Page 109 of Fractured Souls

And now he knew that these Kordolians were connected to the ones that had tried to harm his mate.

The red haze grew thicker.

A faint sound tickled his consciousness, and if he were anything else but First Division, he would have missed it, but he knew what it was.

Attackers.

An ambush.

He reversed his sword again and plunged it into Murkot’s neck. The Kordolian fell the floor, black blood spurting everywhere; on Nythian’s face, his chest, his hands. It didn’t matter. His parasitic nanites were hungry, and they quickly absorbed it.

Boom! Rurak pulled a plasma gun and squeezed off a shot. He didn’t have time to see it hit the wall opposite, because he was already dead, falling to the floor with a throwing knife protruding from his head.

Nythian sheathed his sword and pulled his semi-cannon from where it was holstered at his back.

He was in close quarters, with nowhere to go but forward. His enemies were approaching, and they were probably packing plasma.

He strode out of the chamber and fired, a massive blue bolt of plasma roaring down the narrow corridor, leaving the Qualum walls deformed in its wake.

No point in being subtle about it. His enemies already knew he was here.

The plasma dissipated as he strode forward through wisps of grey smoke.

Then…

Silence.

Nobody appeared. The doors on all sides of the passageway were sealed shut.

All he heard was the faint hum of the ship, a deceptively familiar and comforting sound that threatened to lull him into a false sense of calm.

“Release the restraints already.” A nervous whisper reached his ears. “Quick. He’s coming.”

“The sedation’s still wearing off. What if it’s sluggish? He’ll destroy it.”

“Doesn’t matter. That plasma blast would have woken it up. Wish it had been properly awake when that fucking paleface ambushed us.”

“It still got him good. I saw him bleed. How were we supposed to know they’d send a Silent One after us? Hurry up, or we’re dead meat. If the traitor doesn’t kill us, the General will.”

“Either way, we’re dead men already.”

A door unravelled behind him. Nythian tensed, swiveling his gun toward the sound.

Chkchkchk. A familiar skittering sound reached his ears.

Pain-in-the-ass.

Nythian didn’t bother to wait for the cursed thing to appear. He flicked a couple of throwing knives in its direction and fired a burst of plasma. How and why in the Nine Hells did these morons have a live Xargek on their ship? And they’d figured out a way to restrain it?

Even Zharek hadn’t been able to do that, and he’d created the damn things.

A deafening screech assaulted his sensitive hearing. The Xargek burst out of its cell, deadly black claws raised, its triangular head angled in his direction.

A faint red stripe ran down its head. Shit. An old one. They were annoyingly difficult to get rid of.

Nythian’s anger grew. These deserters were trying to harness Xargek? Ah, but Ashrael had warned him of this.

Nythian dodged narrowly as one massive claw carved a deadly arc right in front of his face. He pulled his swords, trying to find an opening.

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