Akur (Restitution #3)

Constance

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Constance

The door swung open with a metallic groan that sent ice through Constance’s veins. She stepped back instinctively as the Tasqal emerged, its massive frame filling the entire doorway like a nightmarish sentinel. The flowing white robes it wore seemed to absorb the dim light, creating an otherworldly silhouette that made her heart slam against her ribs.

Those black holes it had for eyes found her immediately, and time seemed to slow down. She’d seen images of the Tasqals before, heard whispered descriptions from other humans who’d survived encounters, but nothing had prepared her for the reality. The creature before her was both more and less than she’d imagined—more terrifying in its alien intelligence, less like the mindless monster of her fears.

Before she could draw another breath, Akur moved. The transformation was breathtaking—one moment he was beside her, radiating that impossible heat, the next he had the Tasqal pinned against the door with fluid grace that belied his injuries. The door slammed shut with a resounding bang as Akur’s blade pressed into the creature’s throat, drawing a thin line of dark fluid.

“At ease, Shum’ai.” The Tasqal’s voice was surprisingly calm, but those eyes never left hers. Something about that unwavering gaze made her skin crawl. “Have you not yet concluded that I am not here to harm you?”

She couldn’t look away from those eyes. It was like staring into wells of liquid darkness. They were unnervingly intelligent, reminding her of dissections she’d done in biology class, the way a cow’s eyes had stared up at her from the steel table. But where those had held a sort of peaceful emptiness, these eyes contained calculations upon calculations, wheels turning within wheels.

The Tasqal was humanoid in basic form, standing upright on two powerful legs barely visible beneath its robes. But its face—God, its face was pure nightmare fuel. Underneath the hood of the robe it wore was a wide and flat face like a toad’s, with a lipless mouth that seemed frozen in a perpetual sneer. Its skin was a mottled dark green with patches of brown, covered in what looked like pulsating boils. Each one glistened with yellowish fluid that made her stomach churn. The sight was both repulsive and strangely hypnotic, like watching a slow-motion explosion of something foul.

“Give me one reason,” Akur growled, his voice thick with centuries of hatred, “why I should not end your miserable existence right here.”

The Tasqal didn’t struggle against the blade at its throat. Didn’t show an ounce of fear. Instead, it regarded Akur with an unsettling calm that made her awareness increase. Something was wrong here. Every instinct she’d honed through years of reading people was screaming that this wasn’t how a captive should act.

“Because what I have to tell you, Shum’ai,” the Tasqal said, each word precise and measured, “will change everything you think you know about your purpose here.”

“Pretty words from a desperate creature.” Akur pressed his blade deeper, drawing more of that dark blood. “Your kind has stolen mors from t heir younglings, turned living worlds to ash. Every breath you draw is an insult to the dead.”

The Tasqal remained perfectly still. She was sure its mouth twitched. Sure there was a ghost of a smile there. “That, Shum’ai, is precisely why I am here.”

She took a step forward before she could stop herself, drawn by something in the creature’s tone. “What do you mean?”

“Stay back,” Akur snarled, not taking his eyes off the Tasqal. His voice dropped low, dangerous. “They’re dying. Their own biology turning against them. And in their desperation, they’ve only grown more cruel. Stealing females from world after world, forcing themselves—” His blade drew more of that thick dark blood as he forced it deeper. “You’ve brought nothing but death to the galaxy.”

For several heartbeats, the Tasqal said nothing. The only sound in the room was Akur’s labored breathing and the subtle drip of dark fluid down its throat. Then, “You are right, Akur the Undefeated.”

Akur went rigid, his lips pulling back in a snarl that revealed teeth meant for tearing. The use of this title seemed to enrage him further, and Constance could feel the heat rolling off him like an invisible torrent, almost like an indication of his anger.

The Tasqal’s gaze shifted to her then, his focus seeming to strip away her defenses layer by layer. “I do not deserve his mercy, but I plead with your human sensibilities. Listen to what I have to say.”

“Don’t let him into your mind, Constance.” Akur’s voice was rough with barely contained violence. “They are manipulators. Masters of twisting truth until you question your own reality.”

