ã€ŠEscape From Heavalunã€‹


 Section One: Devil in Metal Skin

    Shooting up from the blankets, Conor grabbed hold of the neck of whoever was jostling him awake, his cybernetic arm whirring while activating. Suddenly touching someone asleep was a stupid idea to do to anyone from Heavalun. Any sentient from this city was on edge most of the time and was usually particularly ornery when waking up.

    He was especially prickly after years of contract killing and near-nonstop battles. While most people from Heavalun Mass City were used to fighting or having to keep an eye over their shoulder, watching for gangers, junkies, pickpockets, or the local police, his experience working and living here made him like a rubber band, ready to snap. Be that a neck, arm, leg, or whatever the poor sod he was fighting had.

    ¡°Who the fuck do you think you are,¡± Conor snarled his natural and cybernetic eye narrowing and focusing in the wan light of his drab bedroom.

    In an action built into him like an instinct, he willed his cybernetic eye to switch to see in infrared thermal sight, letting him get a good look at whoever this was while his natural eye adjusted to the lighting.

    In bright orange, reds, and whites, Jurilra''s face came into focus. She was a Jurintik, a werewolf-like species, while he was human through and through. She had dull brown fur, long, dirty blonde hair, and a gaunt face and frame. The Jurintik was an alien species widespread throughout the galaxy, be it in the GU(galactic Union), Freespace, or here deep in the COS (concord of systems); you can¡¯t swing a pipe without hitting at least two of them.

    ¡°Conor¡ªlet¡ª-go,¡± Julitra gagged, clutching at Conor¡¯s cybernetic forearm, her claws scratching roughly at the overlapping metal plates. ¡°It¡¯s me.¡±

    Realizing who it was, Conor let her neck go, and she fell to the ground. He had only lifted her several centimeters off the floor, but doing that when half your torso, including your shoulders, one arm, and most of your organs were non-organic, or at least cybernetically enhanced, was a simple task, and he had done so out of sheer reflex.

    ¡°What were you thinking waking me up like that? You¡¯re lucky I didn¡¯t just dust you with my hand cannon,¡± Conor said, gesturing to the massive handgun sitting on the bedside table. ¡°What in the stars are you doing here anyway?¡±

    Taking a moment to rub at her neck and gag for a moment, Conor pieced together what likely happened. Considering that Julitra was naked, save for a thong, he must have hired her last night to blow off some steam¡ªit wouldn¡¯t be the first time he had done that when drunk.

    ¡°You didn¡¯t pay me for last night,¡± Julitra said, standing up and nervously scratching her furry forearms and looking deeper into the shithole of an apartment toward the room where Conor stored all his weapons, money, and other precious items for barter or fencing purposes.

    Conor sighed and scratched behind his still intact ear, the other having been halfway taken off by a frag grenade a few local years ago. After taking a moment to swing his legs out of bed, flexing his sore muscles, and rubbing his palms on his thighs, he looked up at her, having deactivated the thermal vision in his eye. ¡°Fine; in the room, top drawer on the right, you will find some bags of Murt and Syntrit. Take one of each.¡±

    ¡°Alright,¡± Julitra said, turning around and sashaying in that direction, clearly doing her best to move suavely and gracefully.

    But Conor knew that was a load of Kret shit; She was little more than a strung-out junkie who just managed to keep herself on another fix fast enough by either guy like himself paying her for a quick lay or by managing not to get taken advantage of by one of the dealers on a street corner.

    At least if she was selling herself for the night, she wasn¡¯t going to end up in some slave market in the lower sections of the city or crammed into a skiff bound for a star on the far side of the galaxy. Julitra did have some kids to take care of, after all.

    Not that it mattered to Conor if she went missing; there would be another skag he could bring in here. He just preferred her because she never tried to steal from him nor kill him in his sleep¡ªfinding another girl that he could trust would not be easy, especially in this shithole of a mass city. That well over a billion sentients were nestled in it did not matter; finding another piece of ass would be a pain.

    ¡°And only take one. I know how much product I have,¡± Conor grumbled, standing and heading toward the kitchenette. The dirty, blood-stained carpet was uncomfortable under bare feet.

    God he hated going around with bare feet. It paid to have good boots to keep your feet safe from glass, nails, and other debris. That was especially important when operating in urban areas.

    When he was out in the countryside or the house, he would forgo wearing them and switch to sneakers, but being barefoot still sucked.

    ¡°I know,¡± Julitra replied from the room, ¡°can I use your shower?¡±

    ¡°Whatever,¡± Conor replied flippantly, pulling down dried stulk leaves and tossing a pot of water on the stove.

    So long as she didn''t cause any issues with him getting started for the day, he honestly could not care less. All he needed to start the day was a pipping hot cup of stulk, and his stims. On that subject, the datapad built into his artificial arm chimed and reminded him of just that.

    He frowned while retrieving the volatile cocktail of stimulants from the cupboard. He was almost out and only had enough for three days. Inside were six small autoinjectors about 20 centimeters long, marked with several warnings indicating that they should only be used in dire combat situations. But he was a particularly unique case and needed them just to survive.

    After having a solid forty percent of his body replaced with cybernetics, from a metallic jaw, fake eye, a few replaced organs, torso, numerous enhanced joints, and even a few bits of wire running through his brain, the stims kept him working.

    Without his friend Stich¡¯s unique stimulant blend twice a day, Conor would start to fall apart. First would come the tremors, then body lockup, followed by seizures and eventually death. He had never made it that far in relapse; it was just easier to keep his organic parts cranked up to keep pace with his enhanced parts, and the video Stich showed him of sentients who relapsed was a good dissuasion.

    Those poor sods were mangled wrecks, limbs at unnatural angles, blood, hydraulic fluid, and bone everywhere. And they were at most twenty percent wired up¡ªwhat he could end up like was something he would rather not learn.

    Dutifully and like clockwork, Conor ripped the cap off an auto-injector and shoved it into his thigh; a dull hiss sounded out as the brackish fluid flowed into his muscles. Just as he tossed the now empty injector into the trashcan, the sounds of Julitra starting the shower and humming flowed into the joint living and bedroom.

    While Julitra was showering, Conor''s friend and coworker Brakul sent him a message.

    Brakul: Hey, Conor, what are you doing tonight? I think I might have a contract for us to pick up.

    Conor: No plans at this point. I just gotta get Julitra out of my safe house.

    Brakul: Are you still fucking that scag? You know that won¡¯t end well.

    Conor: Yeah, gotta get my dick wet somehow. Besides, aren¡¯t you still plowing that Kurilta we worked with a few months back¡ªthe one with the red hair?

    Brakul: Yeah, I am. I like the crazy little woman. Plus, she is only a meter tall and makes me feel massive. But are you in or not?

    Conor: Yeah, I''m in. When, where, and who is the client?

    Brakul: Perfect. Meet me at Zyntle¡¯s at around 2100. If all goes well, we got a contract for some new upstart to the north out of town. He is looking to hire some muscle for a few months. Don''t worry about the contract''s legitimacy; Norla sent this man my way to arrange half a dozen bodies. I just want you there in case something goes down.

    Conor: So, bring a few extra solutions?

    Brakul: if you would, and keep ¡®em quiet, no shotguns. We will be in Zynie''s place and need to keep things civil.

    Conor: Afirm, see you then.

    After switching off the arm-mounted datapad, Julitra stepped back into the room, redressed in her clothes from the previous night. They weren''t anything fancy by any stretch of the imagination. Just a simple lowcut dress, showing off a shallow valley of furry cleavage, and cut to give ample view up her thighs and see the thong barely covering her womanhood.

    For a hooker, it was good enough.

    ¡°Want to have some stulk?¡± Conor questioned, pouring himself a glass.

    ¡°Sure,¡± Julitra replied, going and lounging at the dingy table in the corner of the room.

    They were quiet while eating their meager breakfast; neither had much in common or to talk about as is. The only things Julitra knew about Conor were: he killed people for money, sold stolen goods, and could give her a mean dick down. Whereas Conor knew damn near everything about her, acquired through basic profiling of her actions, attire, and mannerisms or from some of the intelligence brokers he dealt with regularly.

    Some friends called him paranoid for keeping such tight tabs on anyone he dealt with; at least Brakul and Stich did. But Conor knew that knowledge was power and was needed if you wanted to always end up with your opponent dusted and not you. Conor knew better than anyone that you don¡¯t survive like he has without a bit of paranoia. Hell, he was more persistent than a Hureclian beetle seeking water.

    Once they had finished scarfing down crackers, canned meat, and the bitter, brackish brew, Julitra quickly took her leave, with Conor locking the door behind her. First, the deadbolts, then the chain, followed by a biometric scanner, and lastly, he kicked a metal wedge underneath the door¡ªit would take a whole breaching team from the local government a solid hour to breach that reinforced metal monstrosity and that was just how Conor liked it.

    Unless you were invited into his home, it would behoove you to stay out and not try to get in.

    Now that he was alone again, Conor trundled into the room Julitra had gotten her payment from and opened up one of the massive ceiling-high safes lining the walls. Inside was some of his equipment. This specific one contained most of his low-visibility equipment: body armor, weapons, knives, toolkits, and anything else he might need for more subtle operations.

    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    Other tools he might want were in the various safes, but those kits were built for more specific jobs: sniping, heavy assaults, aerial and maritime operations, and anything else he could use in a warzone. Most of that was overkill for tonight.

    So Conor pulled out a few items he thought could be helpful and started his preparations in such meticulous detail that it would take him the rest of the day.

    ¡ª-

    The area outside of Zyntle¡¯s nightclub was insanely crowded, even for Heavalun standards. Up and down the street, as far as the eye could see, were nightclubs, bars, and restaurants, catering to whatever vice one could want.

    Unlike some of the out portions of the city, areas in the inner and lower regions like here, you could not see the sky. Instead, if one looked up, they would be met with obnoxious neon signs and more buildings arching overhead, choking out any star or sunlight that might be visible.

    Aiding in the choking and oppressive atmosphere, Aliens of all shapes and sizes bumped into one another with little grace, care, or concern. Most were decked out head to toe in bright neon colors that melded together in a caleidoscope of shifting brilliance.

    At least that gave the usual drab greys, rust reds, and browns of the cityscape some color, even if Conor usually found it more annoying than not.  Thankfully, neither Conor, Brakul nor their strange contact could not hear the crowd outside from the second-floor window. Instead, they were being bombarded by something as if not more grating.

    The happy tones and idle conversations of the crowd on the dancefloor below them, along with repetitive keyboards, synthetic snapping basslines, and ethereal vocals, filled the air to a near-deafening level. If not for the three of them having wired up to a local chatterbox that Conor brought along, they would not be able to hear one another.

    The chatterbox was not fancy; it was just a tiny device Conor had whipped up. It allowed them to speak normally into microphones on their collars and be heard in earpieces. He devised the idea after a few skiff airborne operations, where unless you were jacked into the aircraft comms, you could not talk without screaming.

    Now, the chatterbox just doubled as the perfect tool for having conversations you would rather not have others around listen into. Hell, unless you were inches from them, you would not be able to hear them at all.

