Stars in Nova (The Sable Riders #6)

Charged Undercurrents

K isan raced ahead, his movements fluid yet charged with power.

The mask’s energy seemed to ripple through him, enhancing every motion, each breath.

His black tactical suit, sleek and imposing, appeared to be an extension of the mask, its matte surface reflecting green highlights from the glowing spinel.

As he followed Samira and Sharin toward the exit, the stone fortifications trembled under the advancing footsteps of the Corilian forces.

The rhythmic clang of metal feet reverberated through the tunnels, growing louder with progressive seconds.

Kisan’s hand flexed at his side, and a shockwave rippled outward from his fingers, the pressure enough to dislodge small rocks from the walls.

Samira glanced back at him. ‘Damn, you’re one scary mofo,’ she breathed as she took in the transformation.

He felt it, too.

He was teetering on the edge of his darkness, on the precipice of reverting to Ankis.

He shivered as his essence shifted in entirety.

Gone was the quiet, brooding man with a defeated soul; in his place was a force of nature, a weapon forged into flesh.

Yet even in his terrifying presence, Samira’s gaze at him was achingly warm, with an undercurrent of compassion that made his chest tighten.

‘That you are willing to step back into your nemesis for us moves me greatly,’ she whispered.

She understood the cost.

Fokk, she was incredible.

‘Kisan,’ she said again, her voice firmer this time, ‘this way.’

His glowing eyes met hers, and for a moment, he knew she preferred the man beneath the mask.

The one who had kissed her with such intensity, who had held her as though she were the only thing anchoring him to this world.

Damn, it gave him fuel, lit a fire in his belly.

He wanted to win for her.

Raising his chin, he forced the storm within him to refocus, his attention turning to the approaching enemy.

‘Stay close,’ he growled, his voice quiet, no less commanding.

As they moved deeper into the tunnels, his aura loomed behind her, a living tempest ready to unleash its fury.

Her soldiers were already assembling, their weapons gleaming under the cavern lights.

She barked orders, her voice carrying over the rising chaos. ‘Defensive positions along the central passage! Hold them at the bottleneck. Fluid units prepare for flood containment. We push them back, no matter what.’

Kisan stood at her side, breathing steadily despite the mask’s presence. ‘I’ve got your six.’

‘You’d better,’ she replied, a smirk breaking through her tension.

The mask clamped tighter to his skull, the metal tendrils searing into his implants as if the device sought to merge with him.

Kisan’s vision sharpened, the gloomy tunnel glowing with enhanced clarity around him.

Each slight movement of the advancing cyborgs telegraphed their intent, and he parsed them before they were complete—an arm raised to strike, a weapon leveled to fire, a shift in formation.

He got ahead of each motion, his weapon already aimed as their triggers pulled.

His hands gripped his rifle, his kinetic force guided his aim.

He squeezed the trigger, sending a precise volley of laser blasts down the corridor. Each shot found its mark, piercing vital circuits and joints and dropping the cyborgs like crumpled marionettes.

A warning pulse vibrated through his body—precognition from the artifact on his face.

He ducked without thinking, a plasma projectile whizzing past his head, its heat searing the air.

Rising, he pivoted, using the momentum to fire another burst. Two more androids fell, their metallic bodies clanging against the stone.

The Rider advanced, his boots crunching over debris, his aqua eyes blazing beneath the mask’s translucent glow.

The energy coursing through him was intoxicating, a raw surge of power that sharpened his senses to razor precision. But with it came a nagging edge of strain—like a string pulled too taut.

A flash of movement.

His prescience flared, and Kisan spun, slamming his rifle’s butt into the head of a cyborg that had lunged at him.

The creature staggered, its optical sensors flickering, but the Guardian was already on it.

He drove his elbow into its chest, sending a pulse of kinetic energy through the strike. The cyborg’s torso caved inward, sparks flying as it collapsed.

‘Samira!’ he roared, his bellow echoing off the stone walls, layered with the metallic resonance of the mask. ‘They’re regrouping at the tunnel entrance!’

Her command carried back through the din. ‘Flood them!’

Her hands moved in fluid, sweeping arcs.

The grotto shuddered as a torrent of liquid surged forward, a wall of liquid fury that swept through the advancing cyborg ranks.

Their iron limbs thrashed as the wave slammed them into the jagged cavern rocks.

The unexpected wave crashing into the enemy filled the air, mingling with the crackle of short-circuiting electronics.

The rippling crest pushed out the Corilians, sending a flood surge to the outside.

‘ Fokk !’ Kisan murmured under his breath.

Her command of the water was so palpable as he stared in disbelief.

The battle pressed forward, spilling onto the surface of Orilia XIV as the humid, echoing tunnels gave way to the scorched wasteland above.

The night sky glowed an angry orange, and ash drifted in the heat-hazed atmosphere.

