15. Xandor
Chapter 15
Xandor
Possibilities
I marvel at the beautiful female before me—my Tyrxie, my Rebecca. I never dared believe she could reach me. So many paths, each a desperate attempt leading to failure, like countless veins of a leaf with their ends clipped off. Yet among the mass of defeat lay a few glimmering trails of triumph, few and far between. Graceful as always, Tyrxie navigated her way to victory.
Her mesmerizing green eyes still glow faintly, touched by the Gods, blessed with the ability to heal and soothe. Good, for I endured enough pain for half the universe. My torturers left my collar red, hoping to shatter my mind, too afraid to ask their questions—the truth they long to forget. But I will remind the Prefect, I will remind them all.
Only with Maru-Tok and the surging presence of Tyrxie through our bond did I stay alive and sane during the maddening agony. I clung to life in the crushing darkness, like a dying ember fluttering in solar winds. But now I swell with strength, my hand clenches, shaking with murderous power, my mind laser-focused. My agonies have fled; even the throbbing phantom pain of my missing arm has vanished. Cast aside by Tyrxie, her presence is the sweetest balm, banishing all that ails me.
She has honored me, and I will honor her. I see it clear as the bright Klendathor sky—our glorious destiny shines bright, a gift from the Gods for all we’ve suffered. Our souls tempered and reforged by their will.
I kiss Tyrxie on the forehead. Her gorgeous eyes shimmer with newly dried tears—too many for one so pure. Ripping my gaze from my love, I see most of the Mutalisk’s Hammer crew, who stare with a mix of shock and horror. Among them, a familiar face stands out.
“Ah, short-stuff. You’re a sight for a sore eye,” I jest, smirking.
“Xandor... lad, I wish we could’ve met under better circumstances,” he mutters, eyes downcast.
“Indeed, the Nebian hospitality leaves a lot to be desired!” I exclaim, with more bite than I intended. The truth is, I seethe with a burning hatred for the Nebians—for what they did to me, for their arrogance, for their na?ve certainty. They’re almost as twisted as the Scythians.
Even though peace is the only way forward, the baser side of me—Xandor the warrior and commander—yearns to lash out, to seek revenge. I could convince Krogoth to pursue justice, to renew our attack. Such a path exists, stretching into the darkness, tempting despite its ominous conclusion.
Felixus drops his head in shame. “At least I no longer have to sharpen these claws.” I wiggle the stump below my shoulder. My Nebian friend appears to shrink further. The sight of it gives me a flicker of sympathy. “Rest easy, Felixus. All is well.” I approach, slapping him on the back, almost toppling him over. “I bring peace, after all.”
Hyanxa scoffs. “How will you bring peace, flashing that weapon around?” she retorts, eyeing me before gesturing toward my nakedness. I glance down, frowning. The sight of my dangling cock threatens to send me into fits of laughter—especially when I recall how close I came to losing that, too.
“Oh!” I exclaim, approaching the others to see if they carry anything suitable to wear.
“Eww mammaloid floppy fleshy bits, too close. Yes?” Job states, recoiling almost out of the room in horror.
“Thought you’d be used to them now,” I retort at the fleeing Job. “Why’s he so squeamish, and you’re not?” I ask, turning to Mod, growing curious.
“I’m medical expert. Seen many fleshy bits. Too many. No?” Mob answers. I nod, the answer obvious in retrospect.
“Come on, we don’t have time for—” Hyanxa begins, her tone impatient.
“We have some time. Well, until we breach the upper levels,” I interrupt her with a stern look, already expecting the shocked glances exchanging among the others.
Hyanxa sneers, her usual fierceness flaring, “If you want to go get your idiotic self killed, by all means—don’t let me stop you.” She leans to the side, her gaze shifting past me to Tyrxie. “Our deal was to rescue Xandor, not to launch a suicide mission fighting the entire Nebian—”
“If you attempt to flee, you will die,” I state, knowing the multitude of outcomes. The crew exchanges worried looks, and I frown seeing Hyanxa finger her pistol. “Not by my hand. But you cannot escape the Nebians’ wrath for this. I’ve seen the hundred ways they catch you... some take longer than others, but make no mistake—none of us will outlive a moon’s turn.”
“What bloody nonsense are you speaking, you big blockhead?” Felixus blusters, shaking his head in disbelief. I smile, enjoying his old familiar objections. “Speaking like a primitive mad cultist, divining futures.”
I turn to Felixus, my gaze intense. “Because I can. The Gods have blessed us, and together we have ascended,” I gesture to Tyrxie, her eyes downcast as she rubs her locket. Even she doubts the truth, but soon they will understand. “You brought me a laser sword. It rests outside in the corridor, doesn’t it?” I smirk, nodding towards the exit.
Felixus flinches before frowning. I don’t need to divine the paths to know he’ll always be voiding stubborn! “An obvious guess, considering it’s the only melee weapon our battlesuits use.”
