Page 29 of Stars in Umbra
While baiting Tyran’s guards into false alarms that tested their vigilance and fed him data on their movements.
On the third evening, as the twin moons rose over a hoarfrost-veined valley, casting lengthy, spectral shadows, Mo struck.
Snowfall lay crisp and untouched over the outpost ridges.
He moved like vapor across the rise, breath controlled, limbs sheathed in silence.
The mountain wind moaned in the pines, drowning out the slight crunch of his boots as he slipped past the outer perimeter.
A single flick of his wrist released a pulse of static into a nearby comms sensor, shorting it just long enough to blind the guards.
No alarms. No lights. Just the endless dark and the silver hush of snow.
He scaled the west watchtower with precision, fingers catching cold iron ledges like he was born to climb.
At the top, he clung to the boundary for a breath, listening. Below, the command hall glowed with firelight and indulgence.
Inside, Tyran paced alone, half-drunk, the polished epaulets of his rebel general’s coat gleaming.
A crystal decanter sloshed amber over his knuckles as he poured another measure. Papers were scattered across his desk.
Mo caught his voice, rich with swagger, dictating another proclamation meant to crush the resistance.
Mo slipped through an upper vent and dropped behind him like a shadow detaching from the wall.
Tyran turned too late.
Mo was already aiming.
One breath. One shot.
The silencer hissed, and the round struck clean through his chest.
Tyran’s body folded backward in slow motion, the glass shattering in the hearth.
He hit the stone with a dull thud, scarlet blood blooming like ink across his medals.
Mo’s eyes lingered just long enough to see surprise followed by the last flicker of life leave Tyran’s face.
Then he ghosted out through the same vent, vanishing like fog before the kill had cooled.
He made it to the southern ridge when his boot unseated a rock on the cliffside.
It clattered down the escarpment.Fokk.
A patrol unit, sharper than the others, caught the sound.
Sirens cracked open the night like gunfire.
Red floodlights swept the slopes, piercing the trees.
Mo pivoted and sprinted, vaulting down a steep gully, only to find himself face to face with an elite Allorian soldier.
This one was different.
He was not just armor-plated, but forged, augmented.
The glow of his mirrored mask burned across the soldier’s visage, and his stance screamed trained lethality.
