Page 115 of Fractured Souls

Nythian trembled all over as he realized he would not get his blood-revenge.

Amidst the all-consuming anger, a tiny voice of reason entered his mind. You can’t kill him. Look at the big picture. It was Alexis’s calm, analytical tone, telling him that he had to keep Sarkiss alive.

Tarak wanted him alive so he could interrogate him.

That was the whole point of this little side-mission in the first place.

Sarkiss’s eyes drooped. He was losing consciousness from all the blood loss.

Nythian swore. Moving clumsily around the dead bodies, dragging himself through pools of blood, he picked up his severed lower arm and reattached it.

The nanites did just enough to hold it together, working slowly now that they were depleted.

He pulled himself to his feet and walked across to Sarkiss. Nythian found a discarded plasma gun and pressed it against his Callidum blade. Then he fired, and searing plasma engulfed the sword. For a moment, the entire blade glowed white-hot, before fading slightly to a pink blush.

He pressed it against the bleeding stump of Sarkiss’s arm, cauterizing it, stopping the endless flow of blood.

Sarkiss screamed and promptly passed out. He wasn’t in a good way, but he would live. Their kind were notoriously hard to kill.

The smell of burning flesh floated through the air, mingling with the bitter scent of Nythian’s own blood and the foul stench of the Xargek.

There was so much blood around him, and most of it was his. He’d be surprised if there was any black left in his body at all.

The scene was utterly repulsive and monstrous, just like him.

Nythian thanked the Goddess that Alexis would never have to see him like this.

But he’d survived.

He would get to see her again.

That was all that mattered.

Content in the knowledge that he’d completely destroyed his enemies, Nythian closed his eyes and drifted away on a tide of darkness and pain as billions of tiny machines crawled through his body, making him whole again.

Twenty-Eight

“What’s happening, Lodan?” Alexis paced back and forth behind the pilot’s chair, annoyed that he’d suddenly become cagey.

Apparently, Nythian wasn’t answering his comm.

"It isn’t like him,” she muttered, a feeling of unease settling in the pit of her belly. Nythian was the most solid and dependable person she knew. “What if something’s happened to him?”

But she couldn’t imagine him getting taken down by anyone either. He was so big and intimidating and just generally an all-round badass.

“The target cruiser isn’t showing any signs of distress,” Lodan said, as calm and serene as a cold lake on a summer’s day. The man had ice in his veins. “No acceleration, no slowing down, no organic flight patterns. I’m betting they’ve put their sylth on autopilot because they need all hands on deck to deal with a little problem downstairs. Pilot’s probably dead or incapacitated by now. Nythian’s had more than enough time to sort things out.” He stretched out his long arms and legs. “I’m starting to feel a little cooped up in here. I think it’s probably safe to go down and latch onto them again. I’ll go in and see what’s taking him.” He turned to his co-pilot, a slender, severe looking Kordolian who wore his long white hair in a high topknot.

Lodan issued orders in quick-fire Kordolian. The co-pilot nodded, turning toward a holoscreen that glowed with indecipherable blue characters and diagrams. He wore strange gloves and a sleek visor; Alexis figured these were the controls.

Lodan used a different method of flying, his long, fingers curled around curved black manual controls. “I’ll get it into position and connect with the docking point. You do the rest, Aidon.” His golden eyes went a little distant, and he eased back into his chair. “Get into your seat, Alexis. I anticipate a smooth connection, but you just never know.”

Feeling edgy and impatient, she settled into the passenger seat and felt the tentacle-like restraints lock into place around her body.

Everything about this ship was utterly alien. If not for Nythian and Lodan and their reassuring gruffness and the way they made her feel totally comfortable in the face of spectacular danger, she would have been spooked right now.

An eerie silence fell across the cockpit.

For a moment, Lodan and Aidon were perfectly still; a pair of cold silver statues welded to a dark, organic machine.

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