    Brakul and whomever this Farun¡¯se was, a two-meter tall feline-like alien, had been going over the finer details of the contract for the last half hour. Conor had been listening just enough to keep in the loop, but his focus was elsewhere. Namely in the crowds around them, watching for anything he did not want to see: other contractors, a gang war about to erupt, or anything else that caught his eye. People-watching was one of the things Conor enjoyed about setting up jobs; it gave him plenty of time to keep tabs on the ever-shifting city.

    He had not spotted anything yet, in regular vision, Thermal, or through tracking, but something was off¡ªhe could feel it in his hackles. As such, One of Conor''s hands was in his somewhat oversized brown leather jacket, wrapped tightly around the grip of his suppressed handgun. Neither Brakul nor the Client commented on him keeping watch; they both knew he was just filling the role of an enforcer and was backup for them.

    ¡°So, what do you think about the contract?¡± The Farun¡¯se man questioned before taking a sip from his drink.

    Whatever that glowing drink was, it was not ethanol-based; the smell was far too sweet. Conor could tell that much even through the skull-like mask covering his face. Not that the flat black ballistic bask he wore to cover his metallic jaw and mangled face covered scents much. It was built much like the other equipment he wore to enhance his senses, not diminish them.

    ¡°I think it is perfectly acceptable. But are you certain you only want a ten-man team to provide escort and transport for your client while within the city?¡± Brakul asked, flipping a palm up. ¡°I am certain I can get more, considering your daily generous payment offer.¡±

    Generous was one way to put it. The politician the Farun¡¯se represented offered a whopping 15 thousand crit a day for well-experienced mercs. It was enough to get Conor''s tail wagging; Most jobs barely pay that out, and this contract was supposed to be ten days long. You could almost buy a house outside the city for that kind of crit. If they were actually paid it out and not betrayed by their employer, at the end of the day, Conor likely would do just that; then, he would have a place to live without the threat of death around every corner.

    Each of his jobs over the last few years was a means to that end¡ªescaping this shithole. But getting out of the city was difficult, even for guys like him with opportunities to leave and a reasonably regular income.

    ¡°Well, we can work that out via messaging, but for now, I am just offering what I am allowed to,¡± The client said. ¡°Anything more than that, and I won''t be able to pay you half upfront.¡±

    At least they are offering half the credits upfront. Conor must have missed that part during their long-winded discussion about what type of experience each mercenary needed, what weapons they would be allowed, and the specifics of the contract.

    All they would have to do was finalize details of the team when Brakul had assembled another eight bodies, but they could do that in a few weeks.

    ¡°If that¡¯s the case, then I think we should be good for now,¡± Brakul said, standing and extending a hand for the client.

    ¡°Perfect, expect to hear from me in a few days. Please have your team prepared by the end of the week,¡± The client replied, shaking Brakul¡¯s hand.

    After removing his earpiece and microphone, the client nodded to Conor and disappeared into the crowd looming around the stairs leading to the ground floor.

    ¡°So you like the sounds of that?¡± Brakul asked, sitting back down and sipping at his drink.

    Keeping his sight on the crowd below, Conor tracked the client as he struggled to weave through the jostling dancers. The Feline was clearly out of his element in the mass city crowds. Based on how quickly he was recoiling from each touch by the intoxicated patrons, he was uncomfortable with all the physical contact forced onto him.

    The sight was almost comedic, but Conor was used to dealing with people like the client''s representative. If you had enough crit to hire ten mercs, you came from one of two walks of life: you were an influential underground leader who could afford the extra muscle, or you were a sheltered individual with no real business in Heavalun Mass City but decided you wanted to make some friends in low places and needed locals who would be loyal to the almighty crit.

    But all of that was neither here nor there for the time being; Brakul would handle any issues with the contract. He was far better at being a politician than Conor was.

    ¡°So, any issues with what he wants?¡± Brakul smirked, knowing that it had been several months since Conor''s last contract and that he needed the money.

    Conor passively waved at his friend; he did not need to comment. Conor would take any contract that came his way so long as the pay was solid enough. In the past, he had taken contracts Brakul refused for moral reasons.

    This contract of defending some high-born trader was in no way out of the ordinary and was relatively tame by Conor¡¯s standards. His last contract was far more low-brow enough that he had almost said no. But for the low, low cost of 100 thousand crits and the fancy nanotech armor he was wearing under his tank top, he was more than willing to blow up the wing of a hospital with a firebomb¡ªinsurance paid to fix the building and burry anyone caught up when he killed a lowborn noble or some distant planet.

    ¡°I¡¯m more interested in what''s going on down below,¡± Conor said, pointing to a group gathering near the club''s back entrance.

    Below, barely visible through the flashing strobe lights and low haze of fog machines, seven Kyrail lingered at the back doors. One of the amphibian-like bipeds was giving instructions to the others. It was a shame the music was so loud; if not, Conor and Brakul could easily hear them, but even without sound, it was easy to see what they were doing. They were scouting a mark.

    ¡°What do you think, Voodals gang?¡± Conor posed, scanning the crowd for whomever the lead croaker was trying to target.

    Voodal is a leader of one of the area''s crime families and merc groups. They had been competitors of Conor and Brakul and their usual hiring groups for a long time. While Brakul and Conor did not have beef with them, one of their usual employers, the Farklut clan, had generations of bad blood.

    That rivalry was nasty, to the point anyone who was a direct member of either family would dust the other on sight. Both had been caught up in that rivalry several times and had a negative opinion of the Voodal family and any of their ilk.

    ¡°Likely. This is part of a contested city, after all,¡± Brakul replied, sipping his drink.

    ¡°I wonder what they are doing here?¡± Conor said, still not having located whatever it was they were doing, but he had seen them pull out a particularly nasty drug, giving him an idea of precisely what they planned on doing¡ªabduction.

    The gaggle¡¯s leader had passed out plastic bags with what looked like Visage clinging to the bags. That drug might as well be chloroform on the strongest combat stim out there. It would put you in a trance and make you forget the next several days until the effects wore off. The perfect drug for slave traffickers and abductors.

    The only reason Conor could tell was that he had used the tactic several times to capture targets alive. It was great; you could fish information from them freely, and they wouldn''t remember anything beyond where they had been picked up and whenever the drug wore off.

    ¡°I see their target,¡± Brakul muttered, ¡°switch to IR. I will laze her for yah.¡±

    As his friend and partner told him, Conor switched his false eye to IR and watched, and Brakul¡¯s pistols laser pierced the crowd and danced on the back of a red-scaled Kurlatra, dancing happily with some other reptilians of her species. All were woefully ignorant of the Kyrail weaving through the crowd toward them, hands tucked into jackets, likely clutching knives, pistols, and bags of drugs.

    ¡°Hmmm, odd, not a lot of Kurlatra on this side of the GU borders,¡± Conor commented.

    ¡°For sure,¡± Brakul agreed.

    Kurlatra were a noble-esc species in the GU and tended to stay in the GU, as opposed to the COS; most here only cared about their nobility for the sake of making money on ransom.

    The GU was safe but was overbearing compared to the COS. It had far more laws, restrictions, and limitations on carving out a living. Conor¡¯s chosen profession of being a Mercenary was outlawed in the GU unless you were on the Union congress''s payroll, But he was not on that list, despite trying a few times.

    ¡°Wanna toss a wrench in their plans?¡± Brakul questioned.

    ¡°How so?¡± Conor replied, watching the crimson-scaled woman in the center, finding her shifting bust and full hips hypnotic.

    Compared to those around her, she was different. Unlike the others who wore simple clothes, she wore a very revealing yellow dress that was low cut in the back and front, showing off her cleavage and the top of her long flowing tail.

    Those details made her different, but the sparkling gemstones hanging across her currently held his attention. All the glistening jewelry made her smell of crit.

    All those stones and precious metals were likely worth a few hundred thousand crit. That was before you sold her pert ass to some slaver.

    ¡°We can go down, nab her after the entourage is dealt with, and be big damn heroes. Then we get an award from that payday of a ruby. If she is not feeling up to it, we could ransom her off to the Voodal; they want her for some reason,¡± Brakul explained, using his keen eye for diplomacy and deals to guide Conor¡¯s mind to the potential payout.

    Conor took a moment to take stock of the situation; he had enough ammo to carve through the Voodal family present and could carry such a Kurlatra if needed. Should this shit go sideways and end up in a firefight, they could just use the crowd and vanish.

    ¡°What about the contract we just took,¡± Conor posed

    ¡°We haven''t taken one yet,¡± Brakul reminded, ¡°that rep needs to get back to us with upfront payment. Until then, we are freelance.¡±

    Conor could not deny he was right; no crit had changed hands yet, they were still unemployed, and this bitch might be worth some cash. Before Conor had a chance even to comment one way or the other, Brakul pressed on a nerve he knew would get Conor to act.

    ¡°Come on. I got fifty crit that says you can''t extract that Kurlatra before the Voodal drug her,¡±  the fellow Jurintik mocked.

    The bastard knew how to get to Conor for sure. He was competitive and hated to have his abilities brought into question. Just out of professional pride, Conor could not let that lay.

    ¡°Two hundred,¡± Conor countered.

    ¡°One hundred,¡± Brakul retorted, ¡°oh, look, they already nabbed one of the entourage.¡±

    He was right. One of the Kurlatra heading toward the bathrooms near the back entrance just had a bag of Visage slammed into their mouth and had already gone glassy-eyed. Now, there were only five Kurlatra left, including the clear HVT(High-Value Target)

    ¡°One fifty,¡± Conor snapped, eager to have his friend stop messing with him.

    ¡°Deal, I will cover and feed you intel from her. Open channel one,¡± Brakul sneered.

    Without missing a beat, Conor shot up from the table and descended the stairs into the crowd, drawing his suppressed pistol and activating his target tracker to keep sight of the HVT.

    Conor did not know it yet, but that little bet, one that was not even worth as much ammo as he was about to expend, would send his life on a journey that would change him forever.

 Section Two: Club Chaos

    Conor slowly descended the stairs, muscling past a drunken pair of Purletric dancers loitering at the bottom. Once on the ground floor, he vanished into the crowd of undulating, grinding bodies.

    None of the dancers paid him any mind as he weaved in and out of their groups. All were far too inebriated to note the predator stalking past or any weapons he carried beneath his jacket.  Be it the knife on his hip, the pistol in hand, or the stun grenades on his belt.

    Clutching the pistol in his metallic hand, Conor wondered what the worn stippling was like to hold. It had been years since his right hand could feel, and the L1-JKL was nowhere near as sharp as when it was manufactured hundreds of standard years ago by Nekarilaqa arms.

    At this point, the JKL was ancient, being over tenfold his age. But the Slug thrower was still effective and was integrally suppressed. Those who loved the weapon model would call it the Jackle; Conor was not one of those people.

    He preferred to call it the Joker because the pistol was the perfect weapon for his needs or as helpful as breathing on someone. At least the suppressor would make it impossible to hear the weapon''s report beyond a few meters, especially with loud base drums.

    In an environment as clamorous as the nightclub, Conor would not even be able to hear the weapon going off, much less the drunk and high partygoers keying their senses into the ear-splitting music.

