden gaze piercing through the gaps. My closet prey recoils, his tentacles fluttering in panic as I drive my claws straight through his chest, his lifeless body thuds to the ground in an instant.

Their greed to murder me has forced them to bunch up at the doorway, but their greed brings them only death. Seizing the opportunity, I pivot among them, swiping lightning-fast slashes, tearing through flesh and bone amongst the tight-knitted group. The Rush blazes within, as my terror-stricken prey attempts to retreat or level their weapons at me, but they are too slow, too used to fighting at a distance.

I rend death in a whirlwind of precise strikes and slashes, each delivered with murderous intent honed from centuries of training and warfare. They fall before my might and skill; each kill a testament to my power. Soon all that remains is the stunned Triandale and Felacia, with a menacing warhead poised between them, and further behind are Noroth and Logarn shooting behind their shields, attempting to break through.

Felacia reaches for a device clutched in Triandale thick skinned hands. “Give it to me, if you lack the courage!” she screams, her voice dripping with contempt, prompting Triandale to raise the device high above their heads.

I aim my arc blaster at Triandale as I creep closer through the mangled corpses of my prey. But I dare not fire in fear he might detonate the massive explosive. “You can die with honor, not as a murderer!” I shout, my gaze locked onto the lanky Gorglaxian.

“No...” Triandale voice wavers, shaking his drooping face, his hands trembling, his runny eyes wide in shock or panic. “Not like this. This is not what we agreed!” he protests, looping his neck, peering down at Felacia.

A wave of relief washes over me at his words, but it’s short-lived. Felacia sneers, her rage belied by her tiny statue. “Coward!” she spits, firing her laser pistol with brutal efficiency up through Triandale’s skull. In an instant, his eyes roll back as he collapses to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut.

I don’t have time for shock as Felacia scrambles for the trigger, forcing me to unleash a torrent of blue energy from my arc blaster at the female Nebian. The deadly haze envelopes her before she can react. There’s no time for screams as she dissolves into a molten pool of gory azure glop, the air sizzling with the heat of her demise.

Without hesitation, I activate my arc claws charging towards the backs of the Gorglaxians, who stand against Noroth and Logarn, feeling nothing but the need to aid my war brothers and to kill my enemies. As I bear down on them, my fangs bared in anticipation of the slaughter to come.

I witness Logarn breaking formation, his natural claws extended, disregarding his arc shield in favor of a wild, primal charge. “I’ll bath in your blood!” The youth declares his manic tone a clear sign he has succumbed to his treacherous madness. Noroth shouts after him, but amidst the chaos, his words elude me. Logarn’s armor and warvisor are pelted with bullets, causing them to ricochet and spark, until a graviton orb crashes into his midriff.

Logarn’s armor twists and warps, forcing the youth to the ground, where he writhes in agony. I can only imagine the damage his flesh is sustaining beneath the incredible gravitational forces. The terrible scene hastens my charge as I deliver a leaping wide slash along the backs of the Gorglaxians. They don’t even have time to scream as their bodies are shredded to bloody pieces.

“Honor to Xandor!” Noroth roars over his shield, absorbing the Gorglaxians barrage. The remaining few Gorglaxians pivot in what appears like slow motion, their tentacles fluttering in panic as I take advantage of their shock. Dashing forward, sweeping my blazing murderous azure claw through their helpless forms, delivering murderous revenge with lethal accuracy.

The cacophony of battle fades into a heavy silence, broken only by my labored breaths and the hum and sizzle of our weapons. Scanning the scene of brutal, bloody carnage, the corridor is littered with bodies and gore, painting an exquisite picture of horror. Noroth claps me round the back as we both stand over Logarn, who lies unconscious but still breathing, despite his mangled armor.

“You fought as fiercely as a brutonous, Xandor!” Noroth declares, with a board smile, creasing his blood-speckled face. “Good food, good females, good battle—what a glorious day!” he finishes with a laugh.

I might agree if not for my missing warvisor and my Tyrxie-induced impotence.