She’d spent years learning to read people, to see past their masks and defenses to the truth beneath. But this creature…this being that had orchestrated the destruction of countless worlds…everything about it felt wrong. Because she was trying to apply human psychology to something that had evolved along completely different lines.

Taking a careful step forward, she placed her hand on Akur’s arm. His muscles were coiled tight like steel cables beneath her touch, thrumm ing, ready to react. This close, the Tasqal’s presence was overwhelming. She didn’t step back.

“Maybe we should hear what he has to say.” The words felt like betrayal in her mouth, but they needed information. Needed to understand why they were here, what this creature wanted from them.

Akur’s growl vibrated through her palm where it rested against his skin.

“You can kill him after,” she added softly.

For a moment that stretched like eternity, she thought Akur would ignore her completely. Then he released the Tasqal—letting it drop like a bag of trash—before stalking behind her. His footsteps were heavy, each one like a drumbeat, the only other sound in the room apart from her pulse roaring in her ears.

The Tasqal rose, adjusting its flowing garments with meticulous care. The gesture was so oddly human that it made her skin crawl again.

“Why are you here?” She crossed her arms and refused to rub the tiny hairs along them that stood on end. She was good at this. She’d catch every detail—the way the Tasqal smoothed its robes, the subtle twitch in its left eyelid, the almost imperceptible way it kept track of Akur pacing behind her. This creature, for all its alienness, still gave off tells. “Why did you bring us here, and what do you plan to do with us?”

“What do I plan to do with you?” For the first time, the Tasqal’s voice changed. It wasn’t subtle either. It became something darker, something more honest. “I planned…to kill you.”

The temperature in the room seemed to plummet. Even Akur’s burning heat couldn’t ward off the chill that settled in her bones. His pacing stopped abruptly, and she could hear his fingers clenching and unclenching on the hilt of his blade.

“Not you, Shum’ai.” The Tasqal’s eyes flicked to Akur briefly. “The Hedgeruds would have taken care of you aboveground.”

Constance’s throat went dry. Her heart seemed to stutter in her chest as the implications sank in. “But me. You planned to kill me . ”

“Yesss,” the Tasqal hissed, but there was something almost like regret in that alien voice. Or maybe she was imagining it.

Her arms tightened across her chest, heart still hammering against her ribs. “You’d take me from my planet, put me in stasis, risk everything to capture us again…just to kill me?” Her eyes narrowed as she studied the creature before her, looking for any crack in its composure. “Even for you monsters, that seems excessive.”

The Tasqal blinked—a horrifyingly slow motion where its entire eyes disappeared beneath folds of skin before emerging again.

“He means he planned to kill you in the way they kill all the females they take.” Akur’s voice was lethal silk behind her. “By disease. Inescapable once they seed you with their young.” The raw hatred in his tone made her shudder, images of other women’s fates flashing through her mind.

The Tasqal made that unsettling sound again, like bubbles popping in its throat. “Even you, Shum’ai, are wrong.”

“Wrong?” Constance forced the word past the knot of fear in her throat. “Wrong how? Isn’t that what you do?” Her voice rose, months of suppressed terror and rage bubbling to the surface. “Isn’t that why you brought me and the other women here? To br—” The word stuck like poison in her mouth. She swallowed hard and tried again. “To breed us?” The thought alone made her stomach heave.

The Tasqal seemed to stand taller, looking down at her with an intensity that made her want to step back, to run, to hide. But she held her ground. When it spoke again, its voice dropped to barely above a whisper, as if it was sharing some dark secret.

“What if I told you there was something far worse for you than being bred?” Those membrane-covered eyes seemed to glow in the dim light. “Something that could tear apart the very fabric of existence?”

Akur raised his blade again. “Stop speaking in riddles, scum.”

“Not riddles,” the Tasqal replied. “Truth. We have…come upon interesting technology. Technology that can bend the fabric of the void. Take us to worlds unknown. Transport beings across space…” It paused, those black eyes seeming to expand. “…and time. ”

Akur’s breath hissed between his teeth as he resumed his pacing. The sound of his footsteps was even harder now, echoing off the stone walls.

Something wasn’t right. Her instincts were giving her mixed signals. The Tasqal was like a serpent—deadly, yes, but not striking. Not yet. He was dissecting her piece by piece, but the malice she expected…wasn’t there.

