Chapter 21
KALLUS
The stars blur past, and Earth looms like a marble soaked in blood.
My starfighter—Fracture—is barely holding together. Welded hull patches hum with stress. Shields flicker like dying embers. Every system is duct-taped with fury and old tech salvaged from Tyrannus’s bones. But I don’t need perfection.
I need vengeance.
I hover just beyond geosync, cloaked in stolen Reaper tech and bitter resolve. The estate glows below, nestled in lush woodland, serene, proud, and so fucking ignorant.
“There,” I growl, tapping the viewport. “There’s the gilded prison.”
Scans ripple across the screen, bouncing off defensive shielding, pinging pulse turrets along the walls, drone nests disguised as ivy towers. Fancy for humans. Laughable to me.
“They dared cage my mate.”
My voice cracks through the silence like thunder. My lips pull back over my fangs, heat building in my core. The ship hums in tune with my rage.
I dive.
Cloaked, silent, a phantom tearing through the upper stratosphere. The moment I breach the cloudline, the world ignites.
Alarms. Beacons. Laser scopes searching skyward.
Too late.
I drop like death incarnate. A massive gun turret mounted on the western edge of the estate locks on—too slow.
I cut thrusters, spin midair, and slam full-force into the turret with the belly of the Fracture.
The impact crunches like bones beneath my boots.
The turret explodes in a blossom of fire and twisted alloy.
The cloak fails.
Good.
Let them see me coming.
The ship tears across the lawn, slicing through sensor towers like scythes through wheat. Plasma bolts rip the air around me—red, blue, too slow. I roll through a maneuver so tight I nearly black out, then right the ship and howl.
A Reaper war cry.
High, guttural, ancient. A sound no human has ever heard and stayed sane.
Below me, panic erupts.
Guards scramble, tripping over one another. A few brave idiots raise pulse rifles. A few smarter ones turn and run.
I skim low, dragging the ship’s underbelly across a decorative fountain that explodes like a geyser. Then I bank and eject.
The ship screams away toward the hills—programmed for a fake crash.
I descend like a god of wrath.
Armor hugs my skin, forged from Reaper bone and shipsteel. My blade hums in my palm—living metal, forged from my ancestors' breath and blood.
I land in the courtyard in a crouch, crack the stone beneath me.
The first guard charges.
I carve his rifle in half mid-swing, pivot behind him, and drive my elbow into his spine. He crumples without a word.
Another opens fire. The bolts sting, but my armor absorbs most of it. I lunge, blade flashing, slicing through the barrel, then his chest.
Blood steams on marble. Screams echo. The estate burns with chaos.
I whirl, parry, strike—Reaper fighting is dance and death.
A drone screams overhead. I leap, grab it midflight, rip its processor out, and hurl it at a cluster of guards near the eastern hedge. It detonates in a shower of fire and circuitry.
I roar.
“Run!” I bellow through open comms. “Run and die like the vermin you are!”
A missile locks onto me—I sprint straight at it. At the last second, I vault into the air and slice it in half.
It detonates behind me. Flames lick my heels. I land rolling, blood in my mouth and music in my soul.
The battle song thrums in my veins. Ancient, violent, divine.
Frederick’s estate security is sophisticated.
But it was built to repel criminals, saboteurs. Not Reapers. Not me.
I move like a ghost, like rage incarnate, leaving behind nothing but scorched ground and broken bodies.
Sensors fry. Lights flicker. The estate’s internal defense grid reboots, tries to quarantine me.
I punch through walls with sheer momentum, through reinforced doors with blasts of kinetic energy.
I reach the main gate, and a fresh squad of guards blocks my path.
I take a breath.
And then I charge.
The world narrows to blade and breath. My vision tunnels. I see nothing but obstacles between me and what’s mine.
Three go down before the first can scream. The rest fire wildly.
I don’t stop.
I won’t stop.
Until she’s in my arms.
My comm crackles.
An intercepted frequency.
“A Reaper is attacking the manor. All units respond.”
Then a scream. Then silence.
Good.
Let them come.
Let them all come.
Because tonight, I will carve my way through this pretty prison and take back my family.
Let Earth remember the name Kallus.