Page 24 of Kidnapped By the Alien Chieftain

I grin. “And your clever protests made the deal sound even more legitimate.”

“Exactly! Although I can’t help but wonder if we could have just shaken them down for the credits when they thought we were sent to assassinate them,” Xandor muses.

“Perhaps, but they’re probably the only gang with access to so much arcweave. And they’ll do the repairs for us, too,” I reply, scanning the chaotic alleys around us to make sure we aren’t being followed.

“I’m sure it will thrill Astraxius to hear it.”Xandor laughs, patting me on the back.

I press forward, leading my team down a shadowy alleyway filled with graffiti that depicts a four-bladed symbol of some kind. The thick stench of desperation and decay hangs heavy in the air, a reminder of just how far we are from anything resembling civilization.

As we venture deeper, I realize we have likely entered the territory of another gang. But on this station, a cesspool of crime and depravity, danger lurks around every corner. One wrong turn, one misplaced foot, could mean the end for any of us.

“Stay sharp, everyone,” I bark at my warriors, my claws extending.

As if on cue, a hulking Tuskarian male emerges from a nearby building, his massive frame filling the alleyway. But he is just the beginning. From every direction, aliens of various types emerge, their shoddy armor scraps and green-colored clothes marked with the unmistakable four-bladed patch symbol.

They wear a menacing look in their eyes, some of them tapping crude clubs against their palms. I know they outnumber us. I take a deep breath and steel myself for whatever is to come.

The Tuskarian approaches us with an unhurried gait, his massive frame casting a looming shadow over the group. He stands taller than most of his kind, and his imposing presence makes even me feel average sized in comparison.

But it is his appearance that truly sets him apart. He is decked out in sheets of arcweave plating, held together by thick chains that seem almost too heavy for him to bear. The armor gleams ominously in the dim light of the alley, as if daring us to challenge him.

On his face, he wears a black eye patch emblazoned with the four-bladed symbol of his gang. His left tusk horn is crudely sliced off as if by some brutal weapon, leaving a jagged stump that only adds to his intimidating appearance. And in his meaty hands, he wields a cruelly serrated ax that glints menacingly in the dim light.

“I’m blessed by four lost little Klendathians stumbling into my Osiron den,” he sneers, his snout flaring as he regards us with contempt.

“More a curse, large one. If you value your life, you’ll turn these dregs around,” I retort, my eyes blazing with an intensity that could ignite a fire.

“I had a life once,” the large one says, his voice heavy with sorrow. “A life with my family, in a colony world in the Dominus System. But then, like a plague of insects, you Klendathian savages descended upon us, unleashing your destructive fury upon our homes.

“You slaughtered everyone without a thought or care. Even my beloved wife and daughter couldn’t escape,” he spits towards me, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Your kind area blight, nothing more than Scythian whores, too weak and cowardly to keep your own females.”

Xandor steps forward confidently towards the hulking Tuskarian with a hint of arrogance. “I’ve been doing just fine with your females,” he says, a sly smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

The Tuskarian’s massive frame shakes with rage as he hears the insult. “They must be the lowest pond scum to lie with the likes of you.” With a deafening bellow, the Tuskarian charges towards Xandor, his massive ax raised high, ready to strike.

Xandor’s lithe body moves with incredible speed, dodging the massive chop of the Tuskarian’s ax, dashing to the side. The ground shakes and erupts with the impact of the missed blow, sending a cloud of dust and broken debris scattering amongst the metal shacks.

With lightning-fast reflexes, Xandor retaliates with a precision strike, aiming his clawed hand at the hulking Tuskarian’s neck. But the massive alien is too quick, shifting his shoulder just in time to cause Xandor’s claws to screech and spark along his armored shoulder plate.

Before I can fully enjoy the spectacle, chaos erupts in the narrow, dark alleyway. I am suddenly thrown into my own fray as a horde of enemies rushes me with weapons raised.

With no desire to become trapped in a circle of death, I charge towards the closest enemy, a feeble-looking Argorian, my clawed hand glinting menacingly in the dim light. With a ferocious punch, I drive my hand straight through his shoddy armor and into his chest, relishing the sensation of his flesh tearing and blood spraying.

My victim’s feet give out from under him as I twirl around, using his small body as a weapon to toss at the oncoming horde. The impact is explosive, knocking several of them back and giving me momentary breathing room.

The Rush builds within me, a surge of energy rising to a crescendo until my body is vibrating with power. A light purple mist escapes my eyes as I become hyper-focused. Time appears to slow as my muscles bulge. I’m invincible and no one can stand in my way. My opponents are nothing but mere rabble before the fury that burns within me.

As a Jungarian male swings a nailed club towards me from the side, I react with lightning-fast reflexes. Catching the haft of the weapon before it connects, I reverse its course and send it hurtling back towards my assailant’s head, landing in a sickening crunch. The air is thick with the sound of clashing weapons and grunts of exertion as I fight on, feeling every muscle in my body working in perfect harmony.

Even as I focus on my fight, I am acutely aware of Logarn and Traxios fighting their own desperate battles against the horde of Osiron gang members. We are all in this together, fighting with everything we have.

A wave of fear and doubt washes over our assailants as they behold our brutal efficiency. I leap amongst two of them, delivering a fierce kick that sends one careening into a metal shack, collapsing it with a deafening crash. The other I attack with my razor-sharp claws, raking them across his midriff until he crumbles to the ground, screaming in agony.

The narrow alleyway is already slick with blood, Osiron blood. Even the very air is thick with the stench of death. But there is no stopping us, battle-hardened Klendathians with towering physiques and muscles honed for killing. Our opponents are no match for us, and they know it.

As we fight on, bodies pile up around us, a macabre testament to our deadly prowess. The sound of fighting and the screams of the dying fill the air, but we press on.

I survey the surrounding carnage, searching for my next opponents. I long for the thrill of a challenge, the desire to facea worthy opponent. Suddenly, a Glaseroid catches my attention, and I lock my gaze on him, my eyes glittering with a murderous gleam. But before I can make a move, the cowardly creature drops his weapon and flees in terror, his many spindly limbs a blur of motion.

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