Page 1 of Second

Chapter 1

THE MARAUDERS’facility reeked of metallic decay and damp despair. Each breath Zar’Ryn drew was tinged with the bite of rust and stale air, as though the walls themselves were corroding with malice.

The rough texture of the floors underfoot seemed to amplify every sound, echoing faintly down the corridors. Adim, flickering light struggled to illuminate the space, casting eerie shadows that danced like specters against the scarred, pitted walls.

The low hum of alien machinery pulsed in the background, arhythmic reminder of the sinister purpose that thrummed through the facility’s very core. The air was heavy, filled with a choking mixture of stale smoke and the sharp bite of burnt metal. Faint traces of something sickly sweet lingered—perhaps the remnants of some alien chemical used in the machinery. The walls were streaked with grime, their surfaces etched with crude carvings that spoke of violence and chaos and obscenity.

Every step Zar’Ryn took was accompanied by the faint squelch of moisture underfoot, the floor perpetually damp from condensation dripping from the corroded pipes overhead. It was the kind of place that seemed to breathe hostility, its very atmosphere designed to sap hope from anyone trapped inside.

He moved silently through the maze of corridors, his senses on high alert. The oppressive mechanical was a constant backdrop, broken only by the occasional grunt or hiss of distant guards. He had infiltrated countless strongholds like this one, yet the weight of this mission felt different. There was an urgency he couldn’t entirely explain—an unspoken need to succeed beyond the demands ofduty.

He approached a reinforced chamber, his sharp vision scanning for signs of traps or ambushes. The door, aheavy panel of dented steel, bore the markings of the Marauders’ crude handiwork. Zar’Ryn’s fingers danced over the control pad, his movements quick and efficient as he overrode the lock. With a faint hiss, the door slidopen.

The sight inside gave him pause.

Chained to the wall was a woman, her wrists bound high above her head with glowing restraints. She was naked and painfully helpless in her nudity. She possessed the dark hair of an Intergalactic Warrior on his final flight, the soft, black curls falling in tangled waves past her waist, partially shielding her exposedbody.

She was small and dainty in comparison to Vettian females, making him think of the delicateflitfursthat darted through the air in his homeland mountains. Like theflitfurs, her body was toned with a lean, gently curved musculature. But there the comparison ended.

Someone had beaten her. Repeatedly. Bruises and cuts marred her pale skin, particularly on her breasts, abdomen, and thighs. He didn’t doubt if he turned her, he’d find more on her back andass.

The marks appalled him, especially considering she had breasts that were a lovely handful, tipped with dark rose areolas and nipples that peeked through her snarled hair. His gaze slid lower still to the tiny waist that dipped inward and the hips that curved outward offering a male a generous handful.

Finally his gaze settled on her mound covered in tiny curls a shade darker than the hair on her head. Had they raped her? By the Gods, he hoped not. But these were Marauders, capable of all manner ofevil.

As though in response to his attention, she twisted against the manacles that held her, as though she could somehow hide her nudity fromhim.

His eyes lingered longer than he intended, drawn to the way her vulnerability contrasted sharply with the defiant strength in her posture. It was a strange juxtaposition that unsettledhim.

He had seen captives before. Many were broken, some barely clinging to life. But this woman was different. The sight of her stirred an unfamiliar conflict within him, an awareness he couldn’t suppress. Why did she affect him this way? And why, against every rule he had lived by, did he feel a need to protect her beyond the bounds of his mission?

He had a code he lived by: no attachments, no emotions, no exceptions. And yet… His gaze drifted back toher.

Her skin was pale and delicate in comparison to the hardened warriors and aliens Zar’Ryn had encountered and it glistened under the harsh overhead lights. For a moment, hesimply stared, his analytical mind cataloging her features: the burning pain glittering in her hazel eyes, the vulnerability in her posture, the defiant lift of her chin even in her exposed state.

He hadn’t expected her. Not like this. The report had mentioned captives, human women taken for reasons the Marauders hadn’t made clear, though presumably for the slave actions. But the reality of it, the fragility and raw fear that radiated from her, hit him harder than he’d anticipated. Worse, she invoked a desperate desire he’d never experienced on any other mission in the 400 years he’d been an Intergalactic Warrior.

So much for no attachments, no emotions, no exceptions.

Zar’Ryn’s life had been one of unrelenting purpose, aprecise execution of his role as a warrior. And yet, in this moment, he felt something shift. Something unfamiliar.

She turned her head, her eyes locking onto his, glittering with shards of green and gold, speared with brown. Fear and humiliation warred in her gaze, but there was a flicker of determination that piqued his curiosity.

“Who are you?” she demanded, her voice sharp despite the tremor in it. She pulled against the restraints, her muscles taut with effort, but the glowing bonds didn’t budge.

Zar’Ryn stepped fully into the room, his movements deliberately slow and non-threatening. He found her vulnerability startling against the harsh reality of the Marauders’ cruelty. For a moment, his purpose faltered beneath the weight of what he saw—her fear, her defiance, her agony, and the raw degradation that no warrior could ignore.

“I am not here to harm you,” he said, but even as the words left his lips, Zar’Ryn felt a strange hesitation. What was he hereto do? To fulfill a mission? Or to answer a call he didn’t yet understand?

Her dark eyes searched his face, and for the first time in years, he questioned not the mission but himself. As though aware of his conflicted thoughts, her lips twisted into a bitter smile. “I’ve heard that line before. More than once. Each time it was a lie.”

Her accusation lingered in the air. Zar’Ryn approached cautiously, his gaze unwavering. He could see the tension in her frame, the way she pressed herself against the cold wall in a futile attempt to shield herself.

He found the human instinct for modesty strange. Among his kind and others across the Nine Galaxies, nudity rarely generated shame. Still, her discomfort felt palpable, and he experienced an unfamiliar pang of something akin to guilt for seeing her in such an exposed position.

“You are a prisoner of the Marauders,” he said evenly, his deep voice resonating in the confined space. “I am here to free you.”

Her laugh escaped, soft and brittle. “Free me? Is that what they call it now? Another game to break me faster?”

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