Page 38 of Orange Tundra
He chose another.
“Zirc?” Cruuvex’s voice cracked with unease. “You smell that?”
I didn’t answer. My eyes scanned the canyon ridge above. Shadows moved.
“It’s a lure,” Axad muttered. “We need to backtrack. Now.”
I shook my mane, fur bristling. “No. They. Want me. Let them come.”
He opened his mouth—then closed it. Good.
I pressed forward, stepping over rusted chains and crystal-scorched stones. War relics from a battle no one remembered.That should’ve been enough warning. But I wanted blood. Wanted purpose. And when purpose is hunger, every scent becomes a meal.
The ground trembled.
An engine.
Several.
"Multiple engines," Cruuvex whispered, dropping into a defensive crouch. "Northeast quadrant."
My nostrils flared. There was something else there too, something that made my hackles rise. My chest rumbled with displeasure making both Cruuvex and Axad flinch.
Shadows materialized along the ridgeline - fifteen, their forms silhouetted against the crimson sky. More came. The scent of unfamiliar manasties grew stronger, mingling with the acrid tang of modified weapons.
A female figure stepped forward, her sleek black fur gleaming with decorative metal plates.
Nialla. Kilo's lieutenant.
The canyon mouth flared open—and Nialla greeted me with a smile that would’ve made bone crawl.
“Miss me, Silver Beast?” Her voice was velvet dipped in venom. I growled. This bitch had wanted Zirc since we first fought on a battlefield. She despised me, the Silver Beast.
Gang armor clanked behind her—half a dozen brutes fanning out, weapons glinting. Her hand rested casually on a slung obsidian rifle, but her eyes stayed on me. Always on me.
A manasty stood beside her, expecting Kilo.
No.
Scarface.
My claws extended involuntarily, scraping against stone.
"Zirc," Axad called softly. "I need to tell you something else."
I didn't slow my pace. Whatever he had to say, I didn't want to hear it.
"That is Trill," he persisted. "There's more you should?—"
Trill moved with deadly grace. I didn’t flinch. Neither did he. His gaze flicked over my body like he was cataloging damage.
Coward. Traitor. Assassin.
“Cruuvex, left,” I growled. “Axad, right.”
They scattered. But Nialla didn’t blink. Her troops knew their role. Stone detonations slammed behind us, sealing exits. Precision.
The first wave of attackers descended, wielding modified crystal staffs that hummed with dangerous energy. My claws extended fully, slashing through armor and flesh with equal ease.
