Page 76 of Taming Chaos

Locked in the storage chamber, the fiend would probably only survive if he got very lucky.

Let him burn. Being the savage Kordolian that he was, Torin thought that was a perfectly acceptable fate for an idiot like Relahek.

How spectacularly he’d screwed this mission up, to the point where he couldn’t even retrieve his target for questioning. Torin would be in for a world of hurt when he returned to base, but he couldn’t care less.

As long as he had Seph, the entire fucking Universe could burn down around them and he wouldn’t care.

As long as she was safe.

But she wasn’t safe, not yet.

Left, or right? Either side posed a threat. He looked one way, then the other.

Ba-BOOM! A great shockwave reverberated through the floor, through the walls, coming from directly below. Whoever was shooting, or blasting, or whatever was probably doing so directly from the hold.

Aiming at the passenger area, and maybe specifically at Relahek’s quarters.

Why?

No time to think about that now. Just get out.

He held Seph as he was flung up against the ceiling, his back—swords and all—crashing into the solid surface.

That actually hurt. Torin was eternally grateful he was taking the blow and not her.

Parrus managed to grip the edge of the doorway with his tail. He caught Kvorae with one hand, straining to keep her in his grasp before she flew down the corridor. She snaked her tail around Parrus’s waist, tethering herself to him.

They waited until the shaking died down.

We have to move. This is only going to get worse.

“Follow,” he gestured to the Veronians, wrapping his arms around Seph. He kicked against the wall at an angle, propelling them a great distance before they touched the wall again.

Kick. Kick. Kick. Faster and faster they moved, rebounding off the walls.

The hallways here were deserted. Alerted by the noise from below, the other passengers were probably long gone. Muffled explosions continued to rock the lower decks, becoming louder, coming ever closer.

The sounds of combat grew louder in Torin’s ears too—grunts, the clash of blades against armor, shouts of anger and pain—all slowed and skewed and distorted, because the absence of gravity messed up everything. The others couldn’t hear them yet, but Torin could.

“What’s your plan, Torin?” Seph lifted her head and stared straight ahead.

Shit. All of his actions so far were based on assumptions. For the first time in his long and bloody career, Torin realized he didn’t have even an inkling of a plan.

Explosions coming from one side, enemies from the other.

And they were stuck in the middle.

Too late!

A Bartharran appeared at the far end. He was locked in vicious close-quarters combat with…

A Plutharan!

“Invaders,” Torin growled, stabbing his claws into the wall to stop himself from flying straight into their path. He clutched Seph tightly as the Plutharan and the Bartharran spun past, locked in combat, liquid droplets of blood floating around them. The crimson-skinned Plutharan wore a breathing apparatus connected to a mask that covered his lower face.

Shit. They don’t care if they blow out the hull and cause an oxygen leak. Perhaps they’re expecting it. Plunder all, destroy all. Isn’t that what they say?

The Plutharans were distant relatives of the Bartharrans, and as was usually the case with races that were the same-but-different, they hated each other’s guts.

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