Chapter 11 - Noviosk
We approach the island under cover of darkness, our ships blending into the thick cloud cover. We paid a hefty price for the digital access code that would bypass Vagantu’s security grid—the stronghold where Xhor resides.
My men are tense, primed for action. Tonight, we strike at the heart of an organization that believes itself untouchable.
Their slave market—infamous across the galaxy—will belong to me by dawn.
It’s time to bring Xhor down and take control of his empire.
He’s had three full cycles to prepare for this.
If he failed to recognize the threat I represent, he deserves everything that’s coming.
I cast one last glance at my men. Their faces ooze determination and ferocity.
They know what’s at stake. We’ve planned this assault for cycles, and now, it’s time.
I clench my jaw, adrenaline pulsing in my veins.
After this, I’ll be the ultimate master of this quadrant.
That’s my goal—and I intend to reach it.
We will succeed. It’s that or death. May the Stars guide our blades.
Finally, the signal is given. Our ships regroup. We’ll land on the approach strip while one hovercraft provides overhead cover. The element of surprise is crucial—we must strike before they can react.
Vagantu is a tiny planet, mostly water. Only the main island houses the prison where the auction specimens are kept. That’s where most of the defenses are concentrated—to guard their precious ‘merchandise’.
But Xhor, Vagantu’s current ruler, lives here—on this smaller, more discreet island. And far less protected. He has no idea what’s about to hit him. And I will kill him. That’s the only way to become the next ruler of Vagantu. Once he’s dead, the men guarding the main island will fall in line.
Moments later, we land in silence, boots hitting the damp landing pad without a sound. The darkness hides us. I signal my men to fan out and take position—just as we planned. We move forward, slow and measured. The gate comes into view, silhouetted against the starlit sky.
Then a cry of alarm shatters the quiet. We’ve been spotted. I react instantly, weapon raised. My shot is clean—the sentry drops. But the alarm is triggered. Lights flare on. Shouts echo. The gate bursts open, spitting out armed guards like insects.
They open fire without hesitation. No surprise—we weren’t exactly invited.
My men and I respond with brutal efficiency.
This is where we thrive—in chaos, in war.
We’ve rehearsed this countless times. Strike hard, strike fast. That’s how the strong survive.
Those who can’t protect their assets don’t deserve to keep them.
Blaster fire lights the darkness. We press forward, merciless, methodical.
Xhor’s men try to resist, but they’re disorganized—caught off guard.
We’re sharper. Deadlier. I see my fighters move like predators, every strike precise, lethal.
We advance, leaving corpses in our wake. A few of mine fall too. That’s war.
Finally, we reach the gate. The last guards scramble, desperate to hold their ground, but we overwhelm them. They fall. I stand among broken bodies, chest heaving, the coppery scent of blood thick in my nostrils. It’s a smell I savor. First barrier—taken.
Now for Xhor. He’s somewhere in the back of this compound—likely holed up with his personal guards. But we’re ready. Riding the momentum of our first victory, we’re not stopping now. I gesture to two men—Brok and Sallen. They follow me into the shadows of the fortress.
We move through dim corridors, alert. Xhor didn’t rise to power by accident. He’s slippery. Dangerous. I won’t underestimate him.
At a corner, I spot movement. I lunge—an unarmed Human in a Coalition-marked uniform.
“Please—I’m just an employee!” he pleads, shielding his face.
Truth. He’s no fighter. His posture screams cowardice.
“Where’s your master hiding?” I demand.
“I—I don’t know… He’s not here!” he stammers.
Lie.
“Wrong answer. I’ll give you one more chance before I carve the truth out of your corpse.” I draw my favorite blade—a long, gleaming dagger as sharp as a Ninasarvik fang.
The man knows I’m not bluffing. Trembling, he gestures toward a recessed corridor.
I nod at Brok, who knocks him out cold. We continue the hunt.
Muffled voices echo ahead. I motion for silence. We’re close. Xhor’s den. The voices grow clearer—he’s barking orders. He knows we’re here. He’s bracing for the hit.
I take a deep breath and give the signal. We kick the door in.
His guards charge us—but we’re ready.
At the back of the room, I spot him: Xhor the Penubian. I’ve seen his face in countless holograms. I’ve studied his species. Penubians are frail compared to Srebats. Cunning, though. That’s how he took control of a galactic smuggling network—through deceit, manipulation, and information.