“We found something,” the Tasqal continued, taking another step closer. It was barely a foot closer, but Akur’s blade shot past her shoulder, the tip reaching the center of the Tasqal’s throat with deadly precision. The creature stopped moving but continued speaking as if the blade wasn’t there at all. “Deep in the void of the empty. A Vikteki vessel, preserved in the cold darkness for eons.”

“The Vikteki?” Akur’s grip on his sword tightened until she could hear the leather wrapping creak. “They vanished long ago. Their technology was destroyed.”

The Tasqal’s lips curved in that unsettling almost-smile again. “I see you have not heard from your ally yet. The Kyron you call V’Alen.”

Akur went rigid beside her, the heat rolling off him intensifying until she could barely breathe. The Tasqal was referring to the cyborg and Alaina. What did they have to do with this?

“Yes,” the Tasqal continued, smile widening unnaturally. “He and the human he claimed still live. And they have something of ours. They have the orb.”

She glanced up at Akur. His jaw was locked like a steel trap.

She forced her expression to remain neutral, every instinct screaming that this was a game of strategy where showing too much could be fatal. Each word felt like a chess piece being moved across a board she couldn’t fully see.

She was happy her voice remained steady. “What about this orb?”

“Yesss, the orb,” the Tasqal’s voice took on an almost reverent quality. “Technology not even as powerful as that orb led us to your world.” It paused, those black eyes boring into her soul. “To humans. My people want it back. ”

“Do you really think we will just hand it over to you?” She met that alien gaze, though her heart threatened to burst from her chest. “Do you really think we’ll barter our lives for it?”

The sound of bubbles popping in the Tasqal’s throat as it laughed made her go still. Even with Akur’s blade still at its throat, it showed no fear. The creature’s confidence terrified her more than any threat could have.

“Why did you choose us?” The question burst from her before she could stop it. “Why humans?”

“Because you are the key.” The Tasqal’s voice grew softer now, almost intimate. As if it was stating something she should have already known. And she did, because not long before, Akur had said those same words. “Your species…you carry something in your makeup. Something we have searched for. And we found it after so very long.”

The way it said those words sent ice through her veins. There was weight there, meaning she couldn’t quite grasp.

Akur snarled, his patience waning. “More lies. You seek only to use them as you have used others. As breeding stock for your dying race.”

“Perhaps…” the Tasqal’s shoulders moved like it shrugged. “But we only found them because of that Vikteki vessel. It had records…information left behind of the Vikteki seeding worlds. Of our ancestors being placed on a minor planet dubbed HREX4X1.” Its lips curved as its gaze landed on her once more. “You call it Earth.”

Constance’s breath caught. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” the Tasqal took another step forward, deliberately pressing into the blade at its throat, “that when we found your species, we weren’t seeking your wombs. We were seeking a cure.”

She stepped forward, too, anger rising hot and wild in her chest. Her lips pulled back in a snarl that matched Akur’s. “Then why didn’t you take your cure and leave ?”

The Tasqal released a breath that smelled antiseptic despite its decaying skin. “ There was no cure . Our ancestors have not evolved. They devolved . They became…stunted. Weak. Mere insects compared to you h umans.” Its voice filled with disgust and disdain, the first genuine emotion she’d seen from it. “We believed, at first, that your planet held the genetic key to reversing this…devolution. To restoring us to our former glory.”

It paused, those dark eyes gleaming with something that made her want to run again. “Then we discovered something far more…intriguing. Your females…they could carry our young. Not all survived, of course. The process…is taxing. But some did. And one…one female spawned a paired birth. Two young from a single bearer. Unheard of in our kind. Such fecundity…such potential…”

The Tasqal leaned in so close she could see every pulsing boil underneath the hood it wore, every minute detail of its alien features—right before its head snapped sideways with a sickening crack.

Akur growled, his fist still extended from the punch that had sent the Tasqal sprawling across the table. He advanced like a stalking animal, but Constance grabbed his arm, feeling the fever-heat of his skin beneath her fingers.

“Wait!”

“I am ready to end him.” The words rumbled from deep in his chest.