    Conor¡¯s theory on the level of ignorance the inebriated attendees was given credence when he wrapped his hand on the slimy mouth of one of the Voodal mooks and sent four slugs through his back. Blood and viscera showered a group of scantily clad dancers, all of them none the wiser that the warm liquid glowing neon in the club lights was the orange blood of the amphibian.

    Instead of taking the time to hide the body in a trashcan like this was a B-rate hollow-flick, Conor shoved the limp body off to the side. The Voodal collapsed against the damp, durecrete wall with a dull thud.

    Club security would find the body soon enough and toss it in the alleyway outback, likely assuming he passed out. Until then, the dancers would continue blissfully unaware of the cadaver in their midst. Conor knew he would likely have to explain to Zyntle why he and Brakul were conducting business in his nightclub; that was taboo for the duo, but they could burn that bridge when they got there.

    ¡°Good kill. Move to the right,¡± Brakul instructed through the radio. ¡°Next target is lazed.¡±

    ¡°Copy,¡± Conor muttered coldly into his mask''s communication device.

    While he passed a pair of green-skinned Kubutals grinding hard against one another, Conor spotted Brakul''s laser stock steady on the chest of the next Voodal. He moved quickly, distancing himself from the couple that was only two layers of cloth away from fucking on the dancefloor, needing to speed things up if he was going to win the bet.

    Once past them, Conor closed the gap between him and the next target, pulling her close. Before the woman registered that she now had a new and less-than-provocative dance partner, Conor slammed her against the wall, pushed his suppressed pistol into her groin, and stitched off four quick shots.

    Usually, a bullet smashing your pelvic girdle would cause uncontrolled screaming, But with Conor''s metallic elbow crushing the amphibian''s trachea, she could only muster a weak croak.

    As the Kyrail woman thrashed, her windpipe cracked and crackled. She struggled against Conor like an untamed Rehal: kicking, punching, clawing, all in a desperate animalistic desire to survive.

    While this woman was as violent as the Rehal Conor had killed in the past, she was not them; she had no teeth, claws, or a carapace as hard as diamond. Holding her in place was child''s play.

    After half a minute, the fight in her amber eyes faded, having drained out with the blood coating her and Conor''s boots.

    ¡°You better hurry it up; there are only four left,¡± Brakul mocked as Conor let the dead woman''s corpse slump against the wall and ran her pockets.

    ¡°You could fucking help me, you Nurlik!¡± Conor flippantly replied while pulling a bag of visage from the woman''s pocket.

    ¡°I am helping, just not too much; I still have crit riding on you failing¡ª-remember,¡± Brakul sniggered.

    ¡°This was your idea,¡± Conor grumbled, leaving the woman behind and wafting past another dancer towards the next Kyrail.

    Thankfully Brakul did not comment further while Conor was actively dealing with the next target; Brakul might be an asshole, but he was a professional and knew to let Conor work.

    Conor covered the gang member''s nose with the open bag and drove a swift knee into his grundle; the man¡¯s autonomic functions did the rest. The strike caused them to gasp and breathe in a lungful of the acrid yellowish powder.

    The amphibian coughed, buckling over as the narcotic forced his brain to error code. While dropping the spasming man, Conor silently thanked Orphian Manufacturing for the filters in his mask that saved him from the zombifying cloud, unlike the other patrons within arms'' reach of his last target, who also began to fall to the deck.

    ¡°Do I have to remind you of our bet on the Driltol mining platform?  Because last I checked, that was your idea,¡± Brakul commented, shifting his laser to the next target.

    Conor huffed in annoyance, remembering that bet and horrible day all too well. He lost five thousand crit and his arm over the course of an hour. All because he was young, inexperienced, hot-headed, and not keeping keyed in on the task.

    In addition to the physical and financial damage, Conor also learned two important lessons about this line of work. Firstly, he had to stay focused on his current objective while being aware of what was happening nearby.

    The second lesson he learned was to trust Brakul''s wisdom and counsel. The older mercenary had a far better sense of business and an uncanny ability to tell when a gig would go bottoms up and they needed to pop smoke.

    Those lessons were things Conor still had to remind himself of regularly. He was far more reliable and wise than those days but could not hold a candle up to Brakul.

    ¡°Are there any updates on the others?¡± Conor questioned, slipping behind a pillar, pulling the trigger, and splattering another Voodal ganger''s brains on the bar, wall, and an unsuspecting Farun¡¯se.

    ¡°You better hurry up. They just figured out something is happening and are starting to move,¡± Brakul said calmly.

    Grunting to confirm he understood, Conor gave up on flowing like an unseen predator through the crowd and started to force the comparatively diminutive aliens out of the way. Sometimes speed was safety, and with his time hack being measured in seconds¡ªnow was one of those times.

    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

    Conor pushed through the last group of dancers, most falling to the ground with painful yelps. Once through, he finally had sight of the group of Kyrail. One of the Kyrail was bleeding out on the deck, and two were left standing.

    One was a hulking brute with a beer gut and grey scales who wore a tight tunic-like cloth. The red-scaled woman was using the older lizard like a shield, yelling something at the Voodal gangers, but the club''s music drowned out her voice.

    Conor had to give it to the old fool; he had some balls. Even though he was outnumbered and unarmed, he stood stalwart against the last three Voodal gangers, closing the short gap between them.

    Balls or not, the Kyrail was not in a winning scenario and would be overwhelmed quickly. With their back-to-wall, Conor had to act fast; there was no way he would lose another bet. Brakul would never let him live that down.

    ¡ª--

    ¡°Stay behind me,¡± Torkla hissed, pushing Eivaley back from the three aliens.

    Eivaley clutched tightly to Torklas''s clothes and did what she was told. He was the champion appointed to her by her father and would fill most of the roles of a champion until she found someone who could best him.

    Her heart was slamming like a hammer and anvil in her chest while the three aliens cackled and kept getting closer. Right now, the only question running through her mind and body was, what was happening?

    This was supposed to be an enjoyable trip, not whatever this nightmare was now.

    Daddy had invited her to Heavalun and the COS to get a feeling for the city and the area of space his shipping company was expanding into.

    Her father, Vuraley, handled all the tedious paperwork: setting up contacts, buying warehouses, hiring security, and setting up a private spaceport. All she was supposed to do was stay out of trouble, look pretty at a few meetings with clients, and stay close to her security detail.

    Now, Eivaley was cowering behind the back of one of her clan''s proudest warriors while three meter-and-a-half tall bipedal frogs brandished weapons and were threatening them. She could not imagine what Daddy would say about this when she got home. Would he cut her allowance? Not let her go out in town again? Or, worst of all, not let her go out and see her friends anymore?

    Either way, she was not looking forward to what he would do to her¡ªit wasn¡¯t like any of this was her fault.

    ¡°Oi, soljah, ¡®and, ¡®er ovah, and we hont ¡®urt yah,¡± one of the grey-skinned toads croaked, pointing a pistol at Vuraley and flicking off the weapons safety.

    ¡°You had better get out of here,¡± Eivaley hissed reflexively, far too used to having others of her species following her every word like gospel. ¡°My daddy will have none of this; he will make you all regret this,¡±

    ¡°Stop talking,¡± Torkla yelled, keeping his eyes on the encroaching Voodal. ¡°you¡¯re not helping.¡±

    What in the grand brood''s name? Torkla yelled at her. He never yelled at her, even though he had been guarding her since she was a little girl. Torkla was under oath to obey and keep her safe, which included listening to her.

    He should not be daring enough to yell at her.

    ¡°Yah lil¡¯ lady, yah should listen. We know yer daddy and don¡¯t care, and you are worth too much to pass up,¡± The Voodal sniggered. ¡°So soljah, yah gonna ¡®and ¡®er ovah?¡±

    Torkla looked over the men who had paused, slinking closer, and were waiting for his answer. Then he glanced over his shoulder at Eivaley. The girl he might as well have helped raise was shaking like a leaf and needed him to be a rock right now.

    ¡°No deal,¡± Torkla replied, drawing a knife and readying to fight off the aliens or die trying.

    The front toad clicked his tongue and languidly twirled the pistol while stepping off to the side. ¡°Come on, no reason tah die fer ¡®er. Be reasonable,¡±

    ¡°Torkla would never¡ª¡± Eivaley started, but he yelled at her again.

    ¡°I said shut up,¡± Torkla barked. ¡°You can get mad at me later.¡±

    Eivaley jumped and clutched his jacket, nodding silently, not wanting him to yell anymore. While she might be in charge of Torkla and the others her father assigned to her, until she found her own champion, she would never have any actual power. It was just her father and mother''s influence being loaned to her.

    ¡°I said no deal,¡± Torkla affirmed.

    The lead toad rolled his eyes and sighed while raising the weapon toward Torkla, readying to slump the stupid royal guardsman.

    Once the pistol was fully raised, they nodded, both accepting that there was only one way this would go: One of them would end up in a body bag. While the Kyrail and Voodal had many differences, this was one thing both accepted.

    Neither group would detest giving someone a good death¡ªeven though both thought it would be others'' turn to hit the deck.

    The next few seconds were some of the longest, most horrendous moments of Eivaley¡¯s life.

    Torkla roared like a beast dredged up from the bottomless dark pits of hell, shot forward, and tried to slip the pistol from the Kyrail¡¯s grip, his fangs snapping as potent venom trailed past his lips.

    But at his age, Torkla was not the young, proud palace guard he was when he was first assigned to be Eivaley¡¯s guard.

    Now that he was pushing fifty, he was old, slow, and more willing than ever to lay it all on the line for the few people he was bound to protect. Right now, he regrettably could not meet the bill.

    A deafening, unsuppressed shot cracked like thunder just as Torklas claws caressed the handgun. The round ripped through his palm and carved a deep canyon in the old warrior''s skull, showering Eivaley in blood, bone, and brain matter of the man who earlier was chuckling and asking her to dress more modestly.

    The crack of the weapon turned the nightclub into pure bedlam. Drunken partygoers screamed while they shoved and trampled one another, desperately trying to get away. Their panic blaring overwhelmed the club''s music and Eivaley¡¯s screams.

    As soon as the first Kyrail shot Torkla, the others tossed their bags of visage onto Eivaley, showering her in the drug that burned the image of Torkla¡¯s canyoned skull and slumping body into her mind. An image she would remember until her dying breath.

    Over her life, she would see many more deaths and already had seen hundreds if not thousands of commoners die so far. But this one hung in her mind as the start of her new life and a new way of thought.

    ¡°Grab ¡®er,¡± The lead croaker said just before the metallic hand of a massive beast grabbed his head and crushed it like an egg, blood glowing as it squirted between shining metallic fingers.

    Whoever just killed the man who shot Torkla picked up the lead ganger and effortlessly tossed the corpse into another one of the gang members. As soon as he was done with that, he lifted his handgun and fired three rounds into the remaining mook, not even bothering to glance thoroughly at them.

    In her drug-induced stupor, Eivaley¡¯s mind and body could not focus on anything beyond critical details. Sparse things that stood out so much she could never forget them.

