Chapter 25
TWENTY-FIVE
Arcanthus clenched his jaw as he retrieved the blaster from its hidden compartment beside his bed. Fear had coiled through his insides, touching everything with its cold, slimy fingers, but it could not extinguish the firestorm of his rage.
Once again, Vaund had violated Arc’s sanctuary. He’d attacked Arc’s home .
My home, my friends…now my mate. You don’t get to take everything again.
He checked the surveillance feeds as he hurried to the door. Fighting had already spilled into the compound, but he couldn’t tell how many Syndicate attackers had entered, couldn’t tell how many of his people were up and fighting, couldn’t guess which corridors would be safe to travel. Samantha, Drakkal, and a few others had escaped the lounge and were involved in a fighting retreat toward the workshop, and more of Arc’s people were battling elsewhere in the compound, all outnumbered. Two of them—Sekk’thi and Urgand—were a relatively short distance from Arcanthus, caught in a firefight with several of the invaders. There was minimal cover available to them.
Arc’s deepest instincts demanded he ignore everything, everyone, and charge across the compound to reach Samantha as quickly as possible, but he couldn’t obey them this time. He had to help his people, his friends, as best he could along the way. He would not allow a repeat of the slaughter on Caldorius. He would not fail the people who followed him—not again. Arcanthus had no doubt that Drakkal would do everything in his power to protect Sam.
That had to be enough for now.
He dismissed the holocom screen, formed his hardlight shield, and entered the corridor, hurrying to Sekk’thi and Urgand. Each step forward intensified the furious heat in his chest.
My home. My friends.
My mate .
Arcanthus raised the shield as he turned into the hall where Sekk’thi and Urgand were fighting. Two of the gunmen at the far end were dead, but the rest—four or five, at least—shifted their focus to Arc and fired. Plasma burst and dissipated in flashes across his shield. He spread his fingers wide, pushing the shield to its maximum size, and advanced toward his friends.
He moved just beyond Sekk’thi and Urgand’s positions, allowing them to duck behind his shield. Both the ilthurii and the vorgal were clad only in what appeared to be undergarments; they had likely been sleeping between shifts in their quarters when the alarm had sounded. They fired around the edges of the shield, taking down another attacker.
“At least we’re all dressed for the occasion,” Arcanthus said without humor as they retreated down the hallway backward.
“Where’s everyone else?” Urgand asked .
“Scattered. They hit us from all sides, and we were spread too thin,” Arcanthus replied.
The energy he was expending to maintain the shield was creating a build-up of heat in his right arm; it wouldn’t be long before that heat reached a critical level and caused internal damage to the prosthesis. But cutting off the flow meant the shield would collapse within seconds—the enemy’s fire was too concentrated and unrelenting.
There was undisguised concern in Sekk’thi’s voice when she asked, “And Samantha?”
“With Drakkal. They’re fighting their way to the workshop.”
They turned at the next intersection. Arcanthus slammed the shield into the floor and released its tether, blocking the entrance of the corridor. He and his companions spun around and ran. Arc’s right arm hissed as its heat vents opened to expel scorching steam and draw cooler air over its power cells.
They encountered another group of Syndicate attackers in the next hall, igniting a frantic exchange of fire that filled the passage with so much plasma the air wavered with heat. Despite the superior fire rates of the Syndicate’s auto-blasters, Arcanthus and his companions managed to put their foes on the defensive; two more invaders fell before the rest took cover. Arcanthus followed Sekk’thi’s lead through a staggered retreat—he, Urgand, and Sekk’thi moved from doorway to doorway, two maintaining suppressive fire as the third fell back to the next bit of shelter, constantly alternating roles.
Arcanthus quashed his urge to check the surveillance feeds again and find Samantha; he couldn’t afford a distraction that would slow him down. He’d have trouble getting to Samantha if he was shot.