“Me too!” Her vehemence made him pause, golden eyes flicking to her face. “But we need to listen to what he’s saying.”

From the floor where he’d landed, the Tasqal released a wet sound. “It doesn’t matter.”

There was something in those words—a finality, a weight—that made even Akur hesitate.

“Speak, Tasqal. You have mere moments.” Akur’s growl held barely contained rage.

“The Restitution has the orb.” The Tasqal rose slowly, methodically adjusting its robes as if the blow had been nothing more than an inconvenience. “And it must be destroyed.”

Constance stepped closer, ignoring Akur’s warning look. “What is this orb? You want us to destroy it? Why ?” It sounded like another trap. What if the orb was exactly what the Restitution needed to win this war ?

“The orb is a device that can traverse worlds. Galaxies.” The Tasqal’s eyes seemed to expand. “My people plan to take your world. Harvest you…humans. With that device, we can do…anything.”

She couldn’t breathe. The implications hit her one after another—this was how those gator-guards had appeared past the Restitution’s defenses, how they’d caused so much death and destruction without warning. If they could travel to Earth at will…

Her chest constricted as faces flashed through her mind—her family, her friends, her sisters, her nieces, her mother. All the women she knew and loved would be taken to be nothing more than living incubators for these monsters. The pain that lanced through her chest was so real she had to grip the spot over her heart.

She’d rather die right here, right now, if it meant stopping that future.

“That orb will save my people,” the Tasqal said. “For a time.”

Right, until there were no more humans to harvest. Until they needed to find another civilization to destroy.

“There is no saving you.” Akur’s deep voice resonated through her bones as he positioned himself at her back like a guard.

For the first time, the Tasqal lowered its head. “You are right. We don’t deserve salvation.”

The admission hung in the air, stilling it.

“What?” Akur’s voice had gone dangerous again, quiet. “Playing games again.”

He must be right.

“Not games, Shum’ai. Not in this.”

For a few moments, the room was silent.

“Explain,” she finally said. “And speak clearly.” With a jerk of her chin, she motioned to Akur. “My friend here isn’t very patient, as you can tell, and even if killing you will cause his death, he doesn’t care.” Akur grunted in affirmation. “And I don’t care about dying either.”

She didn’t care about dying? Fuck. When had she become someone willing to sacrifice everything? Not a martyr—martyrs died for beliefs, for causes. This was different. This was rage and pain forced into purpose. If she could take even one of these monsters down w ith her, maybe that would mean one less family torn apart, one less world torn apart.

Besides, what did she have left to lose? The Tasqals had already taken everything else—her home, her family, her entire way of life. All that remained was the chance to make them pay, even if it cost her last breath to do it.

That realization shot home something in her, and suddenly she understood him. Akur. Understood his rage and his stubbornness. Understood why he’d willingly sacrifice it all.

She met the Tasqal’s gaze as it lifted its head. “If you think we’re afraid, you’re sadly mistaken.”

Silence again, the air still, and then the Tasqal suddenly threw its head back and laughed, bubbles popping in the air. “It appears your arrival with the Shum’ai was not bad luck after all, human. It appears I might still get what I want out of this.”

She grit her teeth. “And what do you want?”

“Some sins cannot be undone. Some crimes cannot be forgiven.” The Tasqal’s smile faltered. “We have destroyed much. Taken much. Like the Vikteki and the Kyron before us…we have too much power.”

Without warning, the Tasqal began to shift out of its flowing robe.

“Qrak, no.” Akur’s blade was already in motion. When she grabbed his arm again, the heat beneath his skin nearly burned her. He hissed, jerking away from her touch. In all this, she’d almost forgotten about his condition—the heat that seemed to be consuming him from within. He needed more of that medicine, and soon.

“Wait,” she whispered, her eyes widening as the Tasqal’s garments fell.

The sight stole her breath away. The Tasqal stood naked before them, its toad-like body even more grotesque without the concealing robes. There were so many boils, barely any of its green skin remained untouched. It was taller than her but still appeared squat. Slightly webbed fingers and feet. Humanoid. Alien. But as it turned its back, seemingly indifferent to their horror, she saw something that change d everything. A ridge, a fin, ran down its spine. One that looked horrifyingly familiar.