    One of the mans arms was covered in metal; whether it was armor or cybernetics, she did not know, nor could she care. At this moment, it was the shining armor of a night of yor: strong, valiant, and rescuing a damsel in distress.

    The visage caused her neurons to misfire and rocketed stories of strong, brave men rushing to rescue the noble women when their homes were under siege.

    And she saw this as just that.

    The world and her imagination melded, covering one another in flashes. As the man approached her, she blinked and saw flickers of him in ceremonial white and black lamellar, with a regal coat of arms of blues and gold draped upon a tabard, coming to aid her; his flame-red hair barely visible from under a black cowl.

    Her mind was so scrambled that she reached out to strangers in form, be it the man in the dream or the one in the club with a bloodied metal hand; it did not matter.

    Her guards failed, and now, as if summoned by the gods, a brave knight burst forth from nowhere and defied the darkness threatening the kingdom''s precious princess. It did not matter to her hero that she was the fifth princess and would never be queen or have power¡ªhe would save her.

    Before the visage entirely took effect, Eivaley heard the man say a few words and knew she had found her savior, her destined champion. It was difficult to listen to him through the skull art-covered mask he wore, but her savior''s voice was deep, reverberating, and filled with clear, driven intent.

    ¡°I got her; meet you at Stitches¡¯s place,¡± the man said just as he tossed Eivaley¡¯s now near limp body over his heavily muscled shoulder and rushed through the crowd.

    The last thing Eivaley could remember before the visage sunk its fangs deep into her mind was the man kicking open the back door and rushing out into the Heavalun night, bright neon signs, and the dingy alley welcoming them into their midst.

 Section Three: A Doctor a Day

    The movement from the nightclub to Stitch¡¯s clinic was grueling. Typically lugging a passed-out HVI or some other sod halfway across the city''s district would not be a challenge. With his cybernetics, Conor was in decent enough shape and could sprint ten kilometers in full battle rattle without breaking a sweat, but Conor had pushed himself and didn¡¯t need to wax a few Voodal in his way.

    Conor had heard that Kyrail were dense, but his assumptions about how heavy they were came nowhere close to the reality of picking one up.

    Whatever this woman''s name was, she likely weighed north of eighty kilograms. It was a shock because she was a meter and a half tall at most. For Urka¡¯s sake, Conor only weighed one hundred and fifty kilograms despite being two meters tall and filled to the brim with wires.

    He thought a bit about the woman''s build and realized why she must weigh so much. She had hips and legs that could crush a man''s skull. Along with a pair of tits just big enough that they would overflow from your hands.

    Conner was made all the more well aware of those traits as he adjusted her to ensure he would not drop the little lass. Her fatty chest and plump thighs would try to swallow his hip each time he did.  No sentient this small had any right being heavier than his entire breacher kit, explosives, anti-rifle armor, and all.

    If not for Brakul expecting this rosey scag to be delivered to Stitch¡¯s place, Conor would have lugged her to his safe house, which was far closer. But no, he had another job and order to follow.

    The only shining light on this impromptu extraction was that the Voodal did not follow him. He had been worried about that last ganger he had shot; they had only eaten one round through the midchest. At the time, it looked like it might not have been a heart shot, and since he was picking this bimbo up at the time, he did not have a chance to ensure they were put down permanently.

    Conor took a deep breath as he rounded the corner into a dirty alleyway, leaving the bustling thoroughfare behind. Thankfully, the residents of Heavalun knew better than to mess with him or anyone else who regularly did mercenary work, especially when they were carrying a body¡ªalive or not.

    Those who stopped his type tended not to live long, so he was ignored other than a few passing glances.

    After traveling a few meters into the alleyway, Conor stopped and tucked behind a dumpster. His feet squelched in a puddle of rank trash water leaking from the impromptu cover. While Conor was reasonably sure no one had followed him, a quick double-check was always good for his skin.

    Conor did not want to bring trouble to Stitch¡¯s place. He did not have the slightest idea where he would find another techy who could synthesize the cocktail of stimulants Stitch made to keep his broken body held together. Pissing the tech head off was not high on his priority list.

    Over the next ten minutes, the only thing his thermal vision picked up between him and the main road was a few Zlit rats scurrying atop discarded food. Their fleshy tendrils groped the garbage and pulled it into maws of razor-sharp teeth.

    The sight of them sent a shiver down his spine. Those foul little mammals were high on his list of hated creatures, having been bitten by them more than once since he was a kid slinking around the gutters of Heavalun.

    Pushing those memories away, Conor traveled deeper and rounded a blind corner. The sounds of the crowd''s chatter entirely vanished as he entered the backstreet where Stitch¡¯s clinic was nestled.

    The rest of the journey was only a few hundred meters and only required Conor to sidestep some used needles and shit; He also had to kick one homeless bum who tried to grab the girl out of the cover of his jacket. Usually, he would have just shot the piece of hreck shit, but with his hands full, a swift boot to the jaw got the message across.

    With the bum limping away, broken jaw clutched in pain, Conor hammered on the metal door; its frame and the neon sign to its side quivered under his brute strength. Then began the worst part of dealing with Stitch, waiting for the asshole to open the door.

    Conor waited until ten minutes had passed and received no answer. Then he punched the door harder, his metal hand denting the surface. Several seconds later, a heavily synthesized voice echoed out of the speakers hidden around the area¡ªspeakers that Conor had never been able to locate, no matter how fervently he tried.

    ¡°What do you want, Conor?¡± Stitch questioned. ¡°Did you break more of your wiring?¡±

    Conor sighed heavily, knowing Stitch had this entire block wired with multispectrum cameras and could see him a kilometer out. If this were a visit for his wiring, Stitch would know. The man was just being paranoid and wanted Conor to state his business.

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    ¡°I got a girl I need you to check up on,¡± Conor said, pushing his jacket slightly open and letting the girl''s ref scales shine.

    ¡°What another hooker pass out on a bad trip?¡± Stitch chuckled cruelly. ¡°This is the fourth this month; you are getting soft merc.¡±

    Rolling his eyes, Conor could admit he was softer than most of the other mercenaries and gangsters in the city''s neutral sections. Having seen his fair share of how bad this city can be, Conor did his best not to fuck over those who were just down on bad times and were not trying to cause him issues.

    Life was arduous enough for them. So he gave back by lugging hookers and junkies to the nearest tech head and paying for their treatment or the closest Zential clinic. The Zentials were more than willing to treat the downtrodden for free, unlike the other medical services in Heavalun¡ªstitch included.

    He considered it his way of giving back and maybe finding Urka''s good grace. Perhaps the god might forgive him for being a general piece of hreck shit if he continued to until he did. But he would not know until he finally kicked the bucket.

    His intervention was a drop of clean water in the ocean of venom in this city. The other locals were more than willing to pick those he aided clean in minutes. They might as well be a swarm of bealit beatles eating carrion with how ravenous they were.

    ¡°It ain¡¯t that. Just open the damn door,¡± Conor growled, punching the door again.

    ¡°Hold on, you greased-up cyborg,¡± Stitch frantically complained, worried that Conor would break his door again.

    Conor smirked, glad the strange form of tolerance he and Stitch had built over the years was still strong. At this point, it was their modus operandi. Neither hated the other; no, they respected one another''s role in this shithole.

    Both toles put them in harm''s way and brought them respect and infamy.

    However, Conor found the way the denizens of Heavalun treated them funny. If you asked the average COS or GU citizen, who was more brutal: a mercenary with a pension for hyper-violence and little regard for collateral damage¡ª-or a skeletal Itelv doctor who regularly performs life-saving surgery? They would choose Conor ten out of ten times. They did not know Stitch like Conor, Brakul, or most of the people in this city section.

    They would tell you the truth of the good doctor.

    They would weave you a tale of a greedy, crit-pinching asshole and that Stitch was the type of man who would stitch up for pay but would just as quickly harvest your organs for sale, or Urka forbid he would stick some experimental tech inside you and wait for your inevitable death to retrieve his property.

    The door at long last opened with a vile hiss, and a gangly grey-skinned hand forced it open.

    Stitch was just about as tall as Conor. But his thin grey limbs made him look one stiff breeze away from taking flight, with only his heavy artificial spider-like legs keeping him firmly on the planet.

    Draped over his pencil-thin neck was a once-white apron. After years of use, it was stained with blood, oil, and hydraulic fluid.

    ¡°If she ain''t one of your precious hookers, put her on the table. I will get my tool ready,¡± Stitch hissed, jamming his thumb over a shoulder.

    ¡°I ain¡¯t selling this one to you either. Girlie got tagged by visage, and I need yah to treat her,¡± Conor replied, pushing past and laying the blonde on the recovery bed.

    ¡°You said she ain¡¯t some hooker,¡± Stitch complained following, having gotten tired of Conor no longer bringing him fresh meat to sell.

    Once Conor turned around and was about to explain the situation, Stitch pressed a bony finger into Conor''s chest. ¡°I told you, I''m selling the next one. She is it,¡±

    ¡°Can it doc. She is a client,¡± Conor replied. ¡°Or are you going to explain to Brakul why you cut her up?¡±

    Stitch clicked his tongue but did not try to move closer. His glassy, verdant eyes pulled Conor and the girl apart as he weighed the pros and cons of allying with Conor and Brakul another time.

    ¡°What is in it for me?¡± Stitch questioned, tapping a finger on a scalpel attached to his tool belt.

    Conor sighed, realizing he should have expected this question, but he was not the broker of deals. That was Brakul¡¯s schtick, and he was running late.

    ¡°You can take her jewelry and any credsticks you find on her. Alright?¡± Conor replied, knowing Brakul likely would have made a similar deal.

    Stitch nodded and slinked closer to the woman. He lifted the necklace from her chest and carefully examined the jewels with a prudish eye any good businessman should have. After Stitch activated his magnified eyes, his cornea glowed gold, letting him see the atoms of the shiny trinket.

    The doctor grinned cruelly, letting his crystalline teeth show proudly. The sight was unsettling and made Conor grip his pistol, fearing the doctor would flip his shit and decide it was not enough payment and try to cut the girl up.

    But he did not start to slice her skin open. Instead, he sniggered nearly uncontrollably for a few moments, then spoke. ¡°Yes, yes, yes. This will do just fine,¡± He sneered.

    Conor was unsure what the jewels were, but they must be worth far more than he initially thought. For Urka''s sake, Stitch was drooling on the necklace and the passed-out girl''s chest.

    ¡°Good. So you will take care of her?¡± Conor questioned, needing to hear an assured answer.

    Quickly slipping the jewelry into his pocket, Stitch looked back at Conor, his demeanor having done a complete one-eighty. ¡°Of course, I always have room for paying customers.¡±

    ¡°Oh sweet, Conor, you handled the deal,¡± Brakul said, having just stepped in through the doors.

    Why Brakul was allowed unfettered access to Stitch¡¯s clinic and Conor was not something Conor had wondered for years but had accepted it as something to do with their role in the duo.

    ¡°Yeah, and he will watch the client. But we had yet to lay out the finer details,¡± Conor explained.

    ¡°Ah, no issue, I can take it from here,¡± Brakul replied.

