Chapter 22 Orion #2
He steps out from the shadows like he’s been waiting here this whole time—hulking, plated in his telltale fitted black armor, the low thrum of a plasma rifle in his hands humming like a death sentence. His eyes glow faintly in the flicker of emergency lighting.
“Lyra Phoenix and her Xylothian ranger,” he growls.
Rude. I have a name.
Lyra moves fast. She shoves me aside and dives behind a collapsed beam, her motion drawing Kraxis’s attention for just a second, but it’s enough.
I pull the plasma pistol from my thigh holster and aim, but he fires first. A bolt of plasma slices past my cheek and melts a hole through the wall behind me.
The shockwave sends a bloom of heat licking over my skin.
Lyra pops up and hurls a piece of metal—a broken vent cover. It clangs off his shoulder with no real damage, but it distracts him again.
She moves like lightning. She launches herself at him, using the lower strut of the beam as a springboard.
Mid-air, she twists and drops onto his back.
He snarls, slamming her into the wall, but she clings on and rips a blade from the holster on his waist. I see the moment it shifts—from struggle to fury.
She stabs him in the shoulder, and then in his side. Once. Twice.
Kraxis roars. He slams her into the floor, but she rolls, agile and vicious. Her strikes are savage—blows to the ribs, the joints. She's relentless, fighting like she wants to peel him out of his own skin.
But Kraxis isn't just brute force—he's a killer with a penchant for pain.
With a snarl, he feints left, then pivots. His hand latches around my throat, dragging me up. The plasma pistol is back in his hand, humming with deadly promise, and it presses against my temple. Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me—not again.
Lyra freezes.
“Drop it,” he spits. “Or I paint the floor with his brains.”
Her chest heaves. For a moment, I see the storm of indecision in her eyes—pure rage and helplessness. But then she lets the blade clatter to the floor.
“Good girl,” Kraxis sneers, adjusting the grip on his weapon.
“You know, I’ve never understood your appeal.
Brill always was such a fool about you. But I harbor no delusions, and I’m tired of having to chase you around the galaxy, making sure you’re not about to betray him.
It will save me so much work if I just kill you now. ”
He turns the barrel toward her.
In that split second, everything inside me snaps. Rage, disgust, sheer, unfettered loathing that this creature threatens my mate.
I will bleed you dry.
I twist, using the momentum of his shift, and flip him over my back. The gun fires wild, scorching the ceiling, and we crash to the floor.
My fists find the bony ridges of his face again and again.
Wisps of memories swirl in my mind—being in this state before, during the grief of my parents’ death.
Too rough, too brutal with the smugglers I caught, who I felt were dishonoring their memory.
This dark rage is familiar—it sings to me in time with the pounding mating instinct.
Kraxis claws at me, but I pin his arms. I see Lyra grab the plasma rifle and aim, but I shake my head.
He snarls something about her not being worth the trouble she causes. Truthfully, I barely hear him through the ringing in my ears. I let the words fill me with cold, righteous fury.
Then I break his nose. Crack a rib. He gasps, still reaching. His tail flies out from behind him, curling toward Lyra, who’s standing to the side with the pistol aimed at his head.
With a final surge of possessive, protective instincts, I grab his jaw and snap his neck clean to the side.
Silence. Heavy, echoing silence. When the red at the edges of my vision clears, nausea roils through my insides, making me want to retch.
For a moment, all I hear is our breathing—hers ragged, mine slow and thick with adrenaline. Lyra lowers the weapon. She looks at me, eyes wide and glassy.
“He’s dead. I can’t believe he’s dead. He’s dead and you killed him,” she says, shock beginning to creep into her voice. “I can’t believe you killed him. After everything he put me through—after everything he did.”
“I’m so sorry, Lyra,” I say, sick with the reality of the violence but satisfied that I helped remove a threat from her life. “For everything he put you through.”
She’s staring down at his body, but then lifts her gaze to mine, as if she’s seeing me in a new light.
“Did…did you want to do it?” I ask, suddenly uncertain. With everything that’s happened, maybe she wanted to be the one to kill him.
“No,” she murmurs. “I didn’t. I just…I can’t believe he’s dead.”
I wipe the blood off my face with the back of my hand and step toward her. "You softened him up. I just finished the job. I was tired of that bastard sticking his damned plasma pistol in my face.”
She opens her mouth, probably to say something smart, but I grab her and pull her into me.
“Besides, he threatened you,” I finish, trying to shake her out of her stunned state. We don’t have much time as it is, and killing Kraxis is most definitely going to move our timetable up.
Lyra sucks in a breath, blinking down at the unmoving body of another one of her tormenters.
“We should move,” I say. “We’ve got to meet Vega at the extraction point and get the hell off this stars-damned planet. Do you know how to get upstairs without being seen?”
She nods, stumbling a little. She seems like she’s about to go into shock, and I need to do something to get her to focus.
“Close your eyes,” I murmur. She doesn’t argue, just does as I ask—a sure sign she’s not in her right mind.
I lug Kraxis’s body over to our previously vacated closet, shoving him in and covering him with a tarp.
I mutter a small Xylothian prayer for the dead, hoping that when he meets the Death Goddess, he’ll be judged for every hurt he inflicted on Lyra.
When I return to Lyra, she blinks blearily at me.
“Thank you,” she says softly.
I arch my brow. “It’s time for us to get out of here. Are you okay to keep moving, or do I need to carry you? I’m happy to throw you over my shoulder, but I can’t promise I won’t cop a feel. Might even try to sink my teeth into that nice ass of yours.”
The lascivious threat has the intended effect, unfreezing her and eliciting a soft, pink blush that spreads up her neck.
“Promises, promises,” she says. “Just try to keep up, Ranger.”
