Page 22 of Torn from the Alien Commander

Before I can reply, the collar shifts from green to red, bringing another round of scorching agony. My entire body shudders, the pain carrying me crashing to the floor, a writhing mass of suffering. “That is your place, savage. At our feet, brought to heel,” she taunts, but her words brush past me, consumed in the maelstrom of my excruciating torment.

The female tuts before the collar shifts to orange, and to my dismay, I find myself locked in place, unable to move. The sense of dread intensifies with each horrific revelation—I’ve delivered myself helpless to our most bitter enemies. “Take the cripple to a cell,” she commands.

Her referring to me as a ‘cripple’ stings my warrior’s pride, adding to the growing mound of indignity I must endure. Behind me, I sense battlesuits moving to carry out her orders until a commotion breaks out. I can only shift my eyes to see a gleaming purple Short Hopper gliding toward us. “Bloody Imperators balls,” the ugly female groans as the vehicle comes to a smooth stop, the side emblazoned with a regal golden symbol.

The nimble ship’s hatch opens upwards. Compressed air bellows out, revealing two purple battlesuits flanking a broadNebian with short gray hair and beard. He must be someone important, judging by the reaction of the others, who watch with nervous tension. The newcomer approaches with a languid grace, surveying the scene as if he’s master of all his eyes behold.

“Curator Thalaxia. You will relinquish this hostile to me at once,” he commands, his deep voice belying his short stature. Closer now I can make out his wiry blue face, one side marred with deep scars, wearing golden segmented armor and a flowing purple cloak.

A surge of hope compels me to speak, thinking he might be one of the Consuls. “I came here to forge—”

Scorching hot pain ripples through me, tensing my muscles to the point of rupture as my words die, turning into an agonizing sneer. My collar glows red as the gray-haired newcomer turns his attention to me. Despite the immense pain, I meet his eyes through bared fangs, peering into his soul, finding nothing—only hollow, dead windows into nothingness.

It’s at that moment I realize I will spend my last days in horrific suffering. Even though my body is alight with scorching hot pain, a spine-chilling sensation ripple through me.May Dagdorix give me the strength to endure and may Machsin gift me the mercy of a swift death.

“Praetorian Prefect, with all due respect, this is a military matter,” Thalaxia interjects as I writhe on the floor, desperate to find my inner claim, embracing deep meditation that flutters away, each jolting sear keeping it beyond my reach.

This Praetorian Prefect’s eyes never leave me. He watches not with anger or hatred, but something worse, an empty disregard one might have for a znat beneath their boot. “I need not remind you, Curator; I answer only to the Imperator,” he says with a level tone, finally turning towards Thalaxia. “Now do as I commanded.”

My vision grows hazy as I resist the urge to tear off my skin, to rip into my flesh to remove this pain, which pulsates within my body with merciless efficacy. “At once, Praetorian Prefect,” Thalaxia bows despite being in her battlesuit, before turning to me with an expression that could almost be sympathy.

Then, in a flash, my collar shifts to black,

All goes dark.

Chapter 8

Tyrxie

Plan

Iwatch Curator Thalaxiamarching away, donning her red-plumed helmet with an air of authority. A flutter of anxiety churns in my stomach. Glancing around, I feel more than a bit lost, but I’m determined to make sense of Nebia and somehow rescue Xandor, despite the overwhelming odds.

My mind buzzes with questions, leaving me frowning in thought. This newfound ability to sense Xandor—where did it come from? Is this the same phenomenon he described on Omega Flux Station? The reason he couldn’t leave me alone, always finding me? He called it our ‘bond,’ and that makes sense, except now it has somehow spread to me, even making my eyes glow. The faintest whispers tickle my senses, urging me to glance over my shoulder, but there’s nothing there.

I might be going crazy.

Turning my attention to the ornate building before me, I take a tentative step up the short flight of stairs, marveling at the intricate patterns etched into the stonework. Almost all the buildings I’ve seen are adorned in a similar fashion, with flowing spirals and great runes framed by busts of Nebians and other strange creatures.

The broad, immaculate streets and buildings, coupled with the pleasant non-aggressive demeanor of the locals, fill me with a sense of freedom. A stark contrast to the oppressive claustrophobia of Mutalisk’s Hammer and the frantic darting glances of grime-ridden space station occupants. It’s ironic that this place feels safer, despite being part of a war zone.

Is anywhere truly safe?

Raising a quizzical eyebrow, I approach the ornate stone door, tilting my head to avoid hitting the frame.I’m a giantess here!I snicker at the thought, so accustomed to being called ‘Tiny’ and having to gaze up at the towering Kaanus, Quad and Triandale.

The stone door shimmers and waves as I pass through it—a jarring sensation that’ll take some getting used to. I find myself in a spacious lobby with thankfully, taller ceilings. My feet sink into a yellow plush, cushiony material that conforms to my steps. Glancing around, I see holographic artworks aligning the walls, cycling through glorious vistas of unknown locations.

Nebian guests come and go, most of them females dressed in military uniforms. Many stare at me with wonder, causing my pulse to quicken, but as they pass, they offer a friendly smile and a graceful bow, putting my mind at ease.

I’m eager and anxious to make haste, aware that every second wasted is another moment of torment for Xandor. But I’m taken aback by the strangeness of being in a new place alone, without the guidance or orders from Kaanus or the other crew members.

A gleaming white robot in the shape of a plump Nebian approaches. “May I be of assistance?” the musical voice inquires. The shock of its abrupt arrival causes me to step back.

I stare at the disturbing and realistic blinking eyes and subtle movements of feigned facial expressions, wondering if I would’ve assumed it was a real Nebian if it were painted. “Um, I have a room here?” I squeak, feeling like I don’t belong in such a stunning place.

A green light streams out of the robot’s hand, scanning my wrist console, making me flinch. “This way, please,” the machine requests, gesturing to a series of ornate wooden doors embedded in the far wall.

With a hand rubbing my locket, I take cautious steps around the robot, fearing some form of treachery might take place. I glance back at it, walking with increased confidence as the distance grows, until I bump into the orange-colored wall.Ouch!I grimace, rubbing my nose, my face heating with embarrassment.

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