Page 59 of Claimed By the Alien Assassin
I swallow. “We did.”
He cups my cheek, whisper-warm. “Let them see this moment. They will remember.”
The ground quakes again. The starcruiser lurches above with sparks raining off its engines. It ascends—reborn as a cripple, a warning, an honor guard flying into nothingness. I watch until it becomes a blinking silhouette against the trees.
Beside me, Dayn presses my shoulder. “They believe.”
I close my eyes, tasting hope beneath the smoke. “And we’ll make sure they don’t forget how.”
We stand on the ridge, hands clasped, witnesses to the ruin and reclamation of empire. In that fractured, flaming horizon, I feel the world tilt beneath possibility.
Tonight, we didn’t just fight—we awakened.
And tomorrow, we’ll finish.
CHAPTER 15
DAYN
Imove like a predator through the ash-tipped treeline, guiding colonists through the thick, smoldering remnants of conflict. The forest edge is slick with burnt leaves and acrid smoke, each inhalation a reminder of what we fought so hard to reclaim. Every footstep must be deliberate—roots trip like lies in the dark, and I can’t afford a misstep. Behind me, small groups hush, breathing ragged with relief and fear. Their lives depend on my precision.
Josie’s sabotage pulses in the background—her handiwork spiraling through the capital ship’s atmospheric stabilizers, turning engineered flight into chaotic ascent. I don’t need to look upward to sense its chaos; the tremor radiates through the earth and hums in airwaves, carrying a weak whisper of flame and metal stress as the ship guts itself. Pieces flicker out beyond the treetops, illuminated like embers against the dark sky.
“Over here,” I hiss, voice low and calm despite the adrenaline my muscles drink. My hand rests on the shoulder of a miner, and he nods, pushing the last of his kids toward the hidden path. We’re halfway to the safe zone, circled by makeshift barricades and waiting resistance fighters. Their presence steadies me like an anchor in storm-struck water.
A sudden flash cuts through the smoke—gold plating peeling, vents blowing plasma like liquid sun. Pods eject in every direction, drifting against the backdrop of ruined canopy. I catch sight of Colonel Kernal through the haze. He stands on the bluff, silhouette jagged in his scratch-pocked armor, helmet removed, his face chiaroscuro of fury and desperation. He didn't flee. Not yet. His body trembles like a cornered beast.
“Don’t slow down!” I bark, urgency shaking my voice. “He’s still here.”
Josie’s latest directive crackles through my comm: “Atmos stabilizers are gone. Delta pods are burning off. He can’t control trajectory.”
My heart hammers with relief and dread—the ship’s crippled flight almost beautiful, its golden hull shattering into light. But Kernal remains, anchored in betrayal and rage. He saw the flames swallow his empire’s pride and chose to stay, an ember refusing to die.
A sharp cry erupts behind me: a young colonist stumbles, ankle twisted on charred oak. I spin and catch her, arms steady like steel ribs. Her wide eyes mirror that same horror and wonder swirling in the skyhole above.
“It’s okay,” I whisper, voice bone-deep calm. “You’re safe with me.”
She nods, breath rattling. I help her up, guiding her to a stretcher waiting for evac, then sweep her goggles to blur tears away. She gives me a small, brave nod, and I return to the advance.
We reach the staging area—a hollow carved into the earth, lit by red lanterns and clustered figures holding rifles and medpacs. Josie is already there, hands smudged with soot, her face luminous beneath soot and triumph. I move to her as the last colonist plunges down the incline, their fear melting into awe.
She dives in beside me without hesitation, breath shaking. “They’ll never forget this,” she murmurs.
I wipe smoke from my mouth, tasting salt and ash. “They’ll never forget you.”
She turns, catching my face in the glow. “Because we did it,” she says.
Her eyes flick upward where the capital ship convulses—departing on a broken tantrum of golden flame and shattered dreams. We stand shoulder to shoulder, exfiltration team forming behind us, discharge pulses rattling the forest like war drums.
Then Kernal’s roar echoes through the smoke—closest, most visceral sound so far this night. He doesn’t yell orders; he screams rage. “Traitors! Rebels!”
I spin, weapon drawn, scanning the tree line. Shadows lurk, but no sign of forward Vortaxians. Just Kernal, pistol in hand, stepping forward alone. That’s how he wants this—face to face.
My mind clicks through priorities: protect the civilians, prevent chaos, isolate Kernal. I step forward.
“Kernal,” I call, voice loud across the clearing. “Leave now.”
The flame uprising of the crippled ship glinting off his armor paints him in a cruel halo. His face is twisted—pride shattered, options burned away. “You’ll die on this planet, assassin!” he snarls.
