Page 11 of Taming Chaos

Thrown into disarray, the humans stepped back, frantically checking their weapons.

Markov looked at Winters, his face full of suspicion. “You know this guy?”

“I have no idea who he is,” she said, managing to inject a hint of irony into her voice. Her lips quirked. “Never seen him before today.”

Torin caught movement from the corner of his eye. Ephrenians. Long-fingered hands went to discreetly concealed guns. Like almost everybody on this stinking crime-haven, the Ephrenians were packing major heat—and theirs was plasma.

Markov gestured to his soldiers—all twenty-four of them. “You assholes have fists, blades, superior numbers… can somebody please take this idiot down?”

“Don’t.” Torin’s warning was like thunder. He was done playing. After witnessing the humans’ duplicity, the only one he felt like protecting was Winters.

He was about to blow his cover. Ah, screw it. These things happened from time to time.

He drew one of his Callidum blades.

Time seemed to slow. The scene before him unfolded in the strangest of ways, and if Torin wasn’t so focused on his target, he might have found the whole thing absurdly funny.

The Ephrenians froze in their tracks, momentarily turning into slender statues.

Some of the human soldiers didn’t appear to understand the significance of a Callidum blade, because they drew their weapons—short daggers with vicious looking serrated edges—and moved into formation.

A group of four human males stepped forward to intercept him, their combat armor creaking faintly as they moved. The bulky armor seemed to hinder their movement rather than enhance it.

The two agents—Markov and Davis—stiffened, their eyes narrowing as they tried to decipher the meaning of the curved obsidian blade in Torin’s hand.

Realization dawned quickly. Markov swore. The Ephrenians stepped back.

Torin inclined his head. What are you going to do now? The decision to reveal his blade was a calculated one. Kordolians were the only known race throughout the Nine Galaxies that wielded the dreaded Callidum.

This is who I am. This is what I am. Do you seriously want to challenge me?

Now, humans and Ephrenians were united as they faced him. The Kordolian Empire might have fallen, but the terror Torin’s people had wrought on the Universe still lingered. Sometimes, reputation alone could be as effective as any weapon.

But Torin didn’t care about what the human guards or the Ephrenians thought. He was entirely fixated on Winters and her fascinating reaction. As she turned to stare at him, the light hit her eyes, dividing her irises into a million shimmering shards. They weren’t exactly brown, but a mixture of all the natural hues of Earth—green, gold, brown, and perhaps even a hint of blue.

On this dark, forsaken shit-heap, she was Earth.

Her eyes widened. Her jaw dropped, and her pink lips parted in surprise. Almost imperceptibly, her throat moved back-and-forth as her breathing quickened.

She was astonished, but she was also afraid.

Hello, Winters. He wished she could see his face so he could give her a reassuring wink, but that would have to come later. Right now, he had to deal with these mad humans.

A human soldier lunged at him, attempting to drive his blade into Torin’s neck. At the same time, another guard tried to tackle him, going for his midsection.

Torin swung his blade in a lazy arc. All of a sudden, he changed its direction. With a vicious snap of his wrist, he rammed it hard and fast into the first soldier’s armored foot.

“Aargh!” The man screamed, dropping to his knees. Crimson blood pooled on the floor.

In a single fluid motion, he reversed his swing, pulling the blade out from where it had stuck through flesh and sinew and bone, before penetrating the metal floor itself. He smashed the butt of his hilt into the other attacker’s face with a satisfying crack.

Struck by the full force of a First Division warrior’s blow, the man was thrown back. He landed on his ass, his hands flying to his helmet. A gaping crack had appeared in his faceplate, and there was blood coming from one eye.

Torin swung his blade around again, sliding it into its sheath. “Your guns won’t work here,” he said, ignoring the two men he’d just incapacitated. “Your blades can’t touch me. Did you not hear me the first time? I told you, don’t.”

“He’s outnumbered,” Markov snarled, turning to his men. “What are you doing? Take him down.”

“Shut up,” Torin snapped. Such recklessness angered him. “What kind of commander are you, sacrificing your men for no reason? The next time, I won’t show any mercy.”

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