 Section Four: Doctoral Dread

    ¡°Help!¡± Eivaley screamed as her eyes shot open, her lungs stretching to the limit, causing her throat to burn.

    Eivaley¡¯s body reacted naturally to what she thought had happened moments before; her heart rate shot into orbit while adrenaline wracked her tight, unused muscles, causing horrendous lightning pain as they flushed with blood, readying to run from the Voodal.

    It took her several seconds to consciously realize why she was trying to run and from what. She was inside the nightclub. Torkla had been shot dead by some alien gangsters who were trying to drug her.

    No, wait¡ªthey did drug her. But that man¡ªsaved her. Where was he? Why was he not at her side when she awoke like the stories she had been told? Or as a champion was expected to do?

    That metal-armed man had hefted her over his shoulder and whisked her away from the gunfight like a champion should. Did he not realize what he had done for her species? Did he not care? No, it could not be that¡ªshe was a princess, and everyone she was around could recognize her regality.

    It was evident in her attire, chin held high, piercings along her brow, and namely in the essence that oozed off her and other nobles. They were proud and stalwart, save for a few instances, such as the noble women''s champions.

    He was supposed to be here to state his desire and take her. That was only the proper thing to do. But he had left her alone. It was all so confusing.

    After ruminating on that idea for several minutes, Eivaley realized she had no idea where she was or what was going on. She was just caught up so much in the fact that the man was not here that it had slipped her mind.

    Eivaley sat up in bed, and the rough blanket covering her fell to the ground, leaving her as naked as the day she was born. Under usual circumstances, her being naked when she wakes up would not be odd, but she had been dressed when she was drugged.

    Who in all the universe had the gall to strip her? With her still imagining the man who whisked her away as someone valiant hero, she hoped it had not been them. But if not them, then who?

    She swore if they did anything strange to her while she was drugged, they would face the worst wrath money could buy, and in the COS, enough crit signs public death warrants. The gods certainly knew Daddy had deep enough pockets to condemn a planet to that fate.

    If she learned anything harmful was done to her, they would not live longer than a few days at most. But that could be dealt with after Eivaley figured out where she was, talked to the man who saved her about his proper role as her champion, and ensured Daddy compensated that man well.

    The room was cold and damp, the chill making her scales ripple in a shiver. Nearby, there was a single metal table and chair. The small light hanging down from the ceiling gave her a clear view of the rugged grey duracrete walls and the closed, shining steel door at the far end.

    Swinging her legs out from the rough, uncovered, stained mattress, Eivaley scrunched her nose, realizing how horrendous the scent was. It was a foul combination of rotting meat and stagnant air.

    What is this place? The only thing its drab, oppressive build reminded her of was prison cells in some spy hollow flicks that were her guilty pleasure.

    Even though Daddy did not want her watching stuff like that, Eivaley regularly snuck them into the mansion or watched them with the servants on the private frigate he had her travel on. Daddy claimed they would fill her head with useless ideas and distract her from the duties she would never have to fulfill.

    She ignored Daddy not out of malice but because of Torkla''s advice that a life without excitement would be painfully dull and wasted.

    She was about to walk closer to the door but spotted something neatly folded on the chair. Scooping the faded garments into her hand, she cringed. They looked almost like scrubs but had patches and stains covering them.

    Considering what she was wearing, namely nothing, Eivaley could not be picky right now, even though the rough material likely would chafe. The clothes were unbefitting of her station, and the stars only knew what the stains on the crotch were.

    Eivaley quickly donned the oversized garment, ensuring her tail was sticking out the back and that her more sensitive areas were as covered as possible. Could the man not at least have left her underwear?

    As Eivaley put on the clothes, she kept looking around and listening, trying to gain more of a sense of the area and not let someone jump her again. She was confident she had seen everything in this room; there was nothing she could not see at a glance.

    Listening, however, revealed something. It almost sounded like someone singing, but they were horribly out of tune. Their voice was clearly going through some kind of synthesizer, having a bit of an unnatural crackle and pop.

    Now that she had some semblance of modesty, it was time to figure out what was going on, even though the scrubs were so large they were damn near falling off her shoulders.

    As Eivaley hesitantly pushed open the door, the scent of rot only got more intense, and the sound of the voice became more apparent. The door opening made her feel much better about her situation; if she were a prisoner, there would be guards and locks.

    Instead of those obstacles, she faced a well-lit hallway with built-in overhead lights. Steam poured out of old, damaged piping, filling the passage in a haze, barely letting her see a pair of doors at the end.

    One had bright light and the synthetic voice pouring from it, while the other was firmly closed, with a small palm reader next to it.

    Ok, maybe she was locked in here. But a little exploration was possible, and whoever was singing might be able to give her some answers.

    Shielding her head from the steam, Eivaley slinked forward, her feet plopping against the wet floor. Peaking around the doorframe, she was confident she could handle anything. She was the Fifth daughter of the Torkla empire, after all.

    Oh, how wrong she was.

    Not even the sight of Torkla¡¯ head halfway exploding could prepare her for this. The room was some kind of medical room. This room was nothing like her usual doctor''s office, instead of the clean, sterile white, and neat design.

    This room was one pulled straight out of her nightmares¡ªdozens of glass cabinets filled with medicine, narcotics, cybernetic components, and body parts floating in formaldehyde covered the walls. Nothing was clean; it was dusty, coated in dried blood, oil, and god knew what else.

    Dead in the center of the room was a strange grey-skinned alien, extending his spiderlike augmented legs upward to guide a light arm closer to the alien-like alien strapped to a table.

    Eivaley thought the man on the table was asleep or dead until the grey alien stopped singing, leaned down, and ran a scalpel under the alien''s eye. The bird-like alien screamed at the top of his lungs, loudly enough it caused Eivaley¡¯s blood to run cold.

    What the fuck was she witnessing? Some horrible torture session? An execution? Some sick, twisted serial killer kill room?

    As the avian thrashed against the straps holding him to the table, she gagged for a moment, then nearly threw up when the leather snapped tight.

    The gray alien shifted over the top of the seemingly unwilling patient, ¡°You wanted this. Now shut up, hold still, and let me work,¡± He growled; two of the spider-like appendages holding him up shifted and drilled into the sides of the patient''s head, holding them still from the shoulders up.

    Eivaley wondered if it was good that the devilish doctor silenced the bird, but her heart was glad he was not screaming anymore.

    With a twist and a squelch, the doctor pulled the patient''s eyes out and tossed them off to the side. Whether through preternatural means or sheer dumb luck, they plopped into a jar sitting on a cart.

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    Most sentients in the universe have heard about the fight-or-flight response because nearly all species that made it to the stars had some form of it. However, one thing that not everyone knows is that those are not the only two options when placed in a shocking situation.

    There are two others most did not know by name but did through action: fawn, meaning you show pleasing or more submissive behavior, hoping the threat does not harm you.

    Then there was what Eivaley fell victim to¡ªfreeze.

    She fell to her knees, uncaring that the impact on the metal grating on which she stood had carved them open slightly.

    At the same time, she sputtered, attempting to say anything. Her mind was unable to comprehend the grotesque torture fully.

    Time warped in on itself, and she had no idea how much time had passed before the horrendous surgery was over. But she witnessed it all: the spider scuttling, grabbing cybernetics, and drilling them into the bird''s skull, all while he cruelly hums a jaunty tune, was beyond surreal.

    Once satisfied with his work, the demonic doctor''s torso twisted around entirely, tucking a bloody tool into a slot in his forearm.

    He had not noticed her presence during his practice, despite him scurrying around to different cabinets¡ªbut he knew she was there now.

    ¡°How long ago did you wake up?¡± He snickered and slowly crept forward, the apparatus on his head shifting between several optical lenses as he did.

    When her eyes finally settled on whatever this thing called normal, they were as red as blood and glowing with fire and villainous curiosity.

    Those cruel eyes scoured Eivaley''s trembling form, plucking her apart at the very molecule. An evil smile crawled onto his ash-grey lips, revealing rows of clear, crystalline teeth. They glowed just like his eyes, giving the man a horrendous Cheshire appearance.

    As the doctor got closer, Eivaley''s heart rate shot into orbit, sweat formed on her palms, and the most primal part of her soul screamed at her to move, or she would die at the demon''s hands.

    ¡°What is it, Eivaley? Can you not speak standard?¡± the doctor asked, reaching out to jostle her, recognizing that she seemed to be in shock.

    Stitch found that she was not speaking odd; he had pumped enough nanotech and drugs in her to keep her that she should feel better than ever.

    The millisecond, his artificial hand clasped her shoulder, bedlam befell Stitch¡¯s humble surgery room.

    Though still not coherent, Eivaley screamed and tossed a hail mary hit toward whom she perceived as a threat. One the good doctor had not seen coming at all.

    With a hefty crack, her fist collided with his jaw, rattling his bones and sending him reeling.

    ¡°What the fuck was¡ª¡± Stitch started but cut himself off when Eivaley rushed into a corner, overturned a table, and grabbed the first object she could, readying to throw it at him.

    Not wanting his shop to be destroyed, Stitch activated his automatic security systems, knowing how strong humans were. They would alert just the man he needed to get here right now.

    Conor.

    ¡ª

    The crowd around Conor parted quickly, shouting in worry and panic, trying to understand why he was running, and had his suppressed pistol in hand.

    They were doing this because he had just shoved a pair of Urintit who refused to heed his warnings to make a hole; he had not shot them, there was no need, and he needed all of his ammo for whatever was going on at Stitch¡¯s clinic.

    He had no idea what was going on. All that Conor knew was that the automatic defense systems there had alerted him to go to Stitch¡¯s place immediately, warning him that the tech-head had been wounded and needed aid.

    His boots sloshed in the deep puddles. Conor was unsure whether the water was from a leak somewhere in the upper city or whether it actually rained today. In this area of the city, determining the weather or whether it was day or night was impossible. Things like day, night, and weather just did not exist this far into the belly of Heavalun.

    The lights on the walls and ceilings were supposed to dim and brighten to simulate some kind of day-night cycle, but because of years of neglect, these more built-up areas were snared in a perpetual dim orange twilight.

    The wan light and crowd were easy enough for the mercenary to maneuver, thanks to his thermal vision, wired-up legs, and razor-sharp reflexes. He barreled through civilian after civilian. He even left a half-smash food cart in his wake, but he ditched his meal to answer Stitch¡¯s call; whoever was waiting on their kebab could suffer the same fate.

    It wasn¡¯t like their meals were his issue.

    Nothing was going to stop him; both he and Brakul needed that princess to be unharmed, and he needed Stitch¡¯s meds to live.

    Having pushed his servos to their limits Conor had covered the ten kilometers from the noodle shop he was eating at to Stitch¡¯s clinic in record time¡ªbut how much had unfolded in that twenty minutes, he could not say.

    Thankfully, Stitch had set his doors to automatically open for him when the alert went out, so Conor wrenched the heavy metal door to the clinic open like it weighed nothing. Its frame vibrated as the door slammed against the wall.

    Clearing room by room, ensuring no one was in the rooms, he proceeded through the living room, the kitchen, and the bedroom hall leading to the basement.