He and his companions continued toward the workshop, harassed at every step by aggressive and plentiful attackers, who seemed to swarm the halls like fast-multiplying vermin—sewer skrudges equipped with auto-blasters and low-grade combat armor. For every enemy who fell to the trio’s blaster fire, two more seemed to appear.
When the gauge on his arm indicated the hardlight shield had failed, Arcanthus growled; it meant even more invaders would be rushing toward them. He summoned a new shield, but because the overburdened power cells hadn’t fully recovered, he couldn’t expand the barrier beyond its default one-meter diameter circle, and it wouldn’t survive much punishment.
His intensifying rage demanded he shift the battle to his terms, that he charge his enemies and get close enough to put his real skills to good use, close enough to feel their blood splatter his skin as he sliced them to pieces with his sword and crushed their bones with fists and feet. But his judgment was not so clouded as to succumb to that wild, primal urge.
At least not yet.
They encountered a few more members of the security team as they retreated, doubling the size of their party, but there were distressingly few people about; many of the personnel under his employment served as guards for the alley accesses that led to the compound’s numerous entrances, and thus had likely been killed in the initial surprise attack. The new additions to the group were better equipped, if nothing else, wearing combat armor and carrying auto-blasters.
Still, the battle raged without cease throughout their journey. What should’ve taken a few minutes felt like days, and Arcanthus’s worry for Samantha only grew more pronounced. He continued firing, continued killing, but the stream of enemies was endless. He felt impotent, ineffective, useless , as his security crew rallied around him and defended his body with theirs .
When a plasma bolt pierced Sekk’thi’s right arm, and her blaster fell, she growled in pain, crouched to retrieve her weapon with her left hand, and resumed firing. Flecks of molten metal sprayed from the wall as it was torn apart by plasma bolts, splashing on Urgand’s face to sizzle tiny portions of his flesh, but the vorgal didn’t even flinch.
Arcanthus’s small group turned, finally, into a short corridor that ended at one of the workshop’s concealed rear entries. Once everyone was in the passage, Arcanthus sealed the opening—from the other side it would look like a section of the hallway wall, indistinguishable from the rest. Their pursuers would’ve seen the open passage, meaning they’d eventually find a way through, but every extra second Arc could claim to help his people escape was worth it.
Arcanthus opened the workshop door, and his group rushed inside. They were greeted by a few more members of the security team, some of whom already looked bedraggled and battered.
But there was no Drakkal. No Samantha.
“Cover the other entrances,” Arcanthus said as he hurried to his desk to pull up the surveillance feeds.
“ You there, Arc ?” asked Drakkal over the holocom.
“Where are you?” Arcanthus spread out the surveillance screens and expanded them.
“ Almost at the big door. Coming in hot. Have it ready .”
“Is Samantha—”
“ She’s okay .”
The immense pressure that had strained Arc’s breathing eased a bit. A moment later, he found them on one of the feeds; Samantha was running in front of Drakkal, who kept his body between her and the invaders giving chase. Dead Syndicate gunmen littered the hallway, but there were more advancing. A mere ten or fifteen meters separated Arc’s people from the Syndicate—and at the enemy’s rear was a faceless specter, calm and controlled amidst the chaos.
Arcanthus opened the huge blast door at the far end of the chamber, halting it about a meter high; that was enough to allow the others to slide beneath without exposing everyone inside the workshop to hostile fire. Then he opened the hidden escape hatch on the platform behind him.
An explosion sounded in one of the corridors outside, and the corresponding camera feed went out. The Syndicate was blasting their way into the workshop.
Arc turned to look toward the door through which he’d just entered. How long before the invaders breached it? He had to assume they had adequate equipment to penetrate the defenses—this attack was meant to erase Arcanthus from existence, and Vaund was the sort who would’ve equipped his men with excessive firepower to ensure the job was done.
“ Vrek’osh ,” Arcanthus growled. “Once Drak and the others are inside, we’re leaving.”
