Page 47 of Ruin

He twisted and managed to get one arm free, then promptly slammed his elbow into his attacker’s faceplate hard enough to shatter it.

Undeterred, the merc—who he could now see was a Voragon male—seized his throat in a crushing grip. Blue spots sparked at the edges of his vision as blood flow was cut off.

Teeth bared, he struck the outside of the Vor’s elbow, dislocating it with a wet pop. The clawed fingers around his throat went slack, letting him suck in a breath.

In the same moment, he slammed his fist into the merc’s broken helmet with enough force to split the skin over his knuckles. The blow would’ve shattered bones in most other species, helmet or no, but the Vor’s head barely moved.

Growling out a laugh, the male drove his shoulder into Ruin’s solar plexus, forcing all the air out of his lungs.

Mid-wheeze, Ruin twisted with the shift in the Vor’s weight and grabbed his combat knife. With a heave, he shoved it into the thin, unarmored junction between the male’s helmet and neck guard, and sliced clean through.

Arterial spray coated his face in a hot rush. Gurgling, the Vor threw himself to the side, writhing and clutching at his throat.

Ruin was already rolling, coming up to a crouch, pistol raised to take out the next attacker closing in.

A brilliant flare of plasma fire sizzled past his head, the shots so close he felt his skin blister. He dove for cover behind a rusted turbine as the barrage continued, metal screaming where the bolts struck.

Dipping low, he peeked out and caught a glimpse of a figure perched on one of the overhead catwalks, armed with a plasma cannon that was steadily chewing through the machinery Ruin was ducked behind.

Memorizing the angle, he ducked back behind cover, narrowly missing a shot to the fucking face. Hunkering farther down, he angled his gun around the corner and fired.

A faint grunt was followed by the distinct sound of a body hitting the ground.

After another quick look to make sure the path was clear, he continued deeper into the warehouse. Ahead and off to the right, he picked up the sounds of a fight and changed direction to head that way.

Stepping into a deep pool of inky darkness cast by a towering mass of machinery, his instincts immediately flared. Ruin slowed his advance, ears straining for any hint of movement. Just as he was about to duck under a low pipe, a soft rustle, like fabric sliding across metal, reached him.

He froze, sweeping the gloom until he spotted a faint shimmer in the blackness, like heat waves rising off a desert. Focusing allhis senses on that spot, he detected the slightest displacement in the air currents, the barest whiff of an exotic, musky scent drifting on the stale breeze.

ANyxian.

The horned, nebula-skinned species was renowned across the galaxy, both feared and revered for their deadly skills and formidable telepathic abilities.

Onyx Corp was real fucking serious about getting the info they thought Lira had if they were willing to shell out the cost of hiring a Nyxian. The price they demanded wasn’t just an outrageous sum of credits, but usually included letting them poke around in your head. They collected secrets and information the way Drifters collected shiny things.

Lurians were, unfortunately, particularly sensitive to Nyxian telepathy. Something about having nascent abilities themselves. If a friend of his, a Nyxian and fellow merc on the Vengeance, hadn’t helped him build up mental walls, Ruin was sure he wouldn’t have felt the presence ahead of him at all.

As it was, he barely had time to get a single shot off before a hail of energy bolts sent him diving behind cover.

“Fuckin’ hells!” he hissed, glaring at the bleeding gash on his bicep.

He knew damn well Lira was gonna make that worried, upset face that always hit him like a punch to the fucking gut when she saw it.

Pissed off now, he pulled an implosion grenade off his belt. Priming it for a ten-foot radius, he tossed it around the corner.

As the blast shook the ground, Ruin bared his teeth in a satisfied smile and loped off deeper into the gloom.

Lira creptdown the dark passageway, heart hammering against her ribs. Fear had her stomach twisted into a hard, queasy knot, but it was outweighed by the driving need to find Ruin, to see with her own eyes that he was okay.

Just before leaving the room, the bot had darted to one of Ruin’s crates and returned with a little pistol. It honestly didn’t look like it was capable of much damage, but it was better than nothing, and it still made her feel safer. The weight of it was heavy, foreign, but she tried to hold it steady, to keep her hands from shaking.

Beside her, the bot fluttered its wings and emitted a low, distressed hum. Glancing over, she offered a weak smile, trying to soothe it and taking comfort from its presence at the same time.

“We’ll be okay,” she whispered.

It cut her a look with those big, black eyes and, in spite of having no facial expressions, perfectly communicated how unconvincing it found her statement.

Approaching a bend, it extended one long, spindly leg to block her while it peeked around the corner first. When it signaled it was clear, she edged around the corner, straining to hear the sounds of distant fighting. Her heart seized when a particularly loud blast echoed through the labyrinthine space, followed by an eerie quiet.

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