Page 20 of Alien Devil's Wrath
I nodded, helping her to her feet. We gathered our supplies and prepared to continue deeper into the tunnel system.
That’s when we heard them.
The distant rumble of approaching boots echoed off stone walls, growing closer with each passing second. Multiple sets, moving in coordinated formation through the tunnel system we’d just navigated.
“We have company,” I said, checking the weapons we’d salvaged from the last patrol. Two sidearms, a combat knife, and the Sovereign’s ceremonial blade. The energy cells were nearly full, and the blade’s familiar weight in my hand brought back memories of better days.
Bronwen looked up from where she was testing the flexibility of her bandaged palm, her eyes lighting up.
“Finally, a change of pace from all this walking.” She moved to the alcove entrance, head cocked as she listened. “Eight of them, judging by the boot patterns. Professional formation spacing.”
“How can you tell that?”
“Five years of cataloging patrol movements.” Her smile turned predatory. “I know exactly how long it takes each species to traverse different terrain types. These are trying to be quiet, which makes them even more entertaining to track.”
The sound grew louder. Definitely armed soldiers, probably following the trail of their missing patrol. When squads failed to report back, Slade’s people always sent larger forces to investigate.
“Dead end ahead,” a voice called out, carrying the flat authority of a squad leader. “Surrender now and we’ll make this quick.”
I recognized that voice. Torven Marsh, one of Slade’s old lieutenants. The bastard who’d helped orchestrate the ambush that left my squad dying in the mud while Slade walked away clean.
“Someone you know?” Bronwen asked, reading the tension in my shoulders.
“Someone who owes me a very long, very painful conversation,” I growled, gripping the Sovereign’s blade tighter.
Her eyes went wide with genuine delight, and she rubbed her hands together once.
“Personal vendettas are so much more satisfying than random violence. This is going to be memorable.” She studied the tunnel around us with the intensity of a predator selecting hunting grounds. “Do you trust me to create some environmental chaos while you handle the direct work?”
I looked at her small form, then at the approaching squad. “Give me the signal.”
“Kill them,” she said simply. “But stay away from the walls until I tell you otherwise. And try not to breathe too deeply once things get complicated.”
Before I could ask what she meant, she moved to a section of tunnel wall covered in pale fungal growth. Instead of touching it, she positioned herself carefully and released a sharp, piercing whistle. Three ascending notes that seemed to resonate in my bones.
The fungus responded immediately, puffing clouds of spores into the air. These glowed with a sickly yellow light that made the approaching soldiers curse and stumble as the caustic particles burned exposed skin.
“That should make breathing very unpleasant for anyone who wasn’t expecting it,” she said with satisfaction.
She moved to another section, this time making a series of rapid clicking sounds with her tongue. Multiple responses answered from the darkness above, judging by the chorus that made my skin crawl.
“Time for dinner,” she called toward the ceiling crevices. “Fresh arrivals, and they look appropriately terrified.”
What dropped from hidden openings weren’t Stalkers or Shade Crawlers, but creatures I’d only heard about in briefings. Cave Wraiths, smaller cousins to the larger predators, with razor-sharp mandibles and acidic saliva that could eat through armor. They were built for confined spaces, all chitinous legs and gleaming fangs, flowing across stone surfaces with unnatural speed. They ignored us completely, drawn by the pheromone signals she’d triggered.
But she wasn’t finished with her orchestration.
She picked up a loose rock and examined it briefly, then threw it hard at a specific point where water had been seeping through the ceiling for years. The impact triggered exactly what she’d calculated. A cascade of loose stone crashed down betweenthe advancing soldiers, separating them into smaller, more manageable groups.
“Much better odds now,” she said, stepping back against the one section of wall that wasn’t covered in toxic fungus. “Enjoy yourself.”
The tunnel erupted into chaos as soldiers stumbled through caustic spore clouds while the Cave Wraiths swarmed from above. Half the squad was already compromised, coughing and clawing at burning eyes while trying to avoid mandibles that could take off fingers.
I moved into the carnage like I was born for it.
Torven was closest, his weapon raised but his aim compromised by tears streaming from the stinging spores. I put the first sidearm’s bolt through his throat, then retrieved his rifle and used it to drop the Krelaxian tracker behind him.
“Excellent resource management,” Bronwen called out from her safe position, clearly appreciating every moment.
