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Skarrp, fueled by a mixture of rage and bravado, made his decision. He shoved Winn in Jo’Nay’s direction. Instantly, he swept her behind him. “Get back with the other women,” he ordered.

To his relief, she didn’t argue, but leapt from the platform and ran to join her friends.

Skarrp, his single eye blazing with fury, charged toward Jo’Nay, the Vettian sword held aloft, its energy humming, adeadly arc of silver light.

The buyers gasped, muttering among themselves. Anumber signaled to their guards and started for their ships. Others placed bids for the warrior’s purchase. Still others appeared to be placing bets on who would win the battle. Jo’Nay could have told them there was nothing to bet on. This battle could only end oneway.

With the ability of a seasoned warrior, Jo’Nay moved with speed and precision. He dodged and weaved, his unarmed form a blur of calculated movement, each step drawing the Marauder further into histrap.

With his Vettian reflexes honed by centuries of warfare, his movements were fluid and graceful, meeting Skarrp’s attack head-on. They clashed, their bodies colliding, the force of their impact echoing through the holdingbay.

The Marauders, their attention riveted on the fight, their weapons lowered, watched in stunned silence as their leader, their supposed champion, met his match.

Jo’Nay, unarmed yet undaunted, fought with a ferocity that belied his battered body. He dodged, weaved, blocked, his movements a blur of speed and precision. He used Skarrp’s own momentum against him, turning his aggression into a liability, his strength into a weakness.

The huge Marauder, enraged by his opponent’s resilience, fought with a wild, undisciplined fury, his blows heavy, his movements predictable.

Jo’Nay, sensing an opportunity, ducked under Skarrp’s swipe, his hand shooting out, his fingers gripping Skarrp’s wrist mid-swing, twisting it until the sword clattered to the platform. The Marauder howled, stumbling back. Jo’Nay didn’t hesitate. He struck with a force that sent Skarrp sprawling across the stage, his single eye rolling back in hishead.

The Vettian sword was back in Jo’Nay’s hands, and it felt like cominghome.

The Marauders froze, their bravado faltering at the sight of their leader’s defeat. “Get him!” one finally shouted, panic edging his voice. They surged forward as one, achaotic wave of snarling desperation.

Jo’Nay met them head-on, his blade a whirlwind of light and death. The buyers scattered, shouting for their guards or scrambling toward their ships. Among them, the Maraudersbegan forcing the human women toward the loading ramp of one of their transports. Elara screamed as she was dragged away, her voice piercing through the cacophony.

“Elara!” Winn cried, surging forward only to be caught by a Marauder. She thrashed and kicked, but the brute’s grip was unyielding. Tears streaked her face as she saw her friend vanish into the transport ship’s dark interior.

Jo’Nay fought like a man possessed, his movements powered by sheer fury. He cut through the Marauders with ruthless precision, each swing of his blade delivering deadly accuracy. But even he couldn’t reach the buyers in time to stop the ships from taking off. The hum of engines filled the bay as vessel after vessel lifted off, including the Marauder transport carrying Elara and a number of the other human women. Somehow Winn avoided being among them as she continued to battle her wayfree.

The apple seeds, their power coursing through his veins, amplified his strength, his speed, his reflexes. He was a force of nature, his Prime heritage unleashed, his warrior’s spirit awakened. He ducked, weaved, blocked, his movements a blur of speed and precision and grace. He struck with a power that sent his attackers sprawling, their bodies colliding with walls, their weapons clattering to the floor.

He fought his way through them, awhirlwind of fists and feet and sword slashes, each blow precise, each strike calculated.

But they were toomany.

He felt a searing pain in his side as a blade found its mark, the metal tearing through his flesh. He staggered back, his breath catching in his throat, blood staining his tunic.

And then, just as he thought he was about to be overwhelmed, anew sound filled the corridor. Aguttural roar, asound of primal fury, avoice that ignited a flicker ofhope.

“Jo’Nay!”

A figure, tall and imposing, his white hair gleaming, his amethyst eyes blazing, materialized in the bay, his Vettian sword humming with energy, adeadly arc of silver light.

Zar’Ryn.

The warrior charged into the fray, his sword a whirlwind of death, his movements a symphony of power and grace. He cut through the Marauders, his blade severing limbs, spilling blood, his fury a tangible presence that filled the corridor.

Jo’Nay, his strength renewed by the sight of his Second, rallied, his own attack regaining its ferocity.

Together, they fought back-to-back, awhirlwind of Vettian fury, their swords flashing, their voices a chorus of battle cries.

The remaining Marauders, their numbers dwindling and courage shattered, broke ranks, fleeing in terror toward the nearby ships.

Jo’Nay searched the holding bay, relieved to see Winn watching from her position by the wall as the battle raged around her. The area, moments ago a scene of chaos and bloodshed, fell silent. The only sounds were the heavy breathing of the two Vettian warriors, the groans of the wounded, the metallic scent of blood filling theair.

Zar’Ryn, his sword still dripping with blood, approached Jo’Nay, his gaze filled with concern. “First, are you well?” he asked, his voice gruff. With a flick of his wrist, he shook the blood from his blade.

Jo’Nay nodded, wincing as he touched his side, his fingers coming away stained crimson. “I will live,” he said, forcing a smile. “Thanks to you.”

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