Page 83 of Alien Warrior Chef… With Benefits
Let them watch. Let them test. Let them witness. I will stand tall in warrior’s heart and baker’s soul—and return, triumphant.
CHAPTER 22
REKKGAR
The moon-ring station of Tyros?VI unfolds before me like a coliseum carved from dying dreams. Jagged steel ribs of an ancient asteroid cage the arena, and beyond them the void’s black stretches infinity. Glittering lights crowd every alcove, every stairwell packed with spectators whose roars shake the metal decks. Holographic Holonet cameras swarm our procession, mechanical insects buzzing on ruby-and-jet armor that gleams eerily in the low light. Every eye, human and alien, fixates forward, waiting for the spectacle.
I stand tall in my old battle armor—polished black cerametal with ruby filigree etched in Vakutan tradition. Each curve, each plate, is a message: this is his mate. His claim. The ruby edges catch the starlight, mirror her fire. My fingers tighten around the haft of my ceremonial blade—lightweight but razor-sharp.
Ruby sits in the ceremonial box—a floating dais to my left—flanked by neutral Trident observers. They’re mere shadows to me. I don’t see them. I see only Ruby. Her chin is held high, skirts of pastel fabric drifting over the cushioned seat. Her eyes find mine. Bright with resolve, fierce with calm. My breath catches at the boldness of her gaze. At that moment, the endless roar of the crowd sharpens to a single note: her. I step forward.
The first trial begins immediately—abrutal test of combat. An engineered colossus lumbers into the ring, limbs thick as tree trunks, chest plated like ancient war machines, eyes burning with synthetic hate. Its lab-grown muscle ripples beneath grafted armor; its claws scrape the deck, sparking little geysers of molten oxidation.
The roar of the crowd fades into the thrum of my own pulse, blood hammering in my ears. I feel sweat slick beneath the armor, not from heat but from the thrill of battle. I circle, blade raised to catch glare and menace. A mechanical growl hums through the stone ribs of the arena.
Then it lunges.
I sidestep, heart pounding. My fist smashes into servo-joint plating, fingers closing around its hinge. Metal snaps—gear teeth shredded beneath my strength. The creature roars and swings a fist at me. I dodge, then sweep my leg beneath it, tripping it. The beast crashes into the metal floor, sparks raining on its shattered knee.
I haul my blade up and drive it at a seam where conductors pulse red. The strike unleashes a small cascade of sparks. I twist the blade—metal parts grind and shudder. The colossus convulses before it falls silent, motionless. A hiss of pneumatic pressure pops the creature’s chest like a dying whale.
The arena erupts. Ruby stands, eyes shining, tears flickering at their edges. I bow—one shoulder, in Vakutan honor. Every strike was for her.
Trial two begins quickly.Endurance in the air-deprivation tunnel. I'm ushered through a dark corridor into a hall of translucent walls. Inside is a cylindrical tube—human-sized but claustrophobic. I steel myself. I step in. An observer locks the hatch behind me.
The initial pressure is mild—normal Martian sea level. Then air begins to bleed away. I feel the first pinch of my lungs. Panic flares, but I tame it. My mind locks down onto one constant: Ruby’s face. I breathe shallow—training from my shock-trooper days. Conscious control. My chest burns, ribs ache. Time frays. My vision swims—but I keep her face. Mouth dry, lungs screaming, sweat slick inside.
When the pressure drops almost to vacuum, I squat—steady, unmoving. Arms wrap my torso. My pulse is steady. The hatch opens and air rushes back. My lungs explode into flame as I gasp. I stumble forward, blade held steady, eyes blurry but triumphant.
Trial three:strategy simulation. They place me behind a translucent console facing multiple holographic threats—aliens, warriors, weapons. A scenario: protect a hypothetical mate (silhouette shifting to resemble Ruby) through moving battlefronts. As pattern-based attacks flicker in, I send units. I shift resources. I sacrifice myself to save her holographic form. Each choice echoes. My forehead bleeds, I crash through panels, but never lose the silhouette. My final act: I shield her with my own avatar, suit disintegrates, and the simulation declares success. The audience gasps. Ruby taps her fist to her chest—visual mirroring.
The beasts of physical,the void, the mind—all conquered. But I know we’ve proven synergy. Still, the crucible is not done. In the central dais stands Aelphus’s proxy—his cousin Varax, silver-skinned and arrogant, chest blazing with polished armor and imperial pride. He steps forward. The block of odorless mist rises. The final trial: public confession.
I stand across from him in the maw of the arena. Ruby’s eyes burn into me—fire-born calm—bright with everything we’ve survived. Varax raises a blade. He speaks into the central Holonet mics.
“I declare here, before galaxy and god,” he intones with icy radiance, “that I challenge this union. I seek to claim Ruby Adams as my jalshagar—through birthright and conquest. I offer glory, empire, divine lineage. I offer her the throne of Vortaxia.”
The robes of the tribunal ripple. Cameras quake. News feeds echo. I taste bile and sweet adrenaline. I nearly advance—growl ready. But I restrain, calm. My voice enters the silence after his last word:
“Because I love her.”
Three words. My blood hums with their weight. The echo rings—silence stretching.
Ruby stands. I can hear her breath—uniting. The resentment of tradition, the glare of the crown—they dissipate as she steps forward, voice clear:
“And I love him.”
It’s not loud. It doesn’t need to be. The declarative hush consumes the coliseum. A rush of echoes—support, shock, emotion. The observers stand. The silence becomes applause. The tribunal gavel clangs. They drop their gavels—they yield. The Gauntlet has ended.
Varax’s face twists—inanger, confusion. He steps back—stiff. His entourage hesitates. Aelphus’s forces, beyond the barricades, stand down. Cameras zoom out; the galaxy subscribes.
I step past the dais. Ruby converges with me in the center. Her arms loop around my waist. We stand together—no flourish,no empire—but unity incarnate. My blade is lowered. I touch her hair. She smells of lavender and courage.
The crowd parts. Journalists, spectators, the tribunal—they all bow their heads in deference. This union is more than code—it’s chosen.
We exit together—hands entwined, gaze locked, hearts aflame—knowing that Aelphus’s forces still breathe. But also knowing that we have won this day.
The bond stands. The world knows it. The war is far from over—but tonight, we hold victory. And in each other’s arms, we find the promise of countless tomorrows.
