Page 73 of Alien Warrior Chef… With Benefits
I smile soft but fierce. “With blood, bone, breath.”
She closes her eyes. I kiss her forehead. “Tomorrow…” I whisper, “we finish this. Win our story. Then we’ll decide who we are beyond all this.” I track gold scars on her face in moonlight.
She kisses my palm, whispers, “Together.”
I nod.
Silence settles over us. Comfort that doesn’t need words.
I press her against me. “We’ll show him.”
Her breath hushes.
We stand like that—two bodies sealed by shared gravity, hearts braced for the dawn.
The next battle awaits. But we are ready.
The amphitheater’s crystalline ceiling refracts light into glittering shards across the stage, and the roar of crowd enthusiasm becomes a hurricane in my chest. Ruby stands at the center of the prep island, arms lifted in triumph, while I operate like a blade in motion—steady, swift, precise—behind her. I taste the sweet burnout of adrenal drive, feel the press of heat against my back, and hear the syncopated rhythm of utensils scrubbing the silence into resonance. Every fiber of me is locked in grace under fire, supporting her triumph without stealing the spotlight.
When the head judge steps forward, voice trembling with excitement, I sense Ruby stiffen beside me—a flicker in her spine, like she’s realizing just how high we’ve climbed. She glows, but there’s vulnerability in that glow. An ache deepens in my gut. This isn’t just about winning anymore. It’s about what comesafter. She thrives here—crowds, cameras, acclaim. And if she thrives… will I still matter?
But it’s not yet time for doom. First, we stand tall.
The judge clears his throat. “Finalists for Galactic Panic Chef Surprise—what a phenomenal performance—please welcome our two champions heading to the finals!”
Applause cascades like molten gold. I can feel the waves of heat rush up Ruby’s spine. When our names are called, she beams—not just with victory, but with radiant, jaw-dropping promise. I catch her gaze. She smiles that soft, trembling-soul smile. Yes, this is good. This iseverything.
And then?—
A shudder rolls through the station.
Lights flicker.
A low growl of concern hums through the crowd.
Then again—a cruel, deliberate flicker. Followed by klaxons.
The crystalline dome shudders as panels grind shut, metal shearing metal, leaving only dim emergency lighting. The roar of closed shutters reverberates like thunder above us.
A hush clogs the air. Ruby’s fingers twitch in my pocket. My heart jagged with alarm, I pivot, scanning the edges of the stage. The crowd freezes. The staff fumble at controls. Fear cracks.
And then a regal figure appears onstage: Emperor Aelphus. Golden skin gleaming like smelted dusk, robes flowing with silent grandiosity. He steps forward with catlike poise, eyes locking on Ruby and me. A current radiates through the chamber—authority, threat, and something more feral.
He raises a hand. Silence pierces deeper than applause ever could.
“People of Novaria… and the Holonet audience,” his voice purrs through the amplified system—not urgent, but chillingly calm. “Your entertainment tonight has been admirable.” He glides toward the edge of the stage, spotlight following his every movement. “But…” He pauses, scanning me first—my scars, my stance—then Ruby—her elation, her rise. “…I have come for somethingmore.”
He smiles slow, predator style. “I seek my destined.” A glance toward Ruby. “And I believe she is already among us.”
Dread unfurls like a poison vine in my veins. Ruby’s gasp echoes in the stillness. I stiffen beside her, cloak of steel around us, but everything inside me sears with rage.He will not steal her.Not now. Not ever.
He extends his hand toward Ruby—not a request, but a summons. “Step forward. You belong to something beyond mere competition. You belong tome.”
The crowd murmurs, edge of panic sharpening. Ruby’s breath catches. She looks at me—eyes wild, sweet terror.
I squeeze her elbow. “Stay.” Not a request. A command. My spine is iron.
Ruby hesitates. Her gaze flicks between Aelphus’s golden silhouette and me. The hush stretches—hot, suffocating.