Did toads have fins? She didn’t think so.

“Gods, no.” The curse tore from Akur’s throat as he stepped forward, his own fin blazing crimson at his nape. The resemblance was undeniable—though the Tasqal’s was smaller, less pronounced, almost vestigial, and the same sickly green as its troubled skin.

“Gods…” The word escaped Akur like a prayer, or perhaps another curse.

“The female that took my progenitor’s seed,” the Tasqal said, its voice carrying an emotion she couldn’t quite name, “was Shum’ai.”

“Impossible.” Akur stumbled back, and for the first time since she’d met him, she saw genuine fear in his eyes. “Your species wipes out all traces of the mor’s biological contribution. That is part of your curse.”

“Yes,” the Tasqal said, reaching for its robe with trembling fingers. “But I am different.” It slipped the garment back on in silence, while she and Akur stood frozen, as if witnessing something that shouldn’t exist. “There are others like me. Others that bear the evidence of my species’ biological deterioration. My bloodline…it is tainted. Diluted. The fin…” Its webbed hand brushed the ridge briefly, “…is a physical manifestation of this…mingling. But the true change…it is within. We, the tainted ones, we wish for how it was before the…the sickness. A time when our people were not driven by conquest and…and breeding.”

The Tasqal finished adjusting its robe, and Constance saw something she hadn’t noticed before—the way it winced at each movement, how its face tightened with concealed pain.

Despite herself, despite everything these creatures had done, she stepped forward. “It hurts, doesn’t it?”

The Tasqal went absolutely still. Behind her, she felt Akur’s heat flare as he moved closer, ready to intervene if needed.

“The boils. They hurt.”

Those dark eyes studied her. A long moment passed before it spoke. “If I do not pass on my seed, this existence will have been long and painful for nothing.”

She met its gaze steadily, understanding dawning. “And if you do what your species has been doing for centuries to stay alive, you’ll only be dooming your young to the same pain.”

Something shifted in those alien eyes, a recognition that made them seem almost…human. “Yesss,” it hissed, moving closer with unnatural speed until it was mere inches from her face. She could smell its decay, feel the cold seeping from its diseased skin.

“Don’t—” She held up a hand to stop Akur’s advance, pressing back against his burning chest to keep him in place. Every instinct screamed at her to retreat, but she stood her ground.

“You are more intelligent than my kin realizes…” The Tasqal leaned in closer, inhaling deeply. Every hair on her body stood on end, but she forced herself to remain still. As Akur growled, a sound promising violence, the Tasqal shifted back slightly, blinking those enormous eyes.

“You’re telling us all this because of guilt? Pain?” She was surprised her voice remained steady despite her racing heart.

Its huge liquid eyes narrowed slightly. “Perhaps.”

She saw its lips twist as Akur wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her back against his chest. The heat of him was almost unbearable now, but she welcomed it—anything to chase away the chill of the Tasqal’s presence.

“Or perhaps it is the Shum’ai in me. And so…I will help you do what must be done. To end this.”

Constance stared at the Tasqal, the weight of its words settling like lead in her stomach. “Your entire species…you’re asking us to condemn them to death.”

“Destroying the orb will not condemn us.” The Tasqal’s voice grew gentle, almost paternal. “But it will slow us down. Until another faction rises like the Restitution did to fight against us again.” Those bottomless eyes studied her, still intense. “Maybe we will die as we should have long ago. Before we destroyed countless civilizations. Before we became monsters. ”

The silence that followed was deafening. Behind her, Akur cursed violently, releasing her to stalk across the room. His fist connected with the stone wall with enough force to send tremors through the foundation, but she doubted he even felt the impact through his rage.

“You want us to help you? To end your existence? My qrakking pleasure.” Akur’s voice dripped venom. “We will. But that means we need a way off this cursed rock. You’re giving us a ship, scum?”

“The Citadel of Dawn.” Urgency crept into the Tasqal’s voice. “You must reach it before they find the other human. They only need one.”

“What?” The word stuck in her throat. The other human. That could only mean they had the silent woman in their grasp. The one who had been taken with her but hadn’t spoken a single word since leaving those cryo pods. Constance’s stomach churned at the thought. What had they done to her?