    It was odd. There were no signs of a struggle on the upper floors; they were just as he had seen them earlier in the day. Neat, tidy, and relatively clean.

    That made Conor wonder: Did some patient of Stitch go nuts at attacking him mid-surgery? If that was the case, was his pistol enough? Stitch has always strapped patients down, having been in hundreds of his surgeries here. If they broke out¡ªhow strong were they?

    But Conor did not have the time to grab something more robust or specialized. His pistol, strength, and violence of action would have to do.

    Before he reached the stairs, the sounds of shouting from a woman and Stitch filled the air. That was a good sign; at least the doctor was alive.

    Descending the stairs and opening the door at the bottom, Conor cleared the hallway to where the red-scaled bombshell had been resting with a glance but did not proceed down it. He would check it after helping Stitch.

    He crossed the hall toward the sounds of shouting and smashing glass, knowing whatever danger was in the clinic must be there.

    ¡°Stitch, what¡¯s going on?¡± Conor shouted, rushing into the room with his handgun raised, ready to shoot anything that was not the doctor or the woman.

    It took him less than a second to asses that he would not have to shoot anyone. The Human, who, through reading her ID card a few days ago, he knew was named Eivaley, was the problem that the system alerted him of.

    ¡°Get the fuck away from me!¡± She shouted, throwing another beaker at Stitch from behind an overturned table she used as an impromptu barricade.

    To the tech head''s credit, he was doing a good job of avoiding the projectiles, as evidenced by the floor around him being covered in shimmering glass shards.

    ¡°Conor, stop your crazy bitch!¡± Stitch barked, ducking under another throw. ¡°Before she hurts my patient or me.¡±

    Stowing his pistol and sighing, Conor stepped between them, grabbing the next projectile thrown into the air.

    ¡°Eivaley, stop!¡± Conor barked, turning to face her. ¡°Stitch is not going to hurt you.¡±

    Eivaley wound up another throw as he did this but stopped, recognizing two details about Conor: First, his metallic arm, clutching her last toss, and second, his voice. She could not forget either; they were ingrained into her mind and soul after the other night.

    ¡°Ok, now that we aren¡¯t throwing shit at your doctor, can you put that down and come out here?¡± Conor more commanded than asked, but that was just his nature to be more upfront than not.

    ¡°That thing is not going to hurt me, right?¡± Eivaley questioned, still clutching her ammunition.

    ¡°I have been saying that this whole time you¡ª¡± Stitch started, but Conor hushed him.

    ¡°Doc, shut off that damn alarm,¡± Conor ordered, looking back over his shoulder for a second.

    ¡°Fine, just control her,¡± Stitch replied after pausing momentarily and turning his attention to his datapad.

    Conor turned to Eivaley, ¡°No, Neither of us will hurt you. Fuck, he fixed you from that drug, and I dragged your ass here. If we wanted you harmed¡ªyou would be.¡±

    Eivaley paused, setting the bottle down and taking stock of the situation. The strange Human was right; they could have killed her, sold her, or done anything, but as far as she could tell, she was in good health.

    ¡°OK¡ªBut can I get my clothes back? And an explanation of what the fuck is going on?¡± Eivaley said, stepping out from behind the table.

    ¡°Fine, just stop busting up my shop!¡± Stitch emphasized. ¡°Conor¨Ctake her upstairs; her clothes are in the guest room.¡±

    ¡°Alright, Doc.¡± Conor shrugged before stepping toward the door.

    He did not even glance at Eivaley, assuming she was smart enough to follow¡ªwhich she did.

    ¡°So your name is Coner?¡± Eivaley questioned on their way up the stairs, wanting to know his name since he saved her, and she would have to ensure he and his friend were paid well by Daddy for their efforts.

    ¡°Been that as long as I''ve known,¡± the Human replied flatly, not caring how intently Eivaley was staring at him.

    ¡°Conor? I''ve never heard a name like that,¡± Eivaley commented. ¡°Where is it from?¡±

    ¡°Ask all your questions in a bit. You have to get dressed, and we can talk later; just wait in the living room once you have changed. I¡¯m going to go help Stitch out,¡± Conor replied, pushing open the door and ushering her in.

    It was not that he was unwilling to answer mundane questions, but there was no point in detailing those things for a future client. She would just forget it anyway.

    ¡°Alright¡ªmy champion,¡± Eivaley purred, slipping inside the room and shutting the door.

    Conor had no idea what calling him champion was about but had no doubt he could ask later. For now, he pulled out his datapad and texted Brakul, needing him to hurry up and get here.

 Section Five: Wheel And Deal

    ¡°Well, let me tell the both of you thank you for your aid,¡± Eivaley smiled, regally gesturing over Conor and Brakul reclining on the sofa across the messy coffee table and Stitch lingering at the table''s head.

    The gesture somewhat lost any sense of dignity it might hold because Eivaley was no longer wearing her posh dress that Stitch had tossed out when she arrived. Instead, her ruby scales were concealed by a pair of tight black spandex shorts that let her thick, prehensile tail slip out the back. She had also donned a button-up that Stitch stole from Conor''s overnight bag.

    Why the doctor thought the Princess needed to wear Conor''s clothes was a mystery until the human''s eyes drifted to her barely contained, pink-cream-colored cleavage. If Eivaliey were wearing Stitch or Brakuls clothes, her fatty tits would be pouring right out.

    Not that Conor would mind that. Possible client or not, Eivaley was easy on the eyes. She had healthy glistening scales, a build with just the right amount of plumpness and firmness to show she was no slouch in physicality.

    Her green eyes pulled Conors from her chest; they were hypnotic, bathing him in an ocean of emerald jewels.

    Her short reptilian snout and stout horns running from nose to mid-back did nothing for him, but the little golden trinkets in them looked good. They were only still there because Stitch failed to remove them; apparently, they were going through some nerves, so he did not want to risk hurting her.

    For Conor, physical attraction to non-humans was the status quo. He had never seen other Humans in person and found them dull from the pictures he had seen. On the other hand, Aliens had uncountable possibilities; from how their emotions worked to their physical differences, it was far more enjoyable.

    ¡°It¡¯s no problem,¡± Brakul sneered. ¡°You looked like you needed the help.¡±

    ¡°I certainly did. I cannot express how much I appreciate it; without the brave champion here, who knows what might have happened?¡± Eivaley smiled, looking back over at Conor, holding her vision on him just long enough that he noticed it

    ¡°I will ensure you all are compensated well for your actions. I''m certain Daddy would give you anything you wanted for saving me,¡± Evialey continued, reaching for the cup of water Conor had given her and sipping from it.

    ¡°We certainly appreciate that¡ªYour Highness,¡± Brakul unconfidently said, likely having forgotten the standard word for royalty.

    Coner and Stitch glanced at one another with a knowing look. Brakul was trying to butter up Eivaley by appealing to a tradition she is used to and leveraging her naivete.

    ¡°Where is dear old dad anyway?¡± Brakul questioned, leaning back and crossing his legs.

    The question was pointless; Brakul had already used his contacts to learn all he could about the ruby Kurlatra. Through them, Brakul figured out that Evialays Father should be on the far side of town. He was safely in the Porencial district, a location for the city''s most affluent, influential, and most guarded members of society.

    The residents of that district were essentially the city and planet''s pseudo-nobles. It was no shock that a genuine off-world lord would stay there.

    If their information was correct, which it usually was, her father should be staying with Nefuril¡ªone of the mob heads in the city''s upper districts. Nefuril''s reach extends to dozens of systems, hundreds of worlds, and thousands of space stations.

    Conor had never been able to confirm it while doing some wet work for Nefuril, but they allegedly had most of the gangs in the city under their thumb, keeping them there by flooding drugs into the market and keeping what Heavalun called Police out of their business.

    Conor had seen the Police respond to locations and then pack up without doing anything his whole life, so he could believe it.

    A part of Conor had wondered if the old lord wanted to feel like some billy badass and prove he could rub shoulders with genuine high rollers, cutthroats, and warlords.

    ¡°Oh, daddy should be¡ª-¡± Evialey trailed off, nervously twiddling her thumbs, likely feeling her proud image had been tarnished by not having an answer. ¡°I¡¯m not sure. Torkla, my assigned champion, handled all of that.¡±

    Conor raised a brow and crossed his arms, watching Evialey look at him as if she were expecting something. He knew it had to involve whatever Champions were. She spoke of it as if it were some kind of mantle or station.

    When she had first called him that an hour earlier, Conor assumed it to be her noble senses getting the better of her and it just being a queer bit of veneration¡ªnow he knew there had to be more to it.

    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t worry about that, my dear.¡± Brakul began, then gestured wide at Conor and Stitch. ¡°We will figure out where your daddy is and take you there¡ª-presuming you are willing to hire three lowborn thugs like us to do so.¡±

    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

    That overboard display of grandurism earned Brakul a subtle tap on his leg from Stitch. The man and Conor both feared Evialey would see through him or just not accept because it was more of an offer, not a strong arm.

    ¡°Of course I would!¡± Evialey nearly shouted, shooting up and planting her palms on the table.

    The sudden sharp movement caused Conor to react immediately. He reached out and stood between Brakul and Evialey, ready to slam her to the ground. While Evialey was likely not as strong as Brakul, she still had claws several centimeters long and was a relative unknown to the human. And as far as Conor saw it any unknown poses a threat.

    Eivialey and Conor stared at one another for a moment, neither sure what to do because, for him, that was a wild overreaction. To her, Conor was her new champion, and she wanted to follow his counsel.

    ¡°Can you please sit back down and not look like you will attack my friend?¡± Conor said, being the first to break the silence.

    ¡°Of course¡ªI¡¯m sorry about that; I am just excited, is all,¡± Evialey replied sheepishly, sitting back down.

    Once both were back in their seats and Brakul had wiped a smug grin off his face, Evialey continued.  ¡°As I was saying, yes, I am more than happy to contract you all¡ªhowever, I cannot pay. My cred-sticks and non-signing jewelry went missing,¡± she finished by flicking her tongue angrily at nothing, clearly perturbed at the loss of what was likely several fortunes of crit.

    Just as they planned, Brakul looked slowly at Conor and Stitch, receiving a nod from each of them, just to keep up the rouse that this was not all planned from the start.

    ¡°Don¡¯t you worry your head about that. We can work on credit since you are a princess; I¡¯m certain your daddy will see us taken care of,¡± Brakul assured.

    ¡°I assure you money is of no issue,¡± Evialey nodded.

    ¡°Perfect,¡± Brakul clapped, then gestured to Stitch. ¡°We just need the good doctor here to give you a clean bill of health, and then we can get you home. How long would that take?¡±

    Stitch straightened himself and tapped on the blank datapad, looking sagely between Evialey and the empty screen. He made obtuse and pointless facial expressions as he went along, selling the idea that he was actually reviewing something fairly well.

    The conmen already knew Evialey was the picture of health after Doc pumped her with nanotech last week. They just needed him to sell her on a day or two so they could fake looking up where her father was and plan her extract.

    ¡°Well¡ªAnother check-up, a good meal, and a night''s rest should do the trick,¡± Stitch said. ¡°When I last checked her vitals earlier, she seemed reasonably stable, but I want to ensure the lovely ladies'' state.¡±

    ¡°Would another day or two here be alright with you?¡± Brakul questioned.

