Page 52 of Torn from the Alien Commander

I would hold my tongue, knowing my words won’t move him—they never could. Yet the audience must hear, “As a warrior of peace, it’s my mission to bridge the divide between our peoples.” I remain prostrate on the ground, making it difficult for him to justify attacking me.

Soon though, very soon, he will feel my wrath!

“Lies! Your Scythian masters bid you come here; they aided you in overriding our defenses somehow. But no longer. We’ve retaken control and in moments my forces will scour your filth from here.” His battlesuit thunders to stand over me, its steps shaking the very floor. “Well? Speak savage!” he demands.

Patience, just a little longer.

Only the hushed breaths of the crowd and the whirling servo gears of the Prefect’s battlesuit punctate the incredible tension. “Speak!” he screams before a massive robotic boot slams into my side, forcing the wind from my lungs as it carries me crashing into a crystal pillar with a jarring thud.

Gasps ring out, none louder than Tyrxie’s, who screams my name with concern. My brave female approaches, but I hold up a halting hand. Spitting green blood, I turn to the Prefect with a knowing smile—his fate now sealed, the futures of victory now aligning. None will interfere now. “Do you remember my words after you sliced off my arm, Prefect? Someone very close to you? That time is now.”

“Not by your hand, crippled savage!” The Prefect yells, closing his cockpit, now encased in his sleek metal tomb. I activate my sword, holding it before me as the Rush pumps through my veins, leaking from my eye with murderous wispy fury. My phantom limb throbs and itches for blood, for justice. It shall have both.

The Prefect’s purple battlesuit shoots toward me, its boosters roaring to life. I divine the paths, countless images flooding my mind, each bleeding into infinity, each offering a multitude of safe options. The battlesuit towers over me, grasping for my throat with a massive shimmering hand. Yet I remain steady, waiting until the last fraction of a second.

In a golden blur of hatred, I dash to my left, executing a perfect cut to the battlesuits’ outstretched hand, slicing it clean off. It clangs to the ground, sparking yellow and red amidst the shocked gasps of the Nebian nobility. The Prefect wheels his machine round, lifting his suit’s arm to inspect the damage.Shame he can’t feel the true pain—the pain that I suffered.

I smirk, knowing I could’ve ended him then and there but yearning for more, my righteous revenge not yet satisfied. Staring at the looming Prefect, I place my sword before my face, an invitation for more. “You cannot win. I have foretold your death.”

From the edge of my enhanced awareness, I sense Tyrxie bridging our connection, moving to place a glowing hand upon the Imperator, as all eyes are focused on my skillful display. “Silence!” The Prefect retorts, his machine hurtling towards me, with what should be dazzling speed, but to our scared bond enhanced-senses, it tests my patience, like waiting for the dawn.

He aims his torn arm straight for my chest, but I know at the last moment he’ll adjust to my left. The futures spoil his ploy in a host of premonitions. Closing my eye, I breathe in deep as his sparking broken arm remnants almost brush my skin. In a flash I leap into the air, twisting to deliver a clean cut severing the rest of his damaged robotic limb.

It shakes the floor with a thud, flickering and twitching, useless and broken—like the flesh he stole from me. More gasps of shock echo out as the Prefect turns with his other arm raised, glowing with ominous crimson intent. “Prefect Horaxus Domna,cease this madness at once!” The familiar yet sterner voice of the Imperator cries out, now carrying renewed strength and clarity.

“Shut up, you old fool. The threat must be neutralized!” The Prefect snaps back. I inhale deeply, knowing what comes next will test my abilities to their limits. But as a demigod, I stand firm. Blessed by the Gods, I know I will not fail them. Through me, their will be done.

“Stop him, he’ll kill everyone!” Imperator Bulba cries out, as the frantic screams of the nobility rushing to the other side of the audience chamber add to the heady blend of beautiful chaos. A barrage of heavy repeater laser cannon streaks out, each beam as thick as my arm. Countless overwhelming images cascade forever, assaulting my senses.

Despite the imminent crimson death, I remain deadly still. Then, sliding into a flowing crouched form, my Rush boils my blood and rumbles through my ears. With impossible speed, I lash out, my sword cutting a path through the lethal laser array. Even to my enhanced senses, I can barely see my blade.

I dance amidst the red blaze, lost to the music of life and death. This is what I was born for. This is my divine purpose. My heart soars, brimming with supreme clarity and surging strength. With each precise slash, executed with perfection I’m ascending to the Gods. Every pivot, every shift, is an homage to my noble ancestors, a testament to my Klendathian blood.

“Why aren’t you dying?” The battlesuit-amplified Prefect’s voice sounds slowed to a crawl as I move with a speed none has ever achieved before. I dash to the left, circling the lumbering machine, which struggles to keep up, its lasers ripping up chunks of stone floor in a dusty red haze.

“Show me the truth of your vaunted robotics against my so-called weak Klendathian flesh!” I roar, my fury and power stoked to their zenith. Lashing out, I cut against the battlesuit’s knee. It stumbles, lopsided, still firing, desperately trying to catch me.“Show me!” I scream, making another perfect cut to its other leg, this time closer to the hip. It rocks to the other side as I peer down at it.

Yet its chassis still pivots, trying to keep up with my superior speed, bathing the room in destruction. Numerous sniper drones spill from its front chest plates, but before they even engage, I slice through them in a whirlwind of fury. “You dare insult my noble blood!” I strike out, leaping over its lazy pivoting gun, slicing off the robotic head. “You dare take from my flesh!”

Finally, I cut through its left arm severing its heavy laser cannon, which crashes to the ground. “What were your orders? Who were your targets?” I spit the words, each syllable once a torment of agony to endure. I slice another sliver off. “What were your orders? Who were your targets?” Another cut “What were your orders? Who were your targets?”

Another, I repeat the words. Another, I repeat the word. Another, I repeat the words.

My golden fury obscures my vision—or perhaps it’s tears—as I watch the crippled battlesuit cockpit open. The Prefect’s sweaty, terrified face emerges, pointing his laser pistol at me. I glide towards him, effortlessly parrying his blast—a mere trifle to one who has ascended to such heights and descended to such depths. My blade punches straight through his black, soulless heart, ending him in an instant—a mercy he denied to me.

Standing amidst the chaos, the once opulent room is now a dusty, broken ruin, devoid of people. But I hardly notice, as I fall to my knees, gulping for breaths through ruptured lungs, my hand trembling. My vision darkens and I feel myself slipping into the void, hearing the faint soft voice of my love calling my name. “Xandor!”

I hope she saw me soaring like a beautiful, majestic, brutonous.

Chapter 18

Tyrxie

Healing

Irush over toXandor, my heart pounding with frantic concern, almost tripping over the shattered ruin that was once a beautiful stone floor. “Xandor!” The words sound muffled amidst the hazy confusion.Oh, no!His proud silhouette, perched atop the broken armored suit, tumbles off, filling me with dread. I fear he might have taken a blast after all.

If I reach him in time, maybe I can heal him.

---