Page 14 of Saving the Alien Chieftain

“The key is focus, never take your eye—” The instructor stops, noticing my approach. “Ah, Chieftain!” My heart lightens to see the instructor is Rylar, my old war brother from years gone by. We both move to embrace each other. His embrace is less fierce than mine on account of his missing left arm. One wound he took in the Gorglaxian conquest. I always thought it strange he never uses a robotic replacement. The reason behind his choice remains a mystery to me.

“What brings you here?” Rylar rounds on the gathered group of young warriors. “Surely not to see this pitiful bunch of znat sucking weaklings!” he roars using his battle voice. The shock ofit even stiffens my back. The young warriors stand unmoved, not even blinking an eyelid at the sudden rebuke.Just like all the others, genetically modified clones who can only feel pleasure in violence and death.

Rylar lets out a heavy sigh. “You see what I’m working with here?” He leans in closer, his voice a hushed undertone of conspiracy. “Something’s not right with our young. You’d get more reaction from a heap of borack shite.”

I nod, meeting Rylar’s one remaining green eye. “They are clones and the Scythians have messed with their brains. Astraxius confirmed it,” I admit. The truth is still shocking to hear, even from my own lips.

Rylar recoils in shock as if struck by a blow. “Clones… No, that can’t be.” He shakes his head in disbelief as he paces back and forth, his breath becoming more rapid. “How could they be sending us clones?” he demands, his eye twisted with despair.

I can only shrug and meet his gaze with sympathy, knowing the pain this terrible truth unleashes. Rylar halts suddenly in realization. “Gods, if they are giving us clones, then that means our females are likely killed,” he utters, his gaze fixed intently on his hand as if searching for answers in his own palm.

“We don’t know that. They could still be out there somewhere,” I reply, placing a reassuring hand on Rylar’s shoulder. “Keep training the youth, Rylar. We may need them soon.”

“Yeah… Right,” Rylar repeats. He straightens himself while releasing a heavy sigh, his usual composure returning to his stern face.

“That’s why I’m here, to train,” I say, looking towards the group of young warriors. They all look physically fine, average height, muscles toned from their training. None of them stand out as exceptional, however.Strange the Scythians are not enhancing physical attributes too.

Looking into their expressionless eyes, it’s sobering to think I could be looking into the cloned faces of warriors I once knew, maybe even warriors who had died under my command in battle. Like spirits risen from the catacombs come to haunt the living. The young warriors had proved a liability, often attacking their own in their manic bloodlusts.Another problem to add to the ever-growing list I need to deal with.

Rylar’s voice reverberates across the training grounds, cutting through the air like a blade. “Listen up, you pathetic bunch of useless grubs!” he bellows at his recruits, his words seething with intensity. “It’s your lucky day. Chieftain Krogoth himself wishes to test your mettle. A rare honor for such sniveling babes!” He paces back and forth, a whirlwind of energy, before abruptly halting and placing his one arm behind his back. “Hands up for any brave enough to spar with him?”

Without a moment’s hesitation, every young warrior raises their hand, their eager eyes gleaming with anticipation. I expected nothing less. Knowing their genetically modified nature and their predisposition for violence, they would be keen to unleash their rage on anyone.

“Excellent! Maybe there’s hope for you all yet,” Rylar exclaims, turning to me with a proud smile. “Now, Chieftain, your choice for an opponent?” His voice is filled with a mixture of admiration and challenge.

“I’ll choose these five,” I declare, singling out the most robust-looking warriors among them.

“Five?” Rylar’s voice drips with surprise. He leans closer, speaking in a hushed tone. “You sure about this? It’ll hurt morale if you lose.”

“I won’t lose,” I reply with conviction, already taking up a wooden shield and positioning myself at the center of the sandy arena pit.

“You heard the Chieftain, you five take up positions,” Rylar’s voice booms, echoing across the training grounds. The chosen warriors swiftly grab shields and form a line, their eyes burning with a savage determination.

Not wishing for my opponents to encircle me, I charge with lightning speed towards one at the end of their line. I deliver a swift frontal kick to his midriff. I’m so fast he’s unable to block the attack with his shield, and my blow sends him sprawling to the ground.

“By the Gods! Keep your shields up!” Rylar shouts, instructing his recruits.

The remaining four charge forward, throwing punches and kicks, trying to overwhelm me with numbers and sheer weight of attacks. Their blows are slow and lack the precision a veteran of battle would display. I slip through the attacks, dodging backwards, ensuring my young opponents can’t surround me.

“Get around to his back! He can’t defend from every direction!” Rylar commands. I smile at his words; we both know it’s the only way the recruits can defeat me, and that he’s providing sound advice.

I feign to dash left but change my footing at the last moment to dash right, which throws off the attack of one of the young warriors. I yank him by his awkwardly extended arm, pulling him towards my shield, which I slam into his chest, the force knocking him to the ground. He lies there, gasping for breath,

Rylar’s voice reverberates through the training grounds. “Like I said, focus on your opponent! Always watch their eyes!” he implores, his tone laden with exasperation.

The three remaining warriors still charge on furiously, hungry to land a blow on me, their eyes misting the color of their Rush in full effect. A worrying turn of events, as the use of Rush is never used for friendly spars. They clamor forward, their speed and ferocity increasing.I need to end this quickly.

With a swift maneuver, I dart through the opening between the two nearest warriors, catching the third off guard. My elbow connects with his stomach, sending him crashing to the ground. In one seamless motion, I pivot to evade the retaliatory strikes from the remaining two. Springing backwards, I create some much-needed distance. Frustration boils over in their roars as they hurl their shields spinning towards me. I barely deflect them with my shield, the unexpected assault almost catching me off guard.

“Cease this at once!” Rylar’s voice booms through the forging grounds. I notice from the corner of my eye we have gained a few onlookers who stand motionless outside the sandy circular arena.

A surge of searing pain jolts up my leg. I instinctively leap away from the source. A warrior on the ground I had downed earlier has just dug his claws into my ankle. The other two standing warriors have extended their claws and leap towards me with murderous intent.This friendly sparring match has turned into a deadly game of survival.

I use my wooden shield to fend off several frenzied clawed attacks. It’s not long before my shield is little more than shredded splinters. Rylar roars, “Stop this madness!” as he barrels into the side of one warrior, sending them both to the ground. Now facing the last opponent, I deftly evade his savage strikes, seizing the opportunity to encircle him with my arms. In one powerful motion, I hurl him down with a resounding crash.

I stride atop him, holding him by the wrists. “Stop, your Chieftain commands it!” I demand. He struggles manically against my hold until eventually his struggles grow weaker and the mist from his eyes dissipates. I wait a moment longer to ensure his Rush has passed before releasing him, then I race over to check on Rylar.

With a sigh of relief, I find Rylar unharmed. His shield charge into the other warrior had rendered him dazed and sprawled out as he stands atop him, a foot on his chest. I clap Rylar heartily around his back with a nod of respect. I cast my eye around the arena just in case any of the others have gone berserk. The five young warriors meekly trudge back to the rest of the group, nursing injuries, not saying a word, as if nothing untoward had just happened.

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