We dip into a nearby hover-vator that ascends quickly, and we get off just beneath the main floor.
Above the maintenance floors, the halls gleam in a warm, yellow polished stone and tiled floors with intricate mosaics speak of a cold elegance.
We’re able to duck most of the guests and guards since the chaos we’ve sewn has been localized to the deepest parts of the compound.
Still, the blackout continues to roll through these areas, as well.
Soft overhead lights flicker in their housings, casting strange shadows along the corridor walls.
The recycled air has a dry, electronic taint to it and it makes me miss the lush forests of my home world with a powerful ache.
I follow close behind Lyra, who’s moving with more confidence now—her steps still shaky, but sure.
I know the moment the adrenaline wears off, she’ll crash.
But for now, she’s back in control, and I trust her instincts more than my own.
We wind up at the bottom of a polished staircase, and from the look in Lyra’s eyes, I immediately get the sense that Brill’s rooms are at the top.
She hesitates—apparently unsure if she’s ready to climb these steps and end it all now, or if getting to Vega and getting out of here is her priority.
I nod when her gaze cuts to me, trying to assure her wordlessly that whatever she decides, I’m with her all the way.
Fingers gripping the banister, she exhales and shakes her head, her meaning clear—Brill will get his another day.
We skirt the opulent staircase and she leads us through a hidden side door that opens out into the forbiddingly dry Ooneryx desert.
Brill’s landscaped grounds are filled with brutal desert plants and suns-baked red and yellow earth.
As soon as we step outside, we both immediately start coughing on the foul air and wind-blown dust, squinting across the horizon at the three setting suns.
Pulling me back towards the edge of the compound’s thick, gray walls, Lyra leads us on, ducking between security drones and outdoor camera feeds.
Our extraction point is supposed to be just outside an old, abandoned hangar—a wide chamber tucked behind the gardens where gardening drones are stored and serviced.
The glorified shed is bristling with busted speeders, half-dismantled hovercrafts, and boxes of contraband that never made it into orbit.
It takes us longer than I’d like to reach it—twice we have to hide behind massive spiked bushes to avoid patrols of Brill’s private guard sweeping the area.
They haven’t gotten the memo about Kraxis.
But the moment we reach the rust-pitted shed, I spot him: Agent Vega, standing near the hull of a dust-covered skimmer, fiddling with a comms panel. He glances up and sees us. Relief flashes across his face, fast and fleeting.
“Took you long enough,” he mutters, keeping his voice low as he ushers us into the shadow of the skimmer. “What happened?”
Lyra tilts her head, eyes steady and hard. “We ran into Kraxis. He's dead.”
Vega raises his brows, but he doesn’t ask for details. He knows better.
“I’ve got some bad news,” he says instead, voice tightening. “Brill’s gone. Disappeared when the power started to go out. No sign of his shuttle, either—he must’ve had a back door none of us saw.”
Lyra pales at that, but she nods like she’d expected it.
“We’re still getting data from the fake idol,” Vega replies. “Encrypted command-level archives, partial routing maps, financial chains. It'll take the Bureau weeks to process it all, but it’s enough to start dismantling his network from the inside out.”
“But not enough to stop him,” Lyra says.
“Not yet,” Vega agrees. “But he won’t be able to hide for long.”
There’s a pause. Then Vega’s eyes settle on Lyra with something like genuine gentleness. “You did good, Lyra. Better than anyone could’ve asked. We wouldn’t have half this intel if not for you.”
She doesn’t answer right away. I watch her shoulders stiffen, like she’s keeping something in. Her voice, when it comes, is quiet.
“Not good enough. He’s still out there.”
“We’ll get him,” Vega says. “One way or another. He won’t run forever.”
I’m not sure she believes that. I’m not sure I believe it. But we nod, and that’s enough for now.
Vega opens his pack and produces two ID tags and a compact satchel. “You’ll need these. Transport credentials, comm scramblers, and a clean identity chip each. Should be enough to get you off-world. Cruiser’s parked in an auxiliary bay west of here—level six. Should still be operational.”
I take the satchel from him. “What about you?”
“I’ve got to head back to Epsilon-6, but I’ll stay in touch. If I get a hit on Brill’s whereabouts, I’ll send word.”
He holds out a hand. I clasp it, firm. “Thank you.”
Then he turns to Lyra. They don’t hug, and I don’t think either of them wants to. But there’s something shared in the look between them—comrades, co-conspirators, survivors.
“Take care of yourself, Vega,” she says, violet eyes flashing. “And if you catch him before I do…don’t kill him.”
He gives a solemn nod. “Understood.”
Then we’re moving again. No one’s chasing us, but it still feels like we’re being watched. Lyra keeps pace with me down the service stairs, through the lavish halls and toward the west hangar. We only speak once we reach the exterior doors and the sloping tunnel that leads to the cruiser bay.
Lyra glances at me sideways. “You still have the idol?”
I nod, eyeing her suspiciously. “I do. Why?”
She blows out a breath. “Let’s take it back to Xylothia.”
“What?” My mouth drops open in shock.
“It belongs there. Your people need it—you need it. The Feds don’t need it anymore. I’m sure they’ll have their hands full chasing after Brill and his whole stars-damned network.”
There’s something fierce in her again. Not rage, exactly—something colder. Something cleaner. Resolve.
When we reach the cruiser, my gut unclenches just a little. It’s still where we left it—sleek, scuffed, and blessedly flight-ready. Lyra stops at the bottom of the boarding ramp and looks back.
“This isn’t over,” she says, more to herself than to me.
“No,” I agree. “But it’s the beginning of the end. They’ll get him, Lyra. The Feds are onto him now.”
She nods and we board together, and for the first time in days, I feel like I can breathe.