Page 23 of Rescued By the Alien Acolyte

I nod, placing a hand on her shoulder. Her skin is fever-hot to the touch, vibrating slightly with barely contained energy. “Do what you can,” I tell her. “We’ll handle the rest.”

With a shared look of determination, we push open the massive doors. They swing open silently, belying their enormous size. For a moment, we stand frozen on the threshold, taking in the scene before us.

The chamber stretches before us, vast and cavernous, dwarfing even the largest starship hangars I’ve seen. My eyes are drawn upward, trying to pierce the inky darkness shrouding the domed ceiling. Suddenly, a flash of… something… illuminates the shadows. It’s like lightning, but wrong somehow. The light twists and writhes unnaturally, casting alien shadows that seem to move of their own accord. The walls are lined with towering statues of what must be sun gods, their stone faces contorted into expressions so intense they’re unsettling. I can’t tell if they’re meant to depict ecstasy or agony, perhaps both.

Even the air seems to pulse with energy, each beat of the chant sending ripples of force through my body. The scent of incense mingles with something metallic and bitter—the smell of ozone and power. The temperature fluctuates wildly; one moment I’m shivering, the next, sweat beads on my skin. Every one of my senses is screaming danger. My instincts are urging me to flee but I stay put.

In the center of the chamber, a raised dais holds an altar of black stone, veined with pulsing lines of golden energy. It’s bathed in a shaft of golden light streaming from a skylight farabove, the beam seeming to shimmer and twist unnaturally. The room thrums with dark energy, making my skin crawl and my hair stand on end.

A male I assume to be High Inquisitor Sakar stands before the altar, his arms raised as he leads the chant. His voice booms through the chamber, chanting in a language that sounds ancient and wrong. Arrayed around him are dozens of acolytes, their bodies swaying in time with the chant, lost in some religious fervor.

For a moment, we have the element of surprise. Then all hell breaks loose.

Leera unleashes her psychic assault, the air around her shimmering with purple energy. Several acolytes closest to us fall to their knees, screaming and clutching their heads. Blood trickles from their eyes and ears as Leera’s power overwhelms their mental walls. But as quickly as they drop, others take their place, the fanaticism in their eyes chilling.

I open fire with my blaster, aiming for the device on the altar that seems to be the focus of the ritual. Golden energy flares as my shots impact a previously invisible barrier. Each hit causes it to flicker, but it’s not enough. We need more firepower.

Finzar charges straight for Sakar, his face a mask of fury. The High Inquisitor turns, his eyes widening in shock at the sight of his prized tormentor bearing down on him, but he takes just a second to ready his plasma blade. They clash in a brutal display of strength and skill, years of shared history evident in every blow and counterattack.

Several acolytes rush forward, clearly intent on aiding their leader. But Sakar’s voice booms out, filled with a mixture of rage and exhilaration. “Stay back!” he roars. “The prodigal son has returned. Finzar is mine!” The acolytes hesitate, then retreat, forming a ring around the battling pair.

Finzar presses Sakar with a plasma blade, their battle a blur of brutal strikes and counterattacks. But something’s off. Sakar seems to be leading Finzar around the room in a specific pattern. A horrible realization dawns on me: Finzar’s movements are part of the ritual.

“Finzar, stop!” I yell, but my voice is lost in the chaos.

Suddenly, my comms crackle to life. Kuran’s voice comes through, strained but determined. “Loelle, we’re inside the mountain. Zax’r and I are heading your way with reinforcements. Hold on!”

An acolyte rushes me, a ceremonial dagger in his hand. I sidestep his wild swing, bringing my blaster up in a smooth motion and firing point-blank into his chest. He falls, his robes smoldering, but there’s no time to catch my breath. Two more take his place, their faces contorted with religious zeal.

I duck under a swing, feeling the wind of the blow ruffle my hair. My fist connects with soft flesh, and I hear the satisfying crunch of cartilage as I break my attacker’s nose. The other grabs me from behind, his arm around my throat. I drive my elbow back, feeling ribs give way under the blow. As his grip loosens, I flip him over my shoulder, slamming him into the ground with enough force to crack the stone floor.

Across the chamber, Finzar and Sakar are locked in deadly hand-to-hand combat now, their plasma blades cast aside. Finzar’s massive fists swing with brutal force, but Sakar is quicker than his age would suggest. He ducks and weaves, retaliating with precise strikes that leave bloody gashes in Finzar’s blue skin.

Leera is holding her own, her psychic powers creating a bubble of chaos around her. Acolytes approach, only to fall screaming as her mental assault overwhelms them. But I can see the strain on her face, the trembling of her limbs. She can’t keep this up forever.

I turn my attention back to the altar, determination surging through me. The shield is weakening under my continued assault, hairline fractures spreading across its surface like a spiderweb. Just a few more shots…

Suddenly, the chanting rises to a fever pitch. The shaft of light from the skylight intensifies, becoming almost painfully bright.

Sakar’s triumphant face looms before us. “You’ve played your parts perfectly,” he gloats. “The sun gods demand willing sacrifices and you came here of your own free will. Your struggles, your very presence here—it’s all part of the prophecy!”

The golden energy surrounding the altar pulses, then explodes outward in a shockwave that knocks me off my feet. I hit the ground hard, the breath driven from my lungs. Through blurred vision, I see tendrils of energy snaking out from the altar, reaching for us. Acolyte chanting becomes nearly frenetic, and the golden light intensifies.

I lock eyes with Finzar, as we are both suspended in the golden energy. His face is a mask of fury and determination, but there’s a glint in his eye that I can’t quite decipher. Whatever he’s thinking, I hope it’s something that can get us out of this mess.

The chamber doors burst open again. Kuran and Zax’r charge in, followed by a motley crew of rough-looking individuals. My eyes widen as I recognize faces among them—members of rival gangs, pirates, and outlaws I’ve encountered over the years. These must be the aliens whose friends and family I saw in those wretched cages when I crashed into this temple; others who have suffered at the hands of the Nexus. Their eyes burn with a mixture of fear and vengeance as they pour into the chamber, weapons blazing. But even with this unexpected backup, they’re too late to stop what’s already in motion.

Kuran springs into action, his cybernetic eye whirring as he analyzes the scene. He pulls out a strange device—a mix of advanced tech and what looks like scavenged Nexus artifacts.With precise movements, he begins placing small, glowing crystals at key points around the chamber, Leera and Zax’r providing him with cover.

Each crystal pulses with an energy that seems to counteract the ritual’s power, if only slightly. Zax’r, meanwhile, becomes a whirlwind of destruction. His four arms wield an array of weapons, cutting down acolytes with ruthless efficiency as he defends Kuran. Their arrival shifts the tide of battle, but the ritual’s pull grows stronger with each passing second.

We’re running out of time.

Sakar begins another incantation, the words seeming to tear at the fabric of reality itself. The ceiling above splits open, revealing the twin suns of Aridium directly overhead. Their light, focused through the temple’s architecture, becomes a searing beam that connects with the altar.

As darkness creeps into the edges of my vision, I see Leera collapse, blood trickling from her nose and ears. Her psychic assault has taken its toll, but it bought us precious seconds.

Desperately, I try to remember Finzar’s explanation about the Nexus rituals—how they always require balance, symmetry. My gaze darts around the chamber, taking in the positions of everyone. Sakar, Finzar, and myself form a triangle around the altar. The realization hits me like a bolt of lightning.

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