Page 46 of Torn from the Alien Commander

“False,” Felixus repeats, dripping with sarcasm. But before I can laugh, the sound of immense thudding echoes through the corridor, vibrating the very walls.

“They’re breaking in sooner than I expected. We’ll need to be quick,” I state, glancing down the rumbling hallway. “Job, goto the central control, turn on the security systems, and hold off their remote overrides as long as you can. Mod, you go to the ventilation system and flood the lower levels with non-lethal nerve gas. Hyanxa, you go with them. You’ll face two guards on your return to the audience chamber after they hack the central control. That will buy us enough time for us to broach peace,” I say in a rush, already seeing the events playing out like a recording.

The others exchange uneasy glances before nodding and running down the corridor. It’s good they can’t see what I’ve seen—an army of battlesuits swarming as Short Hoppers blast laser cannons from orbit, attempting to breach their own fortress defenses.

The irony is amusing: after all the battles, all the wars, it turns out the Scythians just needed the Mutalisks’s Hammer crew and Felixus to achieve what their entire army could not.

I turn to the remaining three, smiling despite the ominous, chaotic rumbling.

“Our audience with the Imperator awaits.”

Chapter 16

Xandor

Ascent

Ileap up therumbling stairs, knowing timing is crucial—our fates and the fate of the entire universe hang in the balance. Tyrxie manages to keep up, while Felixus and the laden Quad struggle behind. Yet it hardly matters—at least for now. I only wish Tyrxie would fall back to stay out of harm’s way. But I know she’ll die before letting any harm come to me. Our bond reveals as much. Even now, I feel her fierce loyalty and love for me, caressing the back of my mind like the most beautiful touch.

“Guards ahead,” I whisper, countless premonitions of our encounter flooding my mind. “Wait here,” I request. Too many of those images showing Tyrxie dodging laser fire for my liking. She nods and halts along the vibrating stairwell, but I know she won’t wait for long.

“What in the void is going on? We’ve lost communication with the outside, and now it sounds like we’re under attack!” a male voice calls out, high-pitched and filled with fear.

“I’ve no idea. It must be the Scythians!” says another.

Upon rounding on level four, I see the five purple-clad Nebians conversing, a couple glancing at their wrist consoles. They appear like helpless puffrios being less than half my height, their builds lacking the strength of true warriors, addled by overreliance on technology. I smile, leaping among them, my Rush building within, infusing my muscles and boiling my blood to brutal heights.

I explode among them like a mighty comet as time appears to slow. They don’t even have time to recoil in horror as I deliver a crushing boot to one, sending him crashing into the metal wall. Another I smash his face with the hilt of my sword, collapsing him as if his bones have turned to water.

Two shrink back, their movements as slow as falling leaves to my enhanced senses and speed. The third maintains discipline, in the process of leveling his gun. But he’s not fast enough as I launch him down the stairs with a brutal kick. I laugh, watching him fly, our massive difference in physicality making a mockery of this contest.

The remaining two stumble, their faces now showing horror, their hands thrown up in defensive terror. I wheel, delivering a front kick into one’s midriff, doubling him over as he splutters for his stolen breath. The last guard, I thump on the head with the butt of my sword. Despite the helmet, his eyes roll back as he crumbles to the ground.

My claws itch to be released, fueled by the hatred and disdain for my weak opponents twisting my mind as I stare at their feeble forms. That enemies such as these dared bring me low, cutting me to pieces, is a disgrace—an offense to the Gods. Honor demands I strike back and amend this injustice. My eyeleaks golden fury as my claws extend, reaching for the nearest one.

“You okay, Xandor?” Tyrxie asks, her sweet voice bringing me back from the brink of disaster.

“I... almost lost control for a moment,” I mutter, a surreal wave washing over me—bearing witness to a dark part of me unleashing, fueled by hatred and jarring memories of agony. The futures are so clear, the correct paths laid out before me, that I need only follow—but now they teeter on the edge, my rage twisting many roads.

Tyrxie’s eyes search mine, her concern palpable. “Be the hero I know you are.” Her trust in me is a salve, quelling the burning rage within. I retract my claws, shaking off the dark impulse. Her gaze shifts to the fallen guards. “Let me take care of them for you,” she says, flicking a switch on her rifle and firing precise laser beams that further stun the unconscious guards.

“Thanks,” I mutter, my mind still reeling, until the huffing and puffing of Felixus and Quad plodding up the stairs refocuses me.

“Ah, I missed bashing again!” Quad booms, sulking as his gaze shifts to the unconscious Nebians. Felixus shakes his head in disbelief, muttering a curse.

“Don’t worry, my eager friend. You’ll get all the bashing you can handle,” I promise Quad, with a knowing smile. The Barlyxian beams at my words, adjusting his massive laser cannon, his fingers flexing.

I move swiftly up the stairs, the rumbling beneath us intensifying. Tyrxie tries her best to keep pace while Felixus and Quad struggle to match my long, bounding strides. Good, for I know there’s a patrolling battlesuit barring our entry to floor seven, which contains the audience chamber. The potential danger is mine alone to bear.

“Wait here!” I shout down at the others as I pass floor six, my blood already shimmering for the challenge ahead.

“Hey, wait for me!” Tyrxie protests through labored breaths of effort. Her bravery and loyalty send my heart soaring, but it’s too dangerous for her—too dangerous for anyone. Except for me—I see a way forward. I need only execute my Gods-given strength and skill.

“Trust me, Tyrxie, you want to give this one a miss,” I call back, with mirth in my tone. To my relief, I no longer hear her footsteps as I bound up the remaining flight of stairs. I marvel at the door, unlike the others, with its grand size and rich purple engraved with intricate carvings of golden symbols. The opulence will lead me straight to the heart of the Nebian empire—a heart which struggles to beat.

Placing my back to the wall, I flash my hand before the door. It slides open smoothly. I need not look to know my enemy is near, the heavy stomping feet and mechanical whirring giving it away.

“Who goes there?” An amplified voice challenges.

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