He swung his attention back to the surveillance feeds to see Samantha and Drakkal nearing the wide landing in front of the big door. The azhera slowed, turning to shoot at the Syndicate and allowing Koroq, Kiloq, Razi, and Thargen to move past him.
Arcanthus’s eyes widened when Vaund burst into motion, charging toward Drakkal like a vengeful shadow blasting out of the void.
“Everyone into the hatch,” Arcanthus shouted as he leapt over the desk. He landed heavily at the base of the steps and sprang up, breaking into a sprint.
Faster, damn you! Faster!
Samantha’s lungs and throat burned as she ran. Her feet felt like they each weighed a hundred pounds, and her back itched, anticipating the deadly sting of a plasma bolt at any moment.
“Go, go,” Drakkal shouted behind her.
Thargen and the cren brothers entered her peripheral vision as she reached the staircase landing, running alongside her. The others dove in unison, sliding beneath the large blast door just ahead. Despite her terror, despite her heart pounding so fast and loud that she almost couldn’t hear anything else, her mind registered Drakkal’s absence.
Samantha risked a look over her shoulder to see Drakkal near the corridor entrance, only a meter or two from the steps, firing his blaster into the hallway. Her breath hitched when a black figure, moving faster than seemed physically possible, darted out of the corridor. The tall, slender figure ducked low, beneath the barrel of Drakkal’s blaster, and swung a crackling blue energy sword up. The blade left an after-image of its trail through the azhera’s arm; the limb detached from Drakkal’s body a fraction of a second later.
Drakkal’s roar—as filled with rage as it was with pain—was deafening, reverberating off the walls. He swung his free arm, catching his foe in the head with a heavy blow that produced a dull metallic thunk .
The figure spun aside with the force of the blow, but shifted the momentum into a kick, slamming his heel into the side of Drakkal’s head.
The azhera staggered, one of his legs buckling beneath him, but lunged forward, swiping his big, dark claws across the figure’s chest. Cloth shredded and viscous, dark blue blood glistened on the fabric of the figure’s coat. Drakkal fought savagely despite his injury.
The figure reeled before replying to Drakkal’s assault with his own series of quick attacks. Drakkal narrowly avoided the arcing blade, but he couldn’t defend himself from the figure’s powerful kicks.
A blow to his gut doubled Drakkal over. The snarling azhera was unable to recover before his foe kneed him in the face. Drakkal staggered backward, and the dark figure kicked him twice more in the head.
Drakkal collapsed.
Everything had happened so quickly that Samantha had barely been able to register it. She didn’t realize until that moment that she’d stopped before reaching the door; it hadn’t been a conscious decision, just like it wasn’t a conscious decision that had her charging toward the black figure, who now loomed over the fallen azhera.
Samantha was terrified; she knew she was outmatched. She couldn’t stand against anyone who’d dropped Drakkal so quickly.
Drakkal’s voice sounded in her mind, echoing the words she’d heard him say to Arcanthus so many times— don’t be stupid.
This was, perhaps, the stupidest thing she’d ever done, but she couldn’t run to safety while her friend was killed. Her greatest regret had always been her failure to fight for herself. She wouldn’t add failure to fight for a friend to that regret, not if there was some chance, no matter how tiny, of making a difference.
The dark figure stood with his back to Samantha and his head angled toward Drakkal. Slowly—as though relishing the moment—he raised his sword and reversed his grip, directing the tip downward.
Clenching her teeth, Samantha launched herself at her foe.
The figure turned suddenly, facing Sam with his featureless metal mask. She knew in that moment this was Vaund, the devil risen from Arc’s past.
Vaund’s empty hand darted out with lightning speed, and he closed his long, skeletal fingers around her throat in a viselike grip, halting her in midair.
The pain was immense, and her airway was immediately squeezed shut. She grasped Vaund’s forearm with both hands, desperate to relieve the pressure, desperate to breathe. His arm had a strange feel through his shirt—like hard leather stretched over a dense metallic core.
