Page 49 of Taming Chaos

“L-lord Alerak told us everything.”

“And what inducement did he offer you, other than escape?”

“Uungh…” The other Kordolian sat up, yanking Torin’s knife out of his thigh. A pool of dark blood seeped onto the floor. “What’s it to you, freak?”

Torin inclined his head. “I’m just trying to figure out how competent soldiers like yourselves could blindly follow an idiotic noble all the way to the Outer Sectors without contemplating mutiny.”

“We’ve got needs of our own. Kin.” The guard’s voice was a mixture of hatred, pride, and defeat. “Lord Alerak pays us well. What else is left for us on Kythia now?”

Our ability to protect is our greatest asset. I could find work for you in Darkstar. General Tarak would probably have killed them on the spot, but in spite of all his training, Torin was consumed with the sudden irrational urge to help these men.

How strange.

His victims. His survivors. Maybe he was looking for some sort of redemption.

You can’t afford this right now. Ruthlessly, he crushed the strange feeling. Right now, his job was to protect Seph, not worry about a pair of misguided fools.

The guard spat onto the floor. “You’re going to kill us anyway, so why don’t you just make it quick?”

“Did I say I wanted to kill you?” Torin stared at their blurry faces, trying to make out their expressions. He couldn’t. “If that was my desire, you’d be dead right now.”

“Go ahead, monster. Make it quick.”

Torin holstered his gun. “Be careful what you wish for, idiot.” Slowly, insolently, he walked across to where they lay and kicked their plasma guns out of reach. The weapons slid across the floor with a soft clatter. He stepped over them and retrieved his swords, yanking the Callidum blades out of the still bodies of his targets.

Thwick. Thwick. With a flick of each wrist, Torin shook the blood off his swords and sheathed them. “Don’t you ever fight me again. Please understand that I do not want to kill you, but if you make a move against me…” He shrugged. “I can’t control my instincts.”

“He’s fucking crazy,” one of the fighters whispered. “Just like the Mad General. Maybe the stories are true.”

Stupid rumors. Torin ignored them. He’d wasted enough precious time trying to convince himself that he shouldn’t kill these two. Luckily for them, he was in a benevolent frame of mind. Perhaps that was the human’s influence.

He turned in the direction of the outer corridor, where he’d told Seph to hide.

The sound of footsteps reached his ears. These weren’t Seph’s or Parrus’s footsteps. No, these were heavy and loud.

Bartharrans.

Heading in Persephone’s direction.

She’s in danger.

Relahek didn’t matter anymore. The pain in Torin’s eyes suddenly felt insignificant. The fallen soldiers became little more than tiny specks of dirt in his consciousness as Torin’s full attention turned toward the outside.

I’ll kill them if they lay a hand on her!

His fucking fault… for not being fast enough, accurate enough, decisive enough.

Torin ran faster than ever before. With each step, his sight became clearer, the cursed tiny machines in his body repairing lens, sclera, and retina as they restored his sharp vision to normal.

Color returned, along with his dark-vision. Everything was still blurry, but it was better than before.

And as the nanites healed, they also ravaged, consuming healthy cells into order to replace that which had been destroyed. Torin knew the basic science behind it, but he didn’t fully understand it. He’d picked the brains of Zharek al Sirian, the technology’s creator, but perhaps only a genius like Zharek himself could comprehend how microscopic nano-machines could generate flesh and metal and bone.

Whatever.

Just as the soldiers had said, he was a monster, a freak.

An abomination.

---