Page 9 of Nebula Hearts
A sound interrupts my thoughts. Not from inside the chamber. From the main corridor. Behind me, toward the entrance.
Snarling. Clicking. Multiple sources.
“Oh, you have GOT to be kidding me.” I run back toward the main corridor, abandoning the mystery of Tynrax’s disappearance in favor of not getting eaten by mysterious predators. “This day cannot possibly get worse.”
The snarling gets louder as I reach the main corridor. Movement near the entrance caches my eye. Multiple shapes. Six-legged, low to the ground, mandibles clicking as they test the air.
They’ve been following us. I realize it with cold certainty. Following our scent, our heat signatures, waiting for the right moment to attack. The energy surge must have agitated them, driven them from stalking to action.
And Sarpi. Standing just inside the entrance with his sidearm drawn, facing at least six of them.
“Where’s the Commander?” he shouts when he sees me.
“I don’t know! He was checking a side passage and then he just...” I don’t finish because the lead hunter lurches at Sarpi.
He fires. Hits it in the shoulder joint. The creature staggers but doesn’t stop. Its armored carapace deflects most of the impact.
Two more rush from the sides. Sarpi fires again, backing up, but there are too many. They’re spreading out, flanking, working as a coordinated pack.
I’m backing up, fumbling for the sidearm at my hip. My hands are shaking. I’m a geologist, not a soldier. Sarpi’s already shooting and they’re not stopping. More guns won’t help. But I draw it anyway because doing nothing is worse.
One of the hunters circles wide, trying to flank us. Its six legs carry it across the stone floor fast. Faster than I can run, definitely faster than I can think of a clever solution.
And then I hear it.
A sound that isn’t human. Isn’t Zephyrian. Isn’t anything I’ve heard before.
Something between a roar and a scream that makes every hair on my body stand straight up.
The hunters freeze. Turn toward the sound. Even Sarpi stops moving, blaster half-raised.
Tynrax emerges from a side passage.
His markings blaze violet light so bright I have to squint. Not the soft controlled glow I’m used to.
This is like staring at high-beams. The patterns spread beyond their normal boundaries, across his cheekbones, down his neck, covering his hands in intricate traceries that pulse and flicker.
His eyes glow pure violet. No iris. No pupil. Just light.
And the way he moves is wrong.
Too fast. Too smooth. Like gravity doesn’t quite apply to him the same way anymore.
“Commander?” Sarpi’s voice cracks. “Sir?”
Tynrax doesn’t answer. Just makes that sound again, that inhuman roar, and launches himself at the nearest hunter.
What happens next is like watching a natural disaster in fast-forward.
He hits the first hunter mid-leap. His hands close around its mandibles and he wrenches sideways. The sound of breaking chitin echoes through the chamber. The creature drops.
Two hunters attack from opposite sides. Simultaneous. Coordinated.
He moves between them. Doesn’t dodge. Doesn’t block. Just moves and suddenly he’s behind one of them, hands gripping its carapace. He lifts, actually lifts the entire creature, maybe two hundred kilos of armored predator, and throws it into the second hunter.
Both hunters slam into the wall hard enough to crack stone. They don’t get up.
Three more hunters charge. Learning. Adapting. They spread out, approaching from different angles.
