Chapter 29 - Noviosk
A few moments earlier.
So in the end, I really am going to face off against that bastard Danuk. That Srebat is strong… we all are. But his way of doing things only drags our people’s reputation further through the galactic mud.
His Red Arena existed long before I ended up in the jaws of a Krakelondon—many years ago now.
But back then, buried in my business on Vagantu, I never took the time to see what he was actually doing with it.
His drug trafficking, more recent, only came about thanks to Sam, who discovered the remarkable properties of that plant.
The old Noviosk wouldn’t have had a problem with it. He would’ve shrugged it off, dismissed the topic. If people are weak enough to fall into a drug’s trap, that’s their problem, not his. Brutal, sure—but realistic.
But now… I’m not quite that Noviosk anymore. I catch myself wondering: is it truly fair to sell a fleeting moment of escape—an illusion of hope—only to enslave those who fall for it?
Danuk isn’t just dealing in drugs. He’s peddling illusions, exits. But what he sells ends up chaining people forever. I know this.
As Grand Master of the Eastern Quadrant, I received regular reports. Still, that trafficking remained abstract to me. Just a profitable product—nothing more was expected.
And then there were the fights in the Arena. I used to provide all kinds of creatures for auction, never giving a second thought to what happened to them once they left Vagantu.
After Sam found out I was the former master of that place, we never talked about it. But how could I even admit that yes—souls that passed through Vagantu were sold off for breeding, sex… or for bloodsport in the Arena?
“You’re finally getting that fight for control of the Eastern Quadrant,” Danuk says, yanking me out of my storm of thoughts.
This is no time for introspection.
He throws Sam to the floor like a piece of trash. She lands hard, lets out a muffled yelp, and scrambles backward on her heels until she hits the wall.
“You’re right,” I say, stepping forward. “But if you had an ounce of honor as a Srebat, we’d face each other under the same conditions… with the same strength. And you’ve done everything these last two days to weaken me.”
“You criticizing my hospitality?” he asks, mock-offended. “You had food, a place to sleep—what more could you want?”
“Oh, nothing much,” I reply. “Just pointing out that you’re unworthy of being the strongest. You twist the rules to get what you want. That doesn’t bring glory to our race.”
Danuk lets out a harsh, throaty laugh.
“Oh, dear Noviosk… honor is outdated. It’s weakness. There’s only one truth: the winner… and the dead. And today, you’re going to die in my Red Arena!”
How strange… I’ve always considered the Srebats’ gift as an absolute Truth. We perceive lies as the truth—as it is felt by the one speaking. And I’d never questioned that.
When Paviok taught me that attachment was weakness, he was stating a truth. But now I finally understand—it was his truth.
And now, as Danuk mocks the honor of our people, calling it obsolete, I know he believes what he says. It’s his truth.
But I refuse to accept it as mine.
I’ve always dreamed of our people being respected across the galaxy for their strength, their resolve, their power. But what I see here… is greed, gratuitous cruelty, and dishonesty. And suddenly, I feel uneasy—ashamed, even.
That image? I want no part of it anymore.
I step forward, claws already extended. My gaze locks on his.
He grins, then lunges.
The impact is brutal. Claws against claws. Skin against skin. Two powerful, agile bodies, shaped by years of battle.
He tries to sweep my legs, but I pivot and drive my elbow into his ribs. He staggers back, surprised.
“Not bad for a weakened Srebat!” he spits.
“Not great for a well-rested, well-fed one!” I shoot back, slamming a right hook into him.
He barely blocks it, but my claws graze his cheek. A thin red line appears. He touches it with his fingers, then licks the blood.
“You’re gonna regret that.”
“Then show me what you’ve got!” I taunt him.
He comes at me with renewed fury.
We roll across the ground, exchanging blows and feints, both of us hunting for an opening. He’s fast and dirty; I’m weakened and exhausted. But he’s no master. Just a copycat who’s forgotten what true strength is.
I shove him off with a knee to the gut. He stumbles back, panting.
“You think you’re better than me?” he pants. “You sold lives too. Took advantage of the system. Just like me.”
“Maybe,” I say, pulling myself upright. “But I’m not proud of it anymore. Especially seeing what you’ve made us look like.”
He screams and charges again.
Suddenly, a scream rips through the air beside us. Sam is being attacked—some Human who came out of nowhere. He drags her roughly by the hair, a blade in his hand.
In a flash, I see my mother, then Danayat, their throats slashed by Paviok. No way in hell is that happening again. Not to my sweet Sam.
A quick glance tells me Ayden’s too far.
I don’t think. I just act.
I turn my back to Danuk and leap.
With one clean swipe of my claws, I bring the attacker down before he can slit her throat.
Our eyes meet. In hers, I see shock… and deep gratitude. She didn’t expect me to save her.
I freeze for a second, heart pounding, claws soaked in her assailant’s blood.
What kind of being have I been, if she had so little faith in me?
I realize now—power alone doesn’t earn trust. It intimidates, it scares. But it doesn’t comfort. It doesn’t forge a bond like the one she has with Ayden, who risked everything to find her.
“Noviosk!” she shouts, her gaze fixed behind me, wide with fear.
Too late.
A heavy body crashes into my back, slamming me to the ground.
My breath catches; pain explodes through me. That bastard Danuk followed me and launched a coward’s attack.
He drives his claws deep into my back, then my ribs—left, right. The sharpened tips pierce like fangs of fire.
Then comes the tearing stab into my chest. Something inside rips, burns. With each breath, I feel blood flooding my throat, hot and metallic, choking me. It fills my mouth, invades my sinuses.
He’s punctured a lung.
Suddenly the weight lifts. Someone—Ayden, I think—has pulled Danuk off me. But I can’t focus on that.
All I care about now… is breathing. Just… breathe.
I scream, a mix of rage and agony, a guttural rasp choked with blood.
It pours from me, hot and thick, soaking the ground beneath.
By the Stars… is this how I die? In this wretched arena, stabbed in the back by a disgrace to our kind?
“Noviosk!” Sam gasps, kneeling at my side.
I roll onto my uninjured side. Every movement is torture, but I manage to sit up just enough for the air to move. Blood still rises in my throat—warm and sticky—but at least I’m not suffocating.
I can’t speak. I just look for her—to make sure she’s safe.
Not a scratch.
Two Humans join her, placing themselves at her sides.
Ayden kneels down, his face tense, and starts inspecting my wounds. He’ll only see the blood pouring from my side. He won’t realize Danuk struck deeper, from behind.
My gaze drifts to the other Human.
“You…” I whisper, locking eyes with his violet pupils.
“Me,” he replies calmly. “I’ve wished for your death for a long time. But today… you did something right. It doesn’t erase the lives you took. But saving that girl… it’s a step toward redemption.”
“Truths,” I mutter.
My strength drains with each heartbeat. My vision blurs, sound distorts.
Sam… Ayden… the Asgarnian… I hear them, but they’re slipping away.
I want to speak, say something… but only a trickle of blood escapes my lips.
So I focus on her.
Sam.
Her face is wet with tears, her hands trembling on my chest. She whispers my name again and again, like the sound alone could save me.
In this moment of death, she sees me again—not as the enemy who held her captive, not as the killer of her brother…
But as the friend she once healed.
I want to tell her I’m sorry. For Logan. For everything. I want to tell her she changed me, even if it’s too late.
One final breath—short, wet, barely audible.
My gaze locks with hers.
And in that look… I finally find what I never knew how to earn: peace.
Then… nothing.