They say Xhor has dirt on everyone. That’s his real weapon. I don’t respect that.
Raw power is all that matters.
He looks at me with defiance, but I see fear behind his eyes. He knows.
I ignore my blaster and draw my dagger. With swift precision—before he can sink his toxic fangs into me—I slash his throat. His green blood spurts as he collapses.
Behind me, my men dispatch the last two guards.
Silence.
Xhor is dead. His stronghold—mine.
By morning, the main island will follow. Easy.
The next day, we take over the slave market without a hitch.
The guards on duty are already aware that power has changed hands.
They waste no time swearing loyalty to me.
One of them, a Penubian named Banny, even offers to give me a tour of the place.
“How should we address you, Master?” he asks.
“Lord Noviosk will do. Or just Noviosk when we’re off the record.”
“Master Xhor used to conduct most of his business on the other island. But he came here for special sales—the ones for high-grade merchandise.”
“When you speak of him, just say Xhor. Now show me every inch of this rock!”
“Of course, Lord Noviosk! As you know, Vagantu is mostly aquatic—”
“Yes, I had noticed, thank you,” I cut in, irritated.
I don’t like wasting time, and I value subordinates who get to the point. Feeding me platitudes under a veil of fake respect is more likely to piss me off than anything else.
“Hmm… so the slave market is entirely located on this island. The sorting corridor is on the right, reserved for incoming merchandise, as you might expect. The corridor on the left is for buyers.”
“Let’s start with the buyers,” I say, following Banny in the direction he pointed out.
This section is actually well laid out for a fortress carved into rock. I’m immediately struck by the oppressive heat and humidity in the air. The stone walls are damp with condensation, and a smell of sea salt and mildew hangs thick around us.
We step into a comfortable lounge. The furniture, though simple, is arranged with care. Plush cushions line the seats, and a gray composite table sits in the middle. This is where buyers would wait, likely discussing prices and the merchandise they had their eye on.
Every room we pass through tells a similar story—waiting areas for wealthy buyers willing to throw down serious credits to get what they came for.
The heat and humidity make the air nearly unbreathable.
I start forming mental notes, already designing how I plan to reshape the place. With a few modifications, we could make it more comfortable, more appealing. Anything to get our clients into a mindset that encourages profitable transactions.
I keep walking until I find a small room that opens out toward the sea.
Waves crash against the rocks below, spraying salty mist through the cleared window opening.
I like this room. It would make a perfect command office for the network.
I can already see it: a massive desk, a comfortable chair… Unlike Xhor, I fully intend to keep an eye on this business.
There’s no way I’m leaving full control to the staff.
Trust them too much, and they’ll betray you.
I know how to delegate—but I’m also obsessively vigilant when it comes to my affairs.
“Does this space meet your needs, Lord Noviosk?”
“Perfectly. If you have a maintenance crew, send them here. I’ll give them direct instructions for the changes I want made.”
“I look forward to it! I’m sure the improvements will be most welcome,” Banny replies with a syrupy smile.
For a moment, I’m tempted to snap at him—his excessive deference is starting to grate. But I hold back. After all, he hasn’t said anything false. Everything he’s told me has been accurate. Most likely, this servile attitude is just how he operates.
Still, I plan to keep an eye on this Penubian.
“I want to see the rest,” I say instead.
We make our way through the damp, shadowy corridors and come upon a large hall that seems to be a sorting station.
Composite tables are lined up in rows, covered in various tools and instruments.
This is likely where the captives were examined and sorted—by species, age, gender, and physical condition. The stench of sweat and blood hangs heavy in every corner of this grim room.
I’m not particularly moved by it.
Sorting is a necessary step.
The next room is clearly a wash station.
Basins carved directly into the rock, filled with stagnant water, sit at the center of the space.
This is where the captives were probably scrubbed clean—dirt and parasites removed—before being presented to buyers.
I continue exploring and finally reach the holding cells.
The stone walls are damp, like the rest of the place.
This first room, with its benches and shackles bolted to the floor, was likely used to hold multiple prisoners.
The rest of the cells are the same in layout—but unlike the first, they’re not empty.
Adult Humans occupy them, dressed in torn rags.
Their bodies are thin, scarred. Some have open wounds—poorly treated—that speak of the brutality they’ve endured.
They keep to the walls, avoiding eye contact, as if still expecting more abuse.