The Tasqal’s focus shifted, and she felt the moment its attention left her, like emerging from deep water.

“What do you mean they need only one?” She stepped forward, fear clawing at her chest.

“One human.” Akur’s growl resonated through the chamber as he swung his blades, re-sheathing them criss-cross on his back with practiced precision. “I knew I needed to find you for a reason. This was it.” His golden eyes blazed with understanding. “Why those foolish Hedgeruds destroyed an entire base and only left with three humans seemed like a failed mission to me. But they left anyway. Hurriedly.”

Nausea rose in her throat as she glanced between them. “Will one of you tell me what he meant by that? Only one human? Why?”

“The orb,” Akur said.

The Tasqal’s posture changed subtly. That slight smile on its lips again. The sight made her blood run cold. Either it was enjoying them piecing the puzzle together or it was delighted they were falling into its trap.

“Speak, Tasqal, or forget about this deal you’re trying to forge here.” She had no real leverage, nothing to bargain with, but she poured every ounce of authority she possessed into her voice .

“The orb requires…direction,” it said, each word precise and measured. “A pilot. A navigator. A being whose lifeblood remembers the way home.”

“A human,” she whispered, understanding crashing over her like ice water. That weight in her throat grew until she could barely breathe. “But you said you already have one of us.”

The Tasqal didn’t blink, but its lips pulled back in that slimy almost-smile. “She is broken. Our pilot cannot harness…it will not work.”

Her eyes narrowed as pieces clicked into place. “I thought you said you needed a human to pilot this thing.”

The smile slowly died on the Tasqal’s face.

“We have a being who can operate the device,” it finally admitted. “But he is…blind. He needs a map. A human consciousness to show him the path.” Those terrible eyes fixed on her with burning intensity. “One unbroken human whose mind can be harnessed.”

The Tasqal’s mouth snapped shut, and something flickered in those intelligent eyes. Some secret. A truth still hidden.

“Go to the Citadel of Dawn. Take the ship there,” it said abruptly. “Leave this place.”

“Not without the other humans.” She hardened her voice, refusing to let fear make her weak. Not now, when the stakes were so impossibly high.

“I’m afraid that is not possible.” The Tasqal’s words dropped like stones. “One has already been taken to the citadel. The other is lost on the outskirts in the barren lands.”

The Tasqal placed something on the table—some kind of device—before adjusting its robes with those methodical movements that seemed too human. Without another word, it turned toward the door.

“Wait—” The word burst from her before she could stop it. “What is your name?”

The Tasqal paused, those liquid eyes finding hers one more time. “I cannot tell you. There are certain things you must not know.”

Akur snatched up the device, his gaze shifting between it and the Tasqal . “If we head to this place, this citadel,” he said, voice tight, “what will you do? How do I know this isn’t some elaborate ruse?”

The Tasqal’s lips curved in that unsettling way. “You do not.” Its black eyes met Akur’s with crushing honesty. “Kill me if you must, warrior. But know that without my help, you will never leave this world alive. They will retrieve your human, and humankin, like so many others, will fall.” They stared each other down, years of hatred crackling between them. “The luck of the Gods be with you Shum’ai. May destiny prevail.”

As the Tasqal slipped through the door, she watched it close. The weight of what they had learned pressed down hard. Earth. Humans. Everything was at stake.

She looked at Akur, saw the way his muscles trembled with suppressed rage, the red fin at his nape still blazing. The revelation of his genetic connection to some of these monsters must be tearing him apart. Yet here he was, still fighting, still refusing to give up.

Her gaze dropped to the device, her eyes widening slightly as

Akur activated it and a map appeared in midair, showing a path that would lead them either to salvation or destruction.

“We have to try,” she whispered, more to herself than to him. “Even if it’s a trap, even if we’re walking straight into death—we have to try.”

Because the alternative—letting the Tasqals reach Earth, letting them harvest humanity like cattle—was unthinkable.

Akur’s golden eyes met hers, and in them she saw the same determination that burned in her chest. The map between them seemed to pulse with possibility and danger. One path. One chance. The fate of her species hanging in the balance.

And somewhere out there, an orb that held the power to either save or doom them all.