Page 15 of Rescued By the Alien Acolyte

The sounds and thesmells of the Scrap District assault us as we step into the cramped street. Rough voices shout, alien languages and music spilling into the narrow, garbage-strewn road. I feel Finzar tense beside me, his body coiled like a predator ready to strike. His pale eyes dart between the different alien races. Not with wonder, but with cold calculation. His every movement, every glance, speaks of barely restrained violence he is prepared to unleash.

I tug him through the crowded street, my fingers entwined with his. His touch is firm. Possessive even, especially compared to when we were alone before. The brands that mar his blue skin tell a story of pain and endurance. He is not just the most lethal weapon of the Nexus. He’s a victim too.

As we navigate the chaos, I notice his eyes narrowing at anyone who looks at me for too long. His lean muscular form radiates danger, causing even the toughest looking alien to giveus a wide berth. It’s both thrilling and terrifying to see this side of him outside the shelter of the Nexus.

“Are you all right?” he asks, his voice a low growl that sends shivers down my spine. There’s genuine concern in his tone, but also a hint of something darker, as if he’s ready to tear apart anyone who’s caused me distress.

I nod, swallowing past the lump in my throat. “Just… remembering,” I say quietly.

Finzar’s jaw clenches, a shadow of fury passing over his face. “I’ll make them pay,” he snarls, his voice barely above a whisper.

His words fill me with a strange sense of security. This man, who’s been the dark blade of the Nexus for years, is now ready to burn it all down for me. The thought is as exhilarating as it is terrifying.

We push through the crowd, weaving between aliens of all shapes and sizes. There are tall, lanky Ysarians with their rainbow-hued tentacles and bulky, four-armed Malaxians. Each time someone brushes too close to me, I feel Finzar’s grip tighten, his body tensing as if ready for a fight.

As we walk, I notice a few groups eyeing us warily. They’re keeping their distance, but I can tell they’re on high alert. Finzar’s presence is like a dark cloud, promising violence to anyone who dares approach.

“Is something wrong?” Finzar asks, his voice low and dangerous. His eyes scan the crowd, clearly looking for threats.

I shake my head, pushing down the feeling of being watched. “No, everything’s fine. Just stay close, okay?”

Finzar nods, his expression grim. “I won’t let anyone harm you,” he says, and I believe him. The intensity in his eyes tells me he’d tear apart anyone who tried.

We finally reach the entrance to my hideout, an unassuming building sandwiched between two ramshackle taverns. The neon sign is half-buried in the rubble of a derelict building, the wordsHarmony’s Hideaway barely visible. The only letters that work leading to the hideout’s name: Harms Way… my crew’s favorite joke.

I pull Finzar through the front door, which is barely hanging on its hinges, and lead him to the basement. The stairway is dark and narrow, the stone steps cracked and uneven. As we descend the crumbling stairs, I feel Finzar’s presence close behind me, his breath warm on my neck. It sends a shiver down my spine, but I’m not sure if it’s from fear or excitement.

“Home sweet home,” I mutter, flicking on the lights. The basement comes to life, revealing a cluttered space filled with mismatched furniture and crates of contraband. “It’s not much, but it’s safe.”

Finzar’s eyes roam the room, his gaze sharp and calculating. He moves with predatory grace, running his fingers along the edge of a metal shelf.

“Three potential weapons here,” he mutters, almost to himself. His eyes flick to the far corner. “Those crates should provide cover if needed.”

He strides to the door, testing its strength with a firm push. “Decent enough, but we should reinforce it,” he says, his tone matter-of-fact.

I watch, fascinated and a little unnerved, as he continues his assessment. He’s not just looking at my hideout; he’s fortifying it in his mind, preparing for any threats.

Finally, he turns back to me, his pale eyes intense. “It’s perfect,” he says softly, but his stance remains tense, ready for action. “We can work with this.”

The adrenaline of our escape is finally wearing off, and I suddenly feel the full weight of exhaustion and pain. My legs buckle, but Finzar catches me before I fall. His grip is firm, almost painful.

“Loelle!” His voice is thick with concern, but there’s an edge to it, like he’s angry at the world for daring to hurt me. “You’re hurt worse than you let on.”

I try to brush it off, but he’s already guiding me to a worn-out couch. His movements are efficient, almost clinical, but I can see the rage simmering beneath the surface. I direct him to a medickit, and he tends to my wounds. His touch is surprisingly gentle, a stark contrast to the violence I know he’s capable of.

“Loelle…” Finzar’s fingers hover over the angry, blistered skin, and I see a murderous glint in his eyes. “This should never have happened to you,” he says, his voice low and dangerous.

His jaw clenches, and I watch as a storm of emotions flashes across his face. Anger, guilt, and something that looks like long-buried pain.

“I’ve seen these brands countless times,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve even… administered them. But seeing them on you…” He trails off, his hands clenching into fists.

“Finzar,” I say softly, reaching out to touch his arm. “It’s okay. You didn’t do this.”

He shakes his head, his eyes distant. “No, but I’ve done worse. For years, I believed in the Nexus. I thought I was serving a higher purpose, bringing enlightenment through pain. Now I feel only disdain for them.” His laugh is bitter, hollow. “What a fool I was. May the gods pity us.”

“What changed?” I ask, almost afraid to hear the answer.

Finzar’s eyes meet mine, and the intensity in them takes my breath away. “You,” he says simply. “Seeing you resist, seeing your strength… it awakened something in me. Memories I’d long buried.”

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