Page 12 of Fractured Souls

“You want me to be the one to convince her that we aren’t the bad guys?” Nythian’s tone was laced with a healthy dose of skepticism. He couldn’t help it. Every time the human had looked at him she’d worn an expression of pure fear—with a hint of madness. What in Kaiin’s Hells had happened to her? “She’s not going to—”

“Nythian.”

“Okay, okay.” He backed down, waving his hand in a resigned gesture. He knew the signs. The boss was beginning to lose patience. Now that Tarak had explained the whole thing in detail—protecting Abbey, retrieving information, observing for any signs of the Tharian—the task of guarding the mysterious human called Alexis Carter didn’t seem so mundane… although he still had around sixty chalens of free time before he was due to go back and take over from Enki, and he was determined to make the most of it. “You got time for a quick rumble in the training chamber, Sir?”

“Always.” Tarak’s expression didn’t change one whit. He turned and started to walk, beckoning for Nythian to follow. “I will destroy you.”

“Go ahead and try,” Nythian bared his fangs as his battle-lust surged. “I’ll make you eat your words.” When two First Division warriors stepped into the fight chamber, it was inevitable that they were going to beat each other to a pulp. Their highly modified bodies could take it again and again, so they fought as savagely as if they were in real combat—with claw and blade and fang. Nothing was off limits.

A look of pure arrogance spread across Tarak’s face—almost a smirk, except the formidable leader of the First Division never smirked. “Go ahead and try. See what happens.”

Nythian grinned. He couldn’t resist a challenge. Lodan always ribbed him for being too competitive, but really, they were all like that. The scientists behind the Empire’s brutal Exogenesis project hadn’t selected their candidates based on their physical attributes alone.

Personality was a major factor, according to Zharek.

Competitive. Violent. Inherently savage.

But they could be protective, too.

Perhaps this assignment involving Alexis Carter wasn’t just a mundane guard job after all. It was an odd little challenge, the likes of which Nythian hadn’t encountered before.

Because how in the Nine Hells was a savage brute like him supposed to convince a terrified human to trust him, let alone one who had gone through the most unimaginable experience—resurrected from the dead?

With a Tharian in her head, to boot. Was she even human anymore?

“Not all battles are won by force,” the General said softly, and it was as if he’d read Nythian’s thoughts. “It will not be that difficult if you make an effort to understand her.”

Damn. Sometimes Nythian wondered if Tarak had some uncanny sixth sense. His ability to read people and predict their actions was scary.

Well, that’s why he was the boss. His strike rate was off the charts.

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Nythian murmured as they left the command room, striding down the dark corridor. “But right now, I’m more focused on thinking about how I’m going to whoop your ass.”

“Oh?” The General’s voice became dangerously soft—anyone who knew him well knew that tone—but there was a touch of dark humor in there, too. “You are skirting very close to insubordination, soldier.”

“Yeah, but I ain’t a soldier anymore.”

“Hmph.” A snort of amusement escaped Tarak as they passed through unravelling Qualum doors and entered the training room, a vast space bordered on all sides by indestructible black walls. This particular chamber was reserved exclusively for the First Division warriors, because sometimes a man just needed to fight, and when the urge struck, it was impossible to shake off.

Unlike the other training facilities, this room didn’t have a viewing gallery. There were just the black walls and floor, and darkness.

The Qualum doors shut ominously behind them. Tarak undid his dark blue kashkan, crumpled it into a ball, and threw it across the room. Black nanites were already rippling across his skin, forming the seamless exo-armor that could stop most things—except Callidum blades and Xargek claws and close-range repeated plasma blasts, and of course their own Callidum-impregnated claws.

That was a lot of things, actually.

Having just come off guard duty, Nythian was already wearing his full battle-kit, including weapons. The General wasn’t armed, so to be fair, Nythian methodically got rid of his knives, swords, and plasma-guns, dropping them onto the floor with a clatter.

They were going to fight on equal terms.

Tarak walked into the center of the room, flexing his knuckles. “Ready?”

“Always, boss.”

Nythian didn’t get another word in, because the General’s fist was already flying toward his face.

So he did the only thing he could.

He dodged, and struck back with a vicious kick to the stomach, which connected.

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