Page 7 of Saving the Alien Chieftain

Zyraxis explodes in a fit of fury, his fist crashing down upon the table, sending tankards dancing and liquid splashing. “Enough!” he roars, swiftly collecting himself. “The fact that I must descend into these disgusting grimy side streets, wading through whorehouses and taverns of drunks to find you, is disgrace enough. It stains my honor. And here you sit, amidstthe muck. It’s precisely what I’d expect from the son of a traitor,” he spits, his tattooed face contorted in a venomous snarl.

His insult is too much to bear. My Rush blazes within me in an instant. I lunge towards Zyraxis, intending to wring his neck until I wipe that twisted look from his face. But before I can reach him, his four Magaxus warriors step in front, shielding him, giving me enough time to pause and reconsider.

“Not laughing now, are you, pup?” Zyraxis goads, a mocking edge to his voice. “Lay a finger on me and I’ll have the rest of the Council exile you from Klendathor… It’s almost a shame you weren’t faster,” he adds, feigning disappointment with a dramatic sigh.

“Now I have your attention. I’ll get to why I’m here,” Zyraxis declares, his arms a canvas of intricate, dark tattoos contrasting with his spotless white attire as he folds them over. He gazes at me intently. “Our records show you were able to seek repairs for your battlebarge and return to the front lines.” He pauses, tilting his head with feigned curiosity. “Yet, here you stand… ship and all. Odd, isn’t it? Some might even call it desertion. And you, of all people, know the consequences,” he sneers, his face twisting into a malevolent grin.

I silently vow to kill this male one day.

“Well, care to explain, assuming you have any wit left from your inebriation?” Zyraxis drags out a chair and sits deliberately facing the wrong way. “This should be enlightening… Go on now,” he taunts.

“The answer is simple, Zyraxis,” I retort, my grin belying my distaste for the elder. “I don’t answer to boracks shite such as you and I never will. So, take your warriors and get the void out of here.” I gesture towards the door, a clear command for them to leave.

Zyraxis rises from his seat, a sigh of exasperation escaping his lips. “Disappointing as usual, Krogoth,” he remarks, hisvoice dripping with condescension. “You seem to forget your allegiance lies with War Chieftain Gorexius and the honored Council of Elders.” His gaze sweeps across the room, assessing my companions with a mix of curiosity and disdain.

“You are but one of the Council of Elders. I’ll take my chances with—” I state. Before I can finish my words, Zyraxis cuts me off.

Zyraxis jabs an accusing finger at Felixus. “Is that a Nebian?” His voice is sharp and filled with disbelief. “You brought a Nebian to our home world! What new madness is this, Krogoth?” For the first time, Zyraxis sounds frightened. “If the Scythians learn of this, it will spell doom for us all.”

Felixus stands atop his chair, looking more than a little ridiculous. He clears his throat and offers a small, respectful bow towards Zyraxis. “Honored Elder, my mission was to come to Klendathor along with Ambassador Titxus to discuss a possible truce between our peoples. We traveled with the official parlance signal, before ruthless pirates attacked us, killing the Ambassador and capturing me.” He nods in my direction. “Krogoth rescued me and brought me here. I assure you; I pose no threat.”

Zyraxis scoffs in disbelief. “Nonsense… Warriors, seize him at once!” The four Magaxus warriors move in unison, their intent obvious despite their faces being obscured by their warvisors.

Xandor springs from his chair with lightning speed, his hand firmly planted on the nearest warrior’s chest, blocking any further advance. “Touch my friend and I’ll rip your hearts out,” he vows, his fierce yellow eyes narrowed with lethal intent. The warrior glances back at Zyraxis, uncertain of their next move.

“Unbelievable. Even your Second doesn’t know his place. I’ll see you both executed as traitors for this!” Zyraxis proclaims, his previous composure giving way to a slight hint of unease.

“You leave my Korgy alone!” Everyone looks around for the source of the squeaking sound.