The ground was blackened and cracked, littered with the remnants of past skirmishes.

The acrid scent of burning metal and seared earth was thick, catching in Kisan’s throat as he emerged into the open.

Vaelorii troops poured out behind him, Samira’s fluid, dynamic warriors flanking his position.

The cyborgs regrouped, their lines rigid, their glowing eyes casting an eerie light over the battlefield.

Kisan’s grip tightened on his rifle, the mask pulsing in erratic bursts. It timed its killing pulses with his rifle’s blasts, its glow dimming and flaring with every discharge of kinetic vigor.

Its precognition, including its ability to fire seconds before the enemy, faltered. Moments of clarity were interrupted by static-like interference.

Kisan gritted his teeth, his frustration mounting as his body weakened under the strain of the mask’s relentless energy draw.

A warning flared in his mind again.

He twisted, narrowly avoiding a plasma shot that grazed his arm. The heat burned, but he ignored it, racing forward.

‘Hold the line!’ he shouted to the troops, sending yet another kinetic sweep before them, felling an entire unit of Corilians.

His utterance was raw and authoritative, cutting through the chaos.

He raised his hand, channeling the mask’s power into a sweeping pulse.

More cyborgs buckled, and a shockwave radiating outward sent them toppling like dominoes.

Samira’s voice cut through to him, fierce and hard-edged. ‘Push them back to the ridge!’

She moved like a storm, her firearm attacks relentless, her disruptors cascading through the enemy ranks with devastating precision.

Kisan pressed on, his body a whirlwind of calculated strikes and energy bursts. However, the artifact’s erratic pulses were growing worse.

‘Damn!’ he cursed.

His chest heaved with effort, each breath a struggle against the overwhelming power coursing through him.

His hands trembled as he reloaded his rifle, and the vibrations from the mask made fine motor control challenging.

Through the battle haze, he spotted Samira.

Her movements were graceful, like dancing through the battlefield, a beacon amid the chaos.

Her strength ignited a wild wrath within him that pushed back the exhaustion threatening to claim him.

The fight raged on, and the Corilians were relentless in their assault.

Kisan’s strikes remained precise, his focus unyielding, but the toll was inevitable.

Every pulse of the mask pulled at his very essence, yet he refused to falter.

His mind locked on one thought: victory.

As another wave of mechanical beings surged forward, Kisan met them head-on, his rifle blazing. The battle was far from over, but his mask fluctuated with each strike.

It pulsed erratically, its glow dimming and flaring as its power wavered.

‘My metanoids and the artifact can’t keep up,’ he shouted to Samira by his side. ‘I won’t last much longer but can reach my ship for additional firepower.’

‘Why didn’t you call it sooner?’

‘Didn’t want to alert the Corilians unnecessarily to my lucky charm.’

Her eyes searched his face, and she shook her head. ‘Do it,’ she called out with a chin jerk.

Samira barked another order to her unit, holding the line as the cyborgs advanced.

The ground beneath her feet trembled as Kisan’s voice cut through the din. ‘Mirage, do you read me? We’re in a battle with the freakin’ Corilians at my neural location. We need airborne support.’

The buzz of a response came through his cerebral comms. ‘Reading you loud and clear. Incoming.’

Moments later, the sleek silhouette of the Rider’s gunship appeared on the horizon, its engines roaring as it descended.

The ship’s cannons unleashed a blinding surge of kinetic force, amplifying the output of Kisan’s mask.

The wave tore through the cyborg divisions, their bodies sparking and disintegrating as the energy overwhelmed them.

The silence that followed was deafening.

The battlefield was littered with the remains of cyborgs, their circuits fried and their forms crumpled.

Samira’s soldiers stood panting; their weapons lowered as the realization of their victory sank in.

Kisan staggered, his hand reaching for the void on his face as its radiance fluctuated and died.

He collapsed to one knee; his breathing labored as the device hissed and detached. The dim glow of the bioluminescent walls flickered in and out of focus. Sparks danced along the mask’s surface before fading, making it inert.

Samira knelt beside him, her hands steady as she examined his pale, sweat-slicked face. ‘Kisan,’ she murmured, quiet but firm. ‘Are you—’

‘I’ll live,’ he rasped, his voice hoarse. ‘However, the artifact is toast for now.’

Sharin approached, her expression grim as she studied the object, turning it over in her hand. ‘Its energy emitter is fried. We’ll need more than hope and luck to reanimate it.’

Samira’s jaw tightened as she gazed out over the battlefield. The skirmish was won, but the war was far from over. ‘We’ll figure it out.’

She stood, offering Kisan her hand.

He took it, and she levered him upright, his grip strong despite his apparent exhaustion.

Together, they led the survivors back to the enclave city.

Each step was laced with their victory, a fragile flicker of hope against the darkness looming over Orilia XIV.