    Evialey looked back at Coner, expecting him to answer; to oblige her, he tilted his head up and prised her onward, seeing no harm in encouraging her.

    That call would change their dynamic from nothing to something Conor had never seen coming. He had just given her justification and played into her game.

    ¡°I would not mind spending time here and getting to know my Champion here,¡± Evielay smirked, brushing the tip of her tail across Conor''s shin.

    Conor did not make any reaction to stop what she was doing because Brakul had not yet fully sealed the deal, so she wrapped her tail tightly around his ankle and playfully tugged at it. Brakul noticed her tail tugging at Conor¡¯s leg, and the bright idea fairy hit him like a truck.

    ¡°Well, since we have a deal. Is there anything Conor could do to make you feel more comfortable?¡± Brakul chuckled, tilting his head at Conor and offering him up on a silver platter to the interested alien.

    ¡°Would he be able to escort me out to purchase some fresh attire? And possibly a few other things for the trip?¡± Evielay asked Brakul as if Conor did not even have a voice.

    ¡°Oh, of course. I know Conor would be more than happy to spend some alone time with you,¡± Brakul smirked, tossing a credit stick to Conor. ¡°Gear her up, and don¡¯t worry about cost¡ªtreat her.¡±

    Before Conor could argue about it, Stitch had stood up. ¡°Evielay, would you come with me?¡±

    ¡°Of course, sir,¡± she replied, finally letting Conor''s leg go and turning to follow the doctor.

    If Conor was not annoyed by Brakuls volunteering him, her plump ass swaying back and forth would have been a distraction, but now was not the time to think about railing that reptilian until she could not walk.

    ¡°Why the fuck did you volunteer me?¡± Conor said once Eivilay and Stitch vanished down the hall.

    Brakul leaned forward and flipped his hand lazily. ¡°Look, man, she has clearly taken a liking to you. We have to use that.¡±

    Conor started to open his mouth to explain that he did not want to go out shopping, of all things. Brakul pointed at him. ¡°And don¡¯t think I haven''t seen you looking at her, too. Just remember, no matter what she is a mark, don¡¯t get attached.¡±

    Conor had plenty of experience manipulating people with Brakul, but  ¡°to get your bag and get out ¡° was a lesson the Jurintik man had tried to hammer into him, ultimately failing to make it stick. Conor was too much a bleeding heart and was willing to connect with others.

    Conor stood up and stepped toward the main entrance, wanting to smoke and not hear more of Brakul preaching. ¡°I won¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°You said that last time,¡± Brakul replied, calling out times when Conor gave too much effort, which resulted in them having less pay.

    Having nothing to use to argue against the results from the past, Conor waved Brakul off and stepped outside. ¡°Send her out when she is ready,¡± He said before closing the door.

    Once outside, Conor lit a cigarette and leaned against the wall, readying himself to try to follow Brakuls''s orders¡ªa task that would be more difficult than he could ever imagine.

    Eivilay was a young woman who was alone and likely afraid. Yet here, Conor was ready to continue manipulating her. It was not right, and he knew it.

    ¡°Fuck,¡± Conor said, leaning his head to look up at the oppressive building overhead.

 Section Six: Flirtatious Shopping Trip

    ¡°Slow down,¡± Eivilay whined, trying to catch up with Conor. Her relatively short strides made that task impossible if she was not jogging. That her legs were digitagrade and made for running made no difference. Conor was just too damn fast.

    They had left Stitch¡¯s clinic almost an hour ago, and Conor was making no attempt at showing the expected cordiality and care a Champion was supposed to. Why he was acting like this? She had already declared him as her Champion several times. Was the Human genuinely just this uncouth?

    Eivilay could tell he had a passing interest in her, at least if the human¡¯s lingering eyes were anything to go by. The entire time she and Brakul were brokering the contract to hire them, Conor might as well have undressed her with his eyes.

    Could he not just admit it?

    For his part, Conor was well aware of how the alien princess made him feel and would gladly act on it. But here was not the place, and now was not the time. He had to keep her safe, set her up with a kit, and ensure none of the Voodal were around.

    ¡°Fine. But hurry up,¡± Conor replied, turning off the main thoroughfare and into the bustling market complex.

    The market they were going to was dead center in neutral territory, and despite many attempts, no one gang or group was capable of capturing and controlling it. Conor knew that no one could muster enough soldiers or enforcers to put the hundred floors of duracrete under their boot.

    The building''s size was one reason that no gang could claim the complex as their own. The other was that the structure''s design offered itself to defense. It rose hundreds of meters into the air, with one path slowly spiraling to heaven as the only thoroughfare.

    Off the spirals'' right was the main wall, pattered with boutiques and other shops selling any legitimate or bootleg item one could want. Drugs, guns, explosives, armor, fine clothes, and other luxury goods were all on display, and each store owner assured you knew what they had for sale while attempting to upcharge you.

    The left side of the path was a short step to a very long fall, especially on the upper levels. If you were foolish enough to take the plunge, you would run out of screams before you hit the duracrete at the bottom.

    That this was neutral territory was why Conor was on edge. At least if you were in someone¡¯s territory, you knew who to avoid. Here, every alien was a potential danger, an attack or a death sentence waiting to be handed out. That applied not only to himself but, more importantly, to Eivilay.

    ¡°Stay close,¡± Conor said, squaring the JKL¡¯s grip under his jacket and scanning the floors above and below them. The crowds of aliens squirmed around one another like insects in a hive.

    Eivilay did not need to be told twice. This was the first time Conor had treated her like a Champion should, and she jumped at the opportunity to get close. Doing her part in the song and dance all Champions and their ladies do, Evilay slipped tight to him and snaked an arm around Conor''s nonmetallic arm.

    ¡°That¡¯s not what I meant,¡± Conor sighed but did not pull away.

    With Eivilay that close, there was no chance she would get lost, and he could keep tabs on her. Brakul had also messaged him earlier to remind the Human to keep the princess happy. Having her fat tits rubbing on his arm was just a bonus at this point.

    ¡°It¡¯s only proper for a Champion to escort his lady around,¡±  Eivilay said matter-of-factly, wrapping her tail around his waist. That action took her a few attempts because of the gunbelt he wore.

    ¡°What in Urla¡¯s name does that mean?¡± Connor said, holding a hand up to wave away a group of Frentil scamming people with genuine Perkil scales. A mythological creature similar to dragons from Old Earth, not that Coror knew anything about Old Earth beyond what was on the datanet.

    Eivilay''s tail taped against Conor''s chiseled stomach while she thought of how to explain the role of a Champion in a way someone not of her species would understand and, in Conor''s case, find acceptable.

    It took her a few seconds to start, but as Conor guided her through the ruckus crowds, she explained the role she had decided the human already had.

    A Champion was a male chosen by the female of her species, or in some niche cases, a male would make it impossible for the woman to ignore them¡ªlike Conor. The man was to fill several roles: guardian, confidant, advisor, stalwart companion, defender, and naturally, their bedkin.

    The champion would receive any benefits from being their lady''s mate.  In the case of Eivilay, the benefits were as vast as an ocean and just as deep: money, status, protection, and access to her anytime he pleased.

    That was a far greater deal than most champions received. Most only receive a meager dowry or the promise of a home and children.

    ¡°That sounds like a bonded mate,¡± Conor chuckled, referring to the Jurintik version of marriage.

    ¡°It is beyond that,¡± Eivilay argued. ¡°You would get to live alongside me in the lap of luxury. Servants will wait on us, hand and foot, more credits than you could imagine¡ªand more.¡± She finished, leaving the and more up to her Chapions imagination.

    Conor laughed, not out of cruelty or anything like that; he had just heard enough good-to-be-true deals in his rough-and-tumble life that he could not resist laughing when one presented itself.

    ¡°I¡¯m not joking,¡± Eivilay whined, unable to understand the vast difference between Conor and her life experience.

    ¡°That¡¯s a tempting offer, princess, but since I¡¯m already doing most of that, I will pass,¡± Conor replied, catching his breath.

    While Eivilay never expected to be the queen of the Kurlatra, having far too many sisters in front of her to stand a chance of being selected when her mother passed away, she was still a noble, and if her mother was to be believed a crafty one at that.

    Eivilay knew what she had to do to sweeten the pot for a lowborn man like Conor. All commoners thought the same, wanting little more than food, sleep, happiness, and pleasure.

    Because Conor had all of that covered, save for pleasure, Eivilay loosened her tail''s grip on Conor and snaked it into his trousers pocket. She rubbed it up and down his cocks outline while she looked across at the busy walkway, pretending to be unaware of tempting him.

    If Conor could feel her heartbeat, that rouse would unravel instantly. Her heart pattered faster with each pass over his member.  The sensitive tip of her tail shot electric arcs of pleasure up her spine, making her need to stifle her own quickening breathing.

    The sensitivity of her appendage made it impossible to ignore the throbbing in the human''s stiffening dick, thusly Eivilay knew she was getting to conor on a physical level.

    Conor leaned down without breaking stride and in a calm, base-filled voice that made her scales shiver. ¡°Get your tail off my dick.¡±

    ¡°Oh, I did not realize,¡± Eivilay gasped, feigning exclamation. But instead of removing her tail as asked, she shoved more into his pocket and wrapped his shaft in warm, writhing scales.

    ¡°Eivilay, I said stop,¡± Conor commanded.

    ¡°What are you going to do about it? Stop me?¡± Eivilay smugly jeered, still not comprehending how little her station meant to Conor.

    To him, she was just another Kurlatra, not someone special. Making her do what he wanted was part of his job of protecting her.

    Without responding, Coner smirked and jammed his hand into his pocket to fish her tail out, unaware of what he was about to do to Eivilay.

    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

    Kurlatra tails, being as sensitive as they were, were an erogenous zone. Eivilay was also more vulnerable than most Kurlatra, as she could not use her tail for daily tasks without getting turned on.

    Conor grabbed Eivilays tail hard in his metallic hand, its cold surface causing her to take in a sharp breath, one that fully loaded the eclectic pleasure and loud moan she made when Conor yanked it out from his pocket.

    Her lustful yelp drew quite a few eyeballs from the aliens around them¡ªenough that even Eivilay noticed.

    But that was not Eivilay¡¯s concern at the moment. She wondered what the hell that flutter in her heart was. She was not used to being told no as is. But when Conor did and made her do what he was asking¡ª-she felt her womanhood drip. Her surge of titillation was only made worse because Conor started acting like a proper Champion.

    ¡°What the fuck are you all looking at!¡± Conor snarled at the onlookers, pulling Eivilay closer and revealing his loaded pistol while she retracted her tail, holding it tightly to herself. ¡°Quit your gawking if you want to keep your eyes.¡±

    The threat of violence, as usual, was enough to get people to leave Conor alone, with any onlookers quickly looking away. He had threatened them just so they would not get eyes on Eivilay; this woman was worth too much, and having that many eyes on him after she moaned like a bitch in heat was not ideal. One of them might tell the Voodal where they were or might know about her and make a move to whisk her away.