Pebbles suddenly rises, her face flushed, legs unsteady. Despite the situation, I can’t help but smile at how brave she is in coming to my defense.

“Korgy!” Zyraxis chuckles dryly. “How much did you have to pay this gutter-whore to call you that?” He looks at Pebbles with undisguised disgust.

With Zyraxis’ loathsome words insulting the honor of my beloved Pebbles, the Rush overwhelms me once again. My muscles surge with furious rage, endowing me with enhanced strength and speed. I launch a devastating kick into the midsection of the nearest Magaxus warrior. The force propels him into Zyraxis, and they both land with a satisfying crash.

“Felixus! Get Pebbles and the others to safety!” I roar over the sound of shouts and scuffles.

“As you wish, lad,” Felixus replies, a little flustered. I’m grateful to see in the corner of my eye him hop off his chair, ushering Pebbles and the others into the back kitchen, away from danger.

Logarn thankfully rises from his seat, seeking to join the fray. Experience has taught me to never assume what loyalties the psychotic, genetically modified young Klendathians will have in a situation like this.

I square off with the next Magaxus warrior, who turns to meet me. I can tell from his long gray hair he is a skillful veteran. Klendathian warriors grow their hair long until they are defeated in battle. If that happens, they must shave it in dishonor.

Gray Hair throws a straight punch aimed directly at my unarmored face. Compared to the Golden Warrior, he moves with predictable slowness. I easily sidestep the blow, seizing the opportunity to retaliate with a punch directed at an unarmored area under his armpit. But he shifts slightly, causing pain to shoot up my hand as I hear the sharp ring of my fist striking hisarcweave armor. It’s no use; the gap is too small to target in a real fight.

I could use my claws, but I’m hesitant to escalate this brawl into a bloodbath. I’m in enough trouble already. Gray Hair launches a flurry of punches, all targeted at my head. Just like before, I see them coming with ease and skillfully parry each one. “Stay still! Dammit,” he curses at me in frustration.

Next, he shoots out a kick from the side, hoping to catch me off guard. I rush towards him and sweep his standing leg; with a resounding thud, the weight of his armor sends tremors through the ground as he crashes. I pounce upon him, taking the advantage, wrapping my arms tightly around his neck, squeezing tighter and tighter. At first, he tries to pry my hands away, but he lacks my strength. In desperation, he attempts to elbow me, but the short distance renders it ineffective against my armor.

After a few moments of cutting off his air supply, I can feel his body go limp, all resistance gone. Rising to my feet, my vision goes blurry as an explosion of pain shoots from the back of my head as shards of wooden splinters fly around me. I let the momentum of the blow carry me forward as I tumble onto the ground, noticing Drop Kick, the warrior I had previously kicked, is about to drive the remnants of a smashed chair once more into the back of my head.

With a burst of adrenaline, I push through the pain, my senses sharpening in the chaos. The world snaps back into focus, the shards of wood glistening in the flickering light. Just as Drop Kick readies his makeshift weapon for another attack, I spring forward, catching his arm and bodily throw him over my shoulder, sending him crashing into the floor. I watch him for a moment to see if he will rise. But he appears to be unconscious.

The room pulses with frenetic energy. I glance around to assess the situation and note Xandor has somehow removed thewarvisor from his opponent and is raining blows as he straddles atop him. His relentless assault is a testament to his combat prowess.

Regrettably, young Logarn is not faring quite so well. His face is mired in his green blood, bumpy and swollen. He valiantly tries to protect himself from an onslaught of punches and kicks from his opponent. The weight of experience rests heavily against him. But he fights on defiantly.

With a flood of controlled fury, I deliver a precise kick to the back of the knee of Logarn’s opponent. An audible grunt escapes him as he loses his balance, falling to his knees. It’s the perfect height for me to wrap my arms around his neck and begin cutting off his airway. He struggles feebly as consciousness escapes him.

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