His mind grasps for the familiar—a feeble excuse, conveniently ignoring how I knew the sword lay outside. But it’s to be expected. Felixus clings to certainty amidst the unknown—the Nebian way. Safe and secure in their na?ve assertions, like Mod’s numbing oils, they ignore the painful truths of the universe.
“Tyrxie, heal Hyanxa’s wound,” I command, smiling at my love, enjoying the look of innocent disbelief spreading over her beautiful, delicate features.
“Heal her?” she questions, taking a tentative step towards the fierce Jungarian. “Um, how do I do that, exactly?”
“Giant green mammaloid shows signs of extreme trauma-induced delusions. No?” Mod interjects, frowning as he opens his coat, fingering for one of his many oils. “Very common ailment in such scenarios. No?”
“There is no cure for the truth,” I challenge the diminutive Glaseroid. “You need only do what you did for me,” I reassure Tyrxie with a smile.
“Okay...” Tyrxie exhales, approaching Hyanxa, who frowns but still holds out her injured arm. My love shrugs before taking the offered limb. Staring at Tyrxie, I channel all the love I feel for her. My heart swells, the emotions raw and intense—feeding her psyche, bridging our bond. “Nothing’s happening, Xandor,” she mutters, followed by the impatient, disbelieving sounds of the others.
“If Tyrxie heals like she repairs, Hyanxa’s arm would be attached backwards. Yes?” Job interjects, turning to his brother, their antennae’s fluttering wildly,
“Hey! I might rearrange your arms the old-fashioned way, Job,” Tyrxie snaps back before sighing in exasperation, turning to me. “I’m sorry, Xandor.” Her face carries a hint of shame.
It’s absurd. She shines bright as a supernova, pure as fresh snow atop Draxxi mountains. I know the potential within her—I’ve seen it. Just as I know with absolute certainty that, in a moment, she will heal Hyanxa’s arm. “Channel your love, your hate, any emotion that soars your heart. Let it infuse your soul, let it carry you away until you embrace your existence.”
Hyanxa scoffs, mumbling something about me being overly dramatic. But I’m distracted by Tyrxie, my heart pouring love to her. She turns back to Hyanxa, her glossy black hair flowing as she takes a deep breath. My feelings rest at the precipice, crossing our bond, yearning to connect with my soulmate. I see Tyrxie shake; her gaze distant and her lip trembling.
Then, in a rush, our souls connect—the bridge completed. Already, I can feel her presence swirling within me, washing away all my pains and doubts, filling me with newfound strength. It feels glorious as my muscles swell and my consciousness expands. The future paths that were out of reach are now illuminated, revealing their secrets.
My mind reels, knowing sometimes worse than ignorance. The infinite paths stretching onward, pushing my mind to the breaking point, forcing me back to the present. Tyrxie gasps, staring at her glowing hands in wonder. “Oh, that feels good!” Hyanxa moans, throwing her hand back, as she unwraps her makeshift bandage, revealing the inevitable—her wound now healed.
“This is bloody madness!” Felixus exclaims, rushing over to inspect Hyanxa’s hand, then scrutinizing Tyrxie as if she might be hiding a portable healing pod in her torn shirt somehow. I laugh, watching him fumble to make sense of it. His universe so full of certainties now thrown into doubt, the answers uncomfortable.
“I feel voiding amazing,” Hyanxa says, flexing her wrist and testing its strength.
Tyrxie turns to me, an expression of disbelief in her stunning green eyes, now glowing with flecks of my golden love in their depths. “Well done, my love.” I smile at her.
“So, Tiny can heal. This means Scary knows future?” Quad inquires, scratching his head, struggling with the implications. “Scary is even more scary!” He booms, pointing a finger at me.
“Only to my enemies,” I assure, thinking of the evitable confrontation with the Prefect. The thought fills me with joy, relishing the justice I will bestow upon him.
“Any more doubts?” I inquire, glaring towards the others, lingering on Felixus and Mod. My Nebian friend’s mouth works soundlessly. “You look like you’re trying to catch znats, Felixus,” I jest. “Speak your concerns.”
Felixus blusters like he might offer more protests until he exhales, his shoulders loosening. “Void it. What’s the plan then, oh wise and mystical blockheaded oracle?” He mocks, smiling.
“Like I said you stubborn short-stuff, your Imperator under the Praetorian Prefect will hunt us relentlessly if we flee. There is only one path to victory. I will speak to your Imperator.” I turn to Tyrxie with a nod. “We will show him the errors of his ways, and then he will accept Krogoth’s peace offer.” I gaze at the others. “Peace is how we will win; peace is how we survive,” I state, knowing my words stretch to encompass all Klendathians.
Felixus frowns, rubbing his orange beard. “The Imperator is old. His mind fades. He’s no longer the brilliant leader he once was. I hate to say it, but it’s true.”
“It’s fortunate for us then, we have the perfect remedy,” I retort, smirking, watching in satisfaction as the realization dawns on Felixus as his eyes shift to Tyrxie.
Hyanxa scoffs. “Assuming we live long enough! Do your paths show how the void we get through all the guards?”
