Page 76 of Alien Warrior Chef… With Benefits
I take his hand. We step forward into the unknown corridors, lights flickering overhead. I feel the hum of freed locks behind us—doors opening to a station in chaos. Staff and crew milling. Shouts, alarms. The world reacting.
I grip Rekkgar’s hand tighter and breathe in the scent of spices and risk. Whatever comes next—media, empire backlash, or even darker moves by Aelphus—I’ll face it with fire in my chest and a warrior at my side.
We emerge into the trading floor, just beyond Earth Bites. The display screen above is scrambled—no broadcast. People stare. Cameras glitch. Confusion reigns but freedom pulses in the air.
I lift my chin, torch still clutched, and scan the crowd. Eyes flick to me—shock, relief, admiration. Ruby Adams, baker turned warrior.
Rekkgar steps beside me. “Let’s go home,” he says quietly. “But first…” His thumb brushes the scar beneath my collar. “We stand. Together.”
I nod. I raise the torch in salute to our defiance, to our bond. And I realize that storybook endings are overrated—nothing beats blazing your own path.
Aelphus thought he was writing my role. But he forgot—characters like me don’t follow scripts. We burn them.
And now? Let them come. Because this story’s mine to write—and his reign just got scorched.
CHAPTER 18
REKKGAR
Imove through the chaos of the orbiting resort station with lethal precision, every sense primed and alert. The luxury finishes—the polished floors, the ambient Holonet music, the soft lighting—clash with the taste of fear hanging like metallic tension in the air. Civilians duck under tables; terrified children cling to sobbing parents. Decorative plant walls tremble as Vortaxian guards in gleaming black-and-gold armor march forward, weapons scanning with authoritarian intent. Aelphus stands at center stage, voice amplified with calm menace, but I don’t see him—not yet. My focus is razor-sharp: Ruby’s safety.
I grip her hand, feeling the tremor in her palm, and pull her behind a reinforced buffet station. The scent of overproof rum and caramel glaze drifts around us—sickly-sweet but comforting. Before her fear could anchor her in panic, I silently lead her to the station’s side corridor, mapping escape routes in my mind: service elevators, maintenance shafts, a cascade to the lower public decks. Each gateway is a grid of vulnerability—but also opportunity.
Ruby moves beside me with fierce determination. I’ve never been prouder. Clad in her Holonet chef’s whites stained with espresso, she looks more warrior than baker, eyes blazing steel.She nods at me. No words are needed. Together, we’re synergy incarnate.
A clang echoes: two guards approach the corridor entrance. I press Ruby down beside a hydroponic planter, whispering, “Stay low.” They round the corner; I step forward, silent as a shadow. With one brutal sweep of my elbow, I dent steel plating on the guard’s armor. A knee to another’s abdomen, and the second collapses, breath gasping seawater. I drag them both into the planter, whispering to calm their panic-stricken breaths before moving on.
Ruby steps in behind me, flicking a bowl of espresso glaze behind our weakened foes. The ceramic dish smashes and glaze hisses on the hot metal plating, blinding the guard as he curses. She’s adapting fast—using what she knows to shield and disorient. I smile for a microsecond, admiration burning through the adrenaline. Then I pull her forward.
We round another bend and burst into the central atrium. Holonet screens now flicker with static; elegant patrons crawl under tables. A guard has planted himself by the main staircase. I send a chair flying—wooden leg striking his knee with a snap loud enough to reverberate off the marble. He crumples. Ruby sets off a small canister of powdered sugar from her station with a throw—white cloud blankets the next wave of guards. They cough and stumble blindly.
My fists work faster than thought. Each strike echoes centuries of combat training—broken bone, metal dent, unconscious grunt. I bend lightly, tucking my balance as blades snap forward. I’ve never fought like this before—against humans, aliens, future-tech. But the instinct is ancient, engrained. Defense of my soul’s anchor.
Ruby moves with equal intensity. A caramelizer she had in her hands ignites, she throws it at pursuing soldiers: stream of fire arcs across the atrium, igniting tapestries and forcingretreat. Sparks fall like fireflies. She’s an elemental force—fury tempered with purpose. My chest swells with pride, tinged with sadness that I can’t afford to let her be consumed by this darkness.
I reach her side, calling her eyes—“We need to push through to the docking ring. C’mon.”
She nods, fire in her stare. We dash off again, stepping past overturned tables and debris. A corridor near the docking ring hums with activity—people rushing to safety; a Vortaxian squad blocking the hallway exit. I grab a metal barricade to our left, ripping it free and swinging it with brute force, staggering the front guard. Ruby fires a small flare into their line—blinding red light and concussive blast brings them to a halt.
I pull Ruby close as we pass, shielding her form. My blood thrums with the gravity of this fight—this is no longer just rescue. This is declaration. Every move I make finds its purpose: protect, clear, move, survive. I think of her face when I first saw the bouquet. Of that fear, then hope. Now there’s only our rise.
We reach the docking ring—a half-circular corridor with massive viewport windows overlooking Novaria’s curve. Drones whirl overhead, scanning. We climb atop a luggage cart. Ruby pulls a metal food tray and slams it down, wincing—but she keeps standing. “Hounds are after us,” she pants. “We can disrupt them from here.”
I squat beside her, fitting our backs together. “Do it,” I say. “I’ll hold them.”
Ruby flips a toggle on the food-tray’s psyche unit—an emergency beacon that sends tremors through dock bay comms. Red lights flash. Alarms die to static. Mechanical arms block deployment. The scene shudders as station systems recalibrate. Security drones disengage from main feed. Guards near the entrance halt, looking around befuddled.
My jaw loosens in a flush of relief. I hold her hand, eyes reflecting the blinking lights.
She exhales. “That’s enough… for now.”
I press her palm. “For now,” I echo. My gaze travels outward. Beyond the glass, station lights blink. Hope rises.
Ruby looks at me, sugar-streaked face illuminated by red strobes. Steel and compassion entangle in those blue eyes.
I lean in, brushing my lips to her ear. “We’ll finish this. Together.”
She nods. Breath steadies.