“So, he let his little terran wander away from his side,” Vaund said, his raspy voice pervaded by a buzzing electronic undertone.
Panic and helplessness pressed in on all sides of Sam’s mind, chased by rapidly encroaching darkness. She clawed at Vaund’s arm and kicked his torso, but his grip didn’t falter.
Worthless. Weak. Stupid.
No! She wasn’t going to listen to those doubts anymore. She wasn’t going to be James’s victim— anyone’s victim—ever again.
Focusing past the pain in her throat, the fire in her lungs, the building pressure in her head, she recalled what Sekk’thi had taught her.
Every foe has a weakness, but you must survive long enough to discover it and take advantage.
Samantha had, at best, seconds to act. She raked her gaze over Vaund, searching for something, for anything, but he was covered from head to toe in black, and her vision was already darkening…
He tilted his head, and her eyes fell on the hoses connected to the side of his helmet, just behind where a human’s ear would’ve been.
Throwing all her strength and willpower into the movement, she bent her abdomen, swung her legs up, and kicked the hoses. Her heel hit one of the connectors, and it loosened. Air hissed from the damaged valve, and Vaund let out a raspy grunt. Samantha hurriedly hammered her heel into the hose again, breaking it free.
Vaund released her and dropped his sword, clawing at the disconnected hose and open valve. His wheezing breath sounded painful; were she not otherwise occupied, Sam might’ve found something poetically just about that. She landed hard on her backside, immediately moving her hand to her neck as she sucked in several hungry breaths.
She glanced at Drakkal. He was unmoving save for the shallow rise and fall of his chest.
Focus, Sam. Don’t have much time.
Her eyes landed on the fallen energy sword, which had embedded itself in the floor with its handle angled upward. It slowly sank deeper and deeper into the concrete as its blade melted the surrounding material.
Samantha scrambled forward and grasped the sword’s handle. The blade’s dull vibrations coursed up her arms as she pulled the weapon up; it slid free with unexpected ease. She forced herself to her feet, ignoring the weakness in her knees and the fire in her throat as she swung the sword at Vaund.
Vaund swayed back, his gangly frame twisting to avoid the pulsing blade. He kept one hand on the disconnected tube as Samantha recovered from her first swing and attacked again. He raised his other arm. The blade burned through his sleeve and bounced off some sort of dark metal beneath, leaving a narrow, glowing orange trail.
“A spirited creature,” he said, his voice seemingly unaffected by his labored breathing. “I may have to break you in myself.”
“Samantha!” Arcanthus yelled from somewhere behind her.
Growling, Samantha reversed the blade and lunged forward, taking another swing.
Vaund deflected the blade with his forearm again, but this time, he released the hose. His hand clamped over both of hers, locking her arms in place. His other hand joined the first immediately, and before Samantha could react, Vaund had pried the sword out of her grasp. He spun her like she weighed nothing and clamped an arm around her neck, tugging her against his rigid chest.
She found herself facing Arcanthus. He stood in front of the workshop door, staring past her with glowing, hate-filled eyes. The blaster in his left hand was aimed at Vaund, and his tail flicked restlessly behind him.
“Arcan—”
Vaund tightened his hold, silencing Samantha. She clutched his forearm with both hands, but he was too strong for her to break free.
He drew in a strained breath as heavy footfalls approached from the hallway behind him. “Don’t shoot the sedhi. I’m going to take care of him myself.”
Several of the gunmen who’d been chasing Sam and her companions entered her peripheral vision with their weapons aimed at Arcanthus.
Vaund raised his sword, stopping the thrumming blade a centimeter from Samantha’s eye. She tried to lean back, but there was no way to move, nowhere to go. Half her field of vision was Arcanthus, his features more demonic than ever in his rage and worry, and the other half was dominated by her imminent death.
She wished that she could tell Arc again how much she loved him. Wished she could tell him that, for once, she wasn’t sorry. When it came to him, Samantha had no regrets.