Page 93 of Akur

Tactical assistance? What did that even mean?

She stared at the group of Tasqals before her. There was no winning. Either way she took it, only death was at the end of this line. “Can you assist me?”

The ship responded. “VOICE COMMANDS ONLINE.”

“Good.” Her gaze locked with the Tasqal in front. “Then target everything,” she whispered. “Everything that moves.”

The Tasqals froze, their expressions shifting from smug superiority to confusion. When the first energy beam slammed into the group, vaporizing the lead Tasqal in a flash of blue-white light, his scream was cut short. It echoed through the hangar.

The other Tasqals scattered, their robes billowing as they scrambled for cover. But the ship’s targeting system was too fast, too precise. Energy beams lanced out, cutting them down one by one, their bodies exploding in showers of gore and bone fragments.

When a group of fresh gator-guards suddenly swept in, they were taken down, too.

Constance gripped the yoke, her knuckles white, her eyes fixed on the carnage unfolding below. She didn’t flinch, didn’t hesitate. She fired again and again, each blast a testament to her rage, her grief, her unwavering determination to do exactly what he wanted from the start.

To kill them all.

The air became thick with the stench of burning flesh and rot. The screams of the dying echoed through the chamber. She watched impassively as the last of them fell, their bodies reduced to smoking heaps of charred flesh.

There was no satisfaction; not exactly. Just…emptiness. A hollow ache where her heart used to be.

It took moments before she realized pressing the trigger no longer did anything. The ship was out of ammo.

And so was she.

She stood there for a moment, chest heaving, hands trembling on the controls. The tears had dried on her cheeks, leaving salty tracks through the blood and grime. Nothing moved in the carnage below.

Her body screamed in protest as she pushed away from the console. She had to find him. Had to know for sure.

The drop from the ramp jarred every bone in her body. She stumbled, fell, pushed herself up again. Her feet slipped in pools of blood as she made her way across the battlefield that had been a hangar.

“Akur…” Her voice cracked as she reached the pile of dead guards. Her hands shook as she grabbed the first body, straining to push it aside. “Akur.”

One by one, she pushed the massive corpses away, each one straining her body so much it felt like she would break. Her muscles burned. Fresh tears blurred her vision. It took forever before she uncovered him.

Constance froze.

He lay still, so still. His teal skin was darker in places, bruised or worse. She fell to her knees beside him, hands hovering over his chest, afraid to touch, afraid to confirm what she already knew.

“You weren’t supposed to die,” she whispered. “We were supposed to leave this place together.”

Her fingers finally found the courage to brush across his face. Over the ridges that defined his skull. Over his brow, the bridge of his nose, his eyes that would dance with humor when he was being cocky.

“You promised me.” Her voice broke.

But what exactly did he promise? Not that he wouldn’t die. No. He’d simply promised that he’d get her out of here. He promised he’d get her home—wherever that place may be.

Her shoulders shuddered with silent cries as she leaned down on him.

“You promised,” she whispered again.

When a wet cough pierced through her grief, Constance whirled around. Through the remaining smoke, she spotted movement near a fallen support beam. A High Tasqal. Her spine stiffened, hand reaching for a weapon that wasn’t there. But it wasn’t just any Tasqal. As the Tasqal shifted, she spotted the fin on his back before he fixed his robes to cover himself.

It was him. The one that had helped them before. His chest heaved, his usually pristine robes now soaked in blood.

“Human…” His voice was barely audible. “You must…go. Now.”

No words came to her mouth. Leave? Nothing seemed to matter anymore.

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