Page 50 of Torn from the Alien Commander

Seven.

I thud into the pillar, placing my back against it, knowing I’m almost close enough now. “What the bloody void is happening?” a frightened warrior calls out, his voice almost close enough to stab now... “It can’t be killed, sir!” rings out amidst the lessening blasts.

Eight.

I can smell their fear. It swirls with the sulfuric mix of the others, creating a heady blend, eliciting a fanged smile. “Step aside, tiny warriors, I must speak with your Imperator!” I shout, knowing the disappointing response, but posterity demands the asking.

Nine.

“Never, barbarian slave!” The gruff voice snaps back, followed by more zaps and buzzes, drilling into my crystal cover. I sigh, bounding from the pillar with impossible speed and strength. My purple-armored opponents are close now, their horrified faces obvious. My power carries me into the far corner in an instant. The warriors, now orientated away from the door, struggle to keep up, blasting haphazardly, addled by pungent terror.

Ten.

I hope Quad hasn’t messed up the count!

I dodge many laser blasts, the premonitions guiding me as my sword arm lashes out, slicing through the accurate shots—denying death, accepting life. At the edge of my hyper-enhanced Rush awareness, I sense the entrance door bursting open.

“Big boomer bashing!” Quad yells with pure crystalline joy, heralding our imminent victory. His simple voice has never sounded more glorious. The noise of a wheel spinning followed by the deafening thud of blinding zaps rings out, lighting up the entire room in pulsing crimson.

I dance among the chaos, flowing through the languid blasts of my enemies, slicing others in a whirlwind of blurring movement. My Rush reaches a crescendo as I flirt with death, each action is precise—ordained perfection. The finest Klendathian artistry the universe has ever witnessed, blessed by the Gods—I soar as a demigod, their will incarnate.

It comes as a surprise to my distracted opponents when their makeshift cover is blown away in a shower of thick, pulsing laser blasts. Some turn with fresh shock and horror on their faces, only to observe their imminent defeat. To my superior senses, it takes a while but to my weakling prey, only a few fleeting heartbeats before they’re all laid low, mercifully stunned amongst the debris and hazy purple smoke.

As suddenly as it began, the glorious madness stops, punctuated by an eerie, foggy silence. The faint sound of Quad humming his favorite bashing tune reaches my ears in the distance. My Rush dissipates, and I’m surprised to find myself greedily gulping in deep, exhausted breaths. I lean on my deactivated sword, having pushed my body to the limit.

“Xandor?” Tyrxie’s soft voice banishes the silence with concern. “Xandor?” she repeats, her intensity increasing despite the distance.

“I’m over here, my sexy little puffrio,” I rasp out between strained lungs, the post-battle euphoria carrying me away in an ocean of whimsical bliss. “In the corner.”

I see her coming through the purple mist, her silhouette feminine perfection—another gift from the Gods. “Oh, thank the stars!” she exclaims, her concern shifting to a beautiful expression of emerald-encrusted elation. “Are you hurt? Do you need me to heal you?” she pats me down as if checking for weapons.

“I’m fine. Never better.” I straighten at her touch, not wishing to portray weakness—the weakness that lurks within, filling me with dark, dishonorable shame. “They were no match for my skill.” I gaze into her mesmerizing eyes. “Thanks to you, I reach new heights of power. No one will ever hurt us—you—again!” I say with more heat than intended, shaking my sword with unbridled fury.

A flash of unease creases Tyrxie’s face, soon concealed by an averted gaze. The minute movement twists my heart, longing to see her happy and safe, not wishing to frighten her. “Xandor... I just want you to be safe,” she gestures to the band of fallen Nebians near the audience chamber door. “This was far too dangerous, even for you.”

She doesn’t understand the life of Klendathians—we who mock danger.

“Your concern for me warms my heart, my beautiful soul,” I say to her, scrunching my face as I try to reconcile the conflicting outlooks. “Come, it’s time for us to bring peace,” I add, dismissing the unanswerable conundrum.

“Peace!” Felixus scoffs, scanning the chaotic room with his mouth agape. “I think this constitutes a coerced settlement if I’ve ever seen one.” Yet he doesn’t know the half of it—there’s more coercion required.

I frown at my grumpy friend, “Says the one who agreed to help only moments ago.”

“True enough,” Felixus has the grace to avert his gaze, realizing his hypocrisy. “It’s one thing speaking the words, another seeing the aftermath.”

The sentiment of the inexperienced warrior.

“I gave them a chance to let me in peacefully, but they only replied with slander.” I shrug, feeling no remorse, feeling the opposite: these so-called warriors are lucky to keep their lives. “Let’s call it aggressive negotiations, then,” I add, smiling.

By all rights, they should have their heads shaved—a reminder to everyone of their shame.

The fortress falls silent, lacking the rhythmic thudding that has persisted since my awakening. It means the Nebians have broken through the first layer of defenses. Now only the inner security systems, doors and Mods nerve gas hold back the tide.

Mod, Job and Hyanxa charge into the decadent room, right on time, the path to victory still shining brightly. They double over, catching their breaths, their gazes looking on in awe at the collection of fallen Nebians.

“Hello!” Quad booms, his beaming smile splitting his face. “You missed best bashing ever!” he declares in eager excitement, shaking his giant laser cannon.

“I can see that.” Hyanxa frowns at the pile of unconscious guards. “They’ve breached the outer defenses,” she confirms, glancing at me.

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