“They do,” I answer simply. The paths show countless options, many ending in failure, but there are ways that can be navigated like one charts a voyage through space. “Do as I say, and fight your voiding hearts out, and I assure you—you will all live.”
“Good enough for me.” Hyanxa nods, adjusting her laser pistol in her hands.
As I move to leave, Quad raises a hand, his others occupied holding his giant laser cannon weapon. “Tiny, you heal rash between toes?” he asks, glaring at Mod. “His oil doesn’t work!”
Mod scoffs with surprising offense. “Because you digest precious ointments! No?”
“Oh.” Quad scratches his head as Tyrxie approaches him. I wonder how Kaanus possessed the patience to lead this strange band of misfits for so long.
I exit my torture chamber looking for the laser sword, finding it resting against the wall. The gleaming curved black metal beckons to me like an old friend—the one I’ve seen in my futures. Destined to become part of me, as familiar as the arm that was cut from my body. My hand grasps the fine leather hilt, the grip ironically massive for one as mutated as I am.
Yet I handle it with ease; my Klendathian strength is more than enough to bear it. I swing testing slashes. My balance feels strange, lacking my left arm as a counterweight. Smoothly, I shift into flowing forms, drawing in knowledge from a time yet to come, from a Xandor yet to be.
Activating the laser switch near the guard produces a buzzing hum as the black blade, engraved in gold, is enveloped in glowing crimson along its length, sparking with ominous power—the power to cut through anything. Even battlesuits . The thought brings a smile to my face as I return to the room, eager to finish this.
“Stop wiggling, Quad,” Tyrxie protests, trying to place her green, glowing hands on the recoiling Barlyxian.
I stand directly behind Quad, blocking him as he bounces off me in his haste to retreat. “Got you!” Tyrxie declares, clutching his leg.
“It tickles!” Quad complains as his squirming lessens and his expression shifts to one of joy. “Oh, itches gone!” he booms, shifting to remove a heavy metal boot. “I check.”
“Check after.” I beckon to others at the exit. “Soon they will discover why they’re locked out. It’s time to go.”
Tyrxie leaps past Quad as gracefully as a stalking venefex, followed by the others, with Quad taking the longest, carting his monstrous cannon around. My love wraps an arm around my waist, smiling up at me, reflecting my feelings back at me. “I’ll handle the guards. I won’t risk losing you.”
Tyrxie nods in agreement. Her trust in me is heartwarming, but I know she’ll fight tooth and claw to aid me?—my brave bonded female. She breaks her embrace, taking on the posture of a veteran mercenary, with her shifting eyes and rifle poised.
We make good time despite the others struggling to keep up with my long strides. Towards the end of the corridor, I spot the two fallen Nebian guards, noticing they are stunned but alive. Good, minimizing bloodshed will make the path to peace easier, although it will prove difficult in the coming moments.
Bounding up the stairwell, I hear Quad grumbling about being left behind. “Wait here,” I command, rounding the stairs to the next level. In a blur of movement, I rush to the armory, finding and equipping the same laser shield devices the others wear. Next, my gaze falls to a large coat, much larger than for a Nebian, perhaps made to keep the elements from their battlesuits. I toss it on awkwardly, and to my chagrin, have no way to tie the straps.
“Let me help you with that,” Tyrxie offers as I turn toward the others. Her delicate, tiny fingers brush my stomach and chest, sending tingles through me as she tightens my coat. For a fleeting, merciful second, I forget all thoughts of possible futures, seeing only my love. Drawing in her intoxicating scent, the sweetest aroma in the universe.
“Done,” she declares with a chuckle, and to my surprise, I realize I’m nuzzling the side of her beautiful face and groaning.
Jolting from my pleasurable bewitchment, I notice Felixus standing with a raised eyebrow. “Uh huh, what was it you used to say? You only like bigger females?” he mocks,
“She’s bigger than you, short-stuff,” I retort with a smile. “Besides, I can’t visit your high chieftain undressed. We Klendathians already have a false reputation of being near-naked savages.”
“ False, ” Felixus repeats, dripping with sarcasm. But before I can laugh, the sound of immense thudding echoes through the corridor, vibrating the very walls.
“They’re breaking in sooner than I expected. We’ll need to be quick,” I state, glancing down the rumbling hallway. “Job, go to the central control, turn on the security systems, and hold off their remote overrides as long as you can. Mod, you go to the ventilation system and flood the lower levels with non-lethal nerve gas. Hyanxa, you go with them. You’ll face two guards on your return to the audience chamber after they hack the central control. That will buy us enough time for us to broach peace,” I say in a rush, already seeing the events playing out like a recording.
The others exchange uneasy glances before nodding and running down the corridor. It’s good they can’t see what I’ve seen—an army of battlesuits swarming as Short Hoppers blast laser cannons from orbit, attempting to breach their own fortress defenses.
The irony is amusing: after all the battles, all the wars, it turns out the Scythians just needed the Mutalisks’s Hammer crew and Felixus to achieve what their entire army could not.
I turn to the remaining three, smiling despite the ominous, chaotic rumbling.
“Our audience with the Imperator awaits.”