Page 32 of Torn from the Alien Commander

The Prefect tuts and I laugh. “Your head’s too small. You lack the brains,” I mock, knowing his type—arrogant scholars have the most fragile egos.

The scientist blusters. His face turns a deeper shade of blue. My collar switches to red, and scorching pain stiffens my back and steals my breath. Yet I let the agony carry me into manic laughter, deep and bitter, understanding that no matter what I say, my words will not be heeded, and my fate is to die a slow, agonizing death.

“Prefectus, I request permission to remove the beast’s tongue,” the scientist demands, brimming with indignation as he waves my warvisor toward me.

“That would hardly serve my purposes, Decimux,” the Prefectus replies with a languid turn of his head, frowning at his colleague. The spine-chilling delivery of his words mingle with the blazing agony, solidifying the cruel certainty of my future. They will take me apart, piece by piece, leaving behind nothing but a ghost trapped in a dying body, tethered by pain.

Gods give me the strength to endure.

The fragile one turns to me with a sneer. “What about the beast’s genitals? I long to study the origin of their rage ability. It may lie within the sexual organs.”

Suppressing a surge of terror at his words, I am overcome with a mania that only intense suffering can bring. “You long to possess a real male’s cock, instead of that shriveled stub you Nebians carry.” My words echo out propelled by half-mad bravado and pain.

He recoils as if stuck with a slight tremor that pales in comparison to my own torturous spasms. The fragile one’s reaction fans the flames of my laughter. “I... I. Prefectus, it may make him more... agreeable.”

The Prefectus grimaces, studying me with a hand under his chin. I can feel his soulless eyes silently weighing me, the fate of my genitals hanging in the balance. The absurdity of it only stokes my frantic amusement, knowing no matter what he decides, eventually I will lose everything.

“No, the last barbarian died after that procedure,” the soulless one declares after a moment that feels like an eternity. “Continue with the questions for now.”

May you rest with the ancestors, my unknown brother, in pain.

Chapter 11

Tyrxie

Breach

The crew is nestledinside the cramped, lightless container hurtling towards the Nebian Imperial court—an impregnable fortress, or so it will be for a few hours longer. The only sounds are the dim hum of the ship and our own nervous breaths... with Quad’s loud mouth-breathing being the loudest.

My feet shuffle anxiously, itching like znats have crawled into my boots. But there are no znats, only a churning unease that threatens to rob me of my resolve. How the others remain so calm is a mystery—I have the most to fight for, feeling my Xandor through our strange bond, sensing his despair, his life fading like grains of space dust lost in a cosmic wind.

Yet even I struggle to remain strong.Please forgive me, Xandor.My foot shifts with a mind of its own, strikingsomething hard next to me, impossible to identify in the pitch darkness. “Hey!” Quad booms, causing a collection grumble of moans from the others.

Of course, it had to be Quad.

A clang reverberates throughout our enclosure, sending my heart into my throat. “Last time I checked, Elerium generators don’t speak,” Felixus’s muffled voice reprimands. “Quiet now. We’re nearly at the first checkpoint.”

“Sorry,” Quad offers, unusually muted.

“Shh,” comes the collective response. Even those brief sounds carry a nervous edge to them.

“Voiding blockheads,” Felixus mutters, almost inaudibly.

The container shifts, and the sound of the engine’s buzz changes subtly, signaling our descent. I can scarcely breathe as I strain to hear any whisper or sound that might reveal what’s happening. It’s the not knowing which fills me with panic.

The engine falls silent, leaving an eerie quiet in its wake. Soon, the sound of the ship’s door gliding open with a smooth whoosh fills the gap. Footsteps echo from outside our container, and I hold my breath, not daring to make a peep. A new humming sound reaches my senses, and I almost stumble, feeling the floor move and bounce with faint motions.

This is it. There’s no turning back now.

Felixus must be pushing us as the container shifts again, this time moving forward. “Halt, what’s your business here?” A stern but squeaky female voice challenges.

I strain to listen through the thick container, praying Felixus can bluff his way inside. “Didn’t you get my notification? I called ahead. One of the bloody Elerium generators gave out. So, I brought this beauty as a replacement,” Felixus replies, his tone non-perturbed, tapping our container.

“Strange, let me check,” the female guard replies, her voice muffled. “Oh, you’re Felixus Remus the Magister Machinator. Isee you on our list now. Everything’s in order.” Each word she says eases my anxious dread. “Let me escort you.” Her offer renews my dread.

“Ah, that won’t be necessary!” Felixus interjects with an urgency that makes me wince. “I’ve been working here for decades. Know the place like the back of my hand,” he finishes, sounding more natural.

“Shame,” the female guard laments before adding, “Please proceed, Magister Machinator.” Our container hums forward, the sudden movement surprising me as I struggle to balance.

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