    Eivilay looked downright pathetic while clutching her tail like a fresh hatchling. Conor wondered if the way the trail of horns atop the bridge of her nose lay nearly flat was how her species blushed, but thoughts like that could wait; they had places to be right now.

    ¡°Come on,¡± Conor said, pulling his jacket open and tucking her close, keeping unwanted eyes off his client. ¡°We are almost to Fae¡¯s.¡±

    Eivilay nodded, finding solace in the smell of gunsmoke and oil clinging to her champion. She grabbed Conor''s belt with one hand, the other still keeping her sensitive tail in place.

    ¡ª--

    Neither spoke as they moved up the spiral further, neither wanting to acknowledge what had just happened. Each had wildly different reasons, but the effect was the same.

    Before Eivilay realized it, Conor had pulled her into Fae¡¯s shop.

    The area was a complete mess. It looked like a tornado had gone through the shop, randomly spreading military surplus, clothing, and weapons. It took Eivilay a moment to scan the mothball-scented room before finding its almost concealed order.

    Everything was organized by species and size, with stacks of crates on the shop''s walls. At first, it seemed like junk, but Eivilay could spot several weapons spattered amidst the racks and even a few pieces of clothing she thought would look good.

    ¡°What can we get here?¡± Eivilay asked, breaking the long silence.

    ¡°Anything we want,¡± Conor smiled, gesturing at the racks proudly.

    Before Eivilay could question if that was him being hyperbolic or genuine, a booming voice drew both her and Conor''s attention. ¡°Conor, you wired up bastard! Where have you been?¡±

    Approaching them with confident strides was a bombshell of a Totrinlein woman. Her muscular physique and commanding height demanded as much attention as the rest of her womanly curves.

    Two long shimmering horns swept back and stood proudly atop her amber hair, making her cobalt blue eyes pop. The fabric of the grey and black fatigues she wore screamed, struggling to contain her bulging muscles and the, even for a three-meter tall woman, gravitic cleavage.

    Eivilay had no interest in women or any species but her own until she met Conor, but she could not deny that Fae was attractive. It was in a tomboyish, warrior goddess way, but gorgeous nonetheless.

    Fae¡¯s attractiveness was made all the more apparent when she stopped before them, popped out a hip, propped a hand on it, and smirked. How she slowly scanned Conor''s features exuded the feeling of a goddess looking down at her meager servants.

    ¡°Fae, you beast, It¡¯s been a while,¡± Conor smiled, looking up at the woman he had spent more than a few weeks having fun and working with over the last few decades.

    ¡°Far too long. So what does my Human need: ammo, clothes, bombs, guns? Or did you finally realize I''m the only woman in Heavalun who knows how to treat a merc like you?¡± Fae purred, cupping Connor''s metallic jaw and making him look deeply into her ocean-deep eyes. Her hand engulfed the large human''s whole jaw and neck with ease.

    ¡°If you keep that up. I will bend you over the counter again,¡± Conor teased, earning him the slightest blush and Fae¡¯s short tail whipping in excitement.

    ¡°Oh! Should I close early so we can get started?¡± Fae gestured to the door, her other hand plucking at her cleavage, threatening her tits popping out.

    ¡°Would you kindly not proposition my Chmapion like that? I am right here?¡± Eivilay chimed in, not wanting to see where this went and tired of being ignored.

    ¡°Sorry I did not see you there. My favorite Human is a bit distracting,¡± Fae licked her lips, looking at Conor lick a piece of candy.

    ¡°And stop eating him with your eyes,¡± Eiviley hissed, rewrapping her tail around Conor''s waist and warning her who had him.

    Fae leaned down and peered into Conor''s jacket, getting a good look at Eivilay. ¡°Oh, I like her. She''s a real Luwell when it comes to you, huh?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, you could say that,¡± Conor replied.

    ¡°So handsome, what¡¯s with the little spiceball?¡± Fae asked, standing back up and pointing down at Eivilay. ¡°She some now Simco riding you for the night?¡±

    ¡°I am his lady, and he is my Champion,¡± Eivilay blurted out, not knowing what a Simco was but understanding the implication of riding.

    ¡°No, you aren¡¯t,¡± Conor replied instantly, already having enough of a bead on the little brat to know what she would have said.

    Before Eivilay could make a fuss about Conor rejecting her again, he pushed her out of his jacket and toward Fae. ¡°I need you to set her up: clothes, armor, and washed tech.¡±

    ¡°You two going to ground or something?¡± Fae asked, catching Eivilay and keeping her from stumbling.

    ¡°You know I can¡¯t do that. You would be a loose end,¡± Conor replied before looking down at Eivilay. ¡°I have to go pick up some things from another shop. Don¡¯t cause any issues  for Fae.¡±

    ¡ª--

    ¡°How could he just leave me here!¡± Eivilay boiled, stomping her four-toed foot on the ground.

    ¡°You said that a dozen times already,¡± Fae rolled her eyes, watching the red Kurlatra dig through another crate of clothes.

    Eivilay had already torn through half of Fae¡¯s stock, having found next to nothing cute, complimenting, or flattering for her. Why did it matter? The little brat likely would only wear it once or twice. It was clear enough that she was a client of Conor and Brakul.

    ¡°I¡¯m aware, but still,¡± Eivilay replied, holding up a blue shirt and modeling it to Fae.

    Fae gave the garment a thumbs up, not really caring, but Eivilay had forced the role of final approval onto her and refused to pick anything without input.

    At the rate Kurlatra was choosing clothes, Conor would be cold and in the ground by the time she picked pants. Why in Urla¡¯s name was she so picky?

    ¡°Do you have anything you think Conor would like to see me wearing?¡± Eivilay asked.

    Fae sighed and hung her head, amazed that no matter how many times she explained that this was a surplus store and not a fancy boutique, Eivilay still could not understand.

    ¡°Maybe some lingerie?¡± Eivilay added, tossing the blue shirt into the small pile she was starting to gather.

    ¡°You really are trying to make him your companion, or whatever it was,¡± Fae said, looking up and disapproving the green military jacket Eivilay was picking up.

    ¡°It¡¯s champion, and yes. I will show him how amazing living with me could be, and then he will be my champion forever,¡± Eivilay explained, putting the jacket into the approved pile despite Fae having said no. ¡°I just have to figure out how to get him to understand.¡±

    ¡°He is not that complicated. You are just going about it wrong.¡± Fae smirked, using her foot to slide another crate to Eivilay.

    Conor was easy enough for Fae to read. The man was just like every other mercenary. He liked booze, a nice night on the town, a good woman, and cracking skulls. She also knew that Conor, over everything, loved a challenge.

    Hell, her imposing bulk was a challenge, and her flaunting was how Fae had gotten him into bed.

    But Eivilay clearly did not have that grasp on the man she was eager to have bed her, especially on the matter of his appearance. Conor had to keep up the rough-and-tumble mercenary appearance. Making Googoo eyes with anyone in public would crush that and paint her as a target¡ªand he is too kind to put anyone he cares about in danger.

    ¡°Then what am I supposed to do?¡± Eivilay replied, dropping the clothes and turning to face Fae, caring far more about unraveling the secrets of the Human than picking clothes.

    ¡°That¡¯s easy; you have to get him alone,¡± Fae stated, recalling how Conor just watched her with interest until they were alone in the shop but never made a move.

    ¡°That makes no sense. I had him all to myself on the way here; he would not even let me snuggle up until we were a few minutes away,¡± Eivilay replied, not explaining that she almost came when he yanked at her tail.

    ¡°That¡¯s not alone; the whole city could see you. I mean genuinely alone, just the two of you.¡± Fae explained, walking over and shutting the main shutters to the store, having decided to help Eivilay get in Conor''s pants, both earning her a favor from the merc and giving her an out from the torture hearing Eivilay complain was. ¡°Then you just have to lure him in, set a trap, and whatnot.¡±

    Eivilay had not thought about genuinely luring him in. As far as she understood it, especially virile men like Conor would do anything to bury their balls deep in a woman. That or jump at the chance to live in the lap of luxury in the royal palace. But apparently, she must not have understood that about him.

    ¡°Would you care to Elaborate on what you mean by trap?¡± Evilay asked, stepping closer.

    ¡°That is the plan,¡± Fae said, turning around and opening the door built into the shutters. ¡°But we have to hurry; he will be back soon. So follow me.¡±

 Section Seven: Failing Forward

    ¡°What the fuck do you mean we have to wait until tomorrow to get her nanoflex,¡± Conor groaned, gesturing behind Fae and Eiviliay at the stacks of hundreds of unused Nanoflex armor sets.

    ¡°None of them that are working fit her. Those that could need some work,¡± Fae lied, knowing that genuine NanoFlex is one size fits all¡ªsave for a few extreme niche cases. All you did was fit the bracelet to your arm and activate it, and semi-solid nanofiber would form a vest around your vitals.

    Hopefully, Conor does not know that. He tends to be more of a big-picture guy, so Fae and Eivilays'' plan hinged on his ignorance.

    Conor looked over the area suspiciously, scanning for any lurking threat, likely having assumed someone had put them up to causing the delay.

    Fae and Eivilay watched Conor''s eyes shift in colors from green to glowing red as he cycled through his different vision types. He sighed and looked back at the waiting women, having not found anyone lurking in the area.

    ¡°At least we went out and got proper clothes while you were out,¡± Evillay added, excitedly shaking the paper bags clutched in her claws.

    Conor could not deny that having done that was a blessing. He had dreaded spending any more time with Eivilay while shopping. Not that he minded the eye candy, but shopping was worse than torture. He would rather chew on glass than go on extended shopping trips¡ªsomething the affluent were known for, even here in the COS.

    ¡°Fine, we will be back in the morning,¡± Conor sighed, turning around and accepting the situation change. He extended a hand as he did. ¡°Come on, Eivilay. I have an extra cot at my place you can use.¡±

    Eivilay resisted the urge to cling to the Human and wrap her tail around his waist; instead, the ruby-scaled alien grabbed her champion''s hand and looked back to Fae, an infectious smile filling the gap.

    Fae had done Eivilay right. She knew precisely what humans would do. In this case, because Conor tried to limit his time out and about, he would take Eivilay somewhere closer¡ªhis safe house.

    Conor was as predictable as Fae conveyed. Eivilay thought about that idea and started to grasp that she would have to treat him a bit more basely, perhaps like caring for an animal. They would have no reason to attack you if you kept them comfortable, happy, and well-fed.

    Her beast just happened to be sapient, filled to the brim with wiring. And could rip anything he touched in half.

    ¡°Have a fun night, you two,¡± Fae waved, a gesture Eivilay returned.

    ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m certain it will be,¡± Conor rolled his eyes.

    ¡ª--

    Menageries of thoughts screamed in Eivilays mind as she looked around Conor''s home¡ªif one could even call it that.

    Why is it so small? What are those stains on the wall and floor? Why did Conor have more locks on his door than the royal vault? Why did the only clean item seem to be his bed? Why was his dining room and bed in the foyer? But most of all, was this all there was?

    There must be something else to this place. Nothing outside was lavish or offered the amenities that a man of Conor''s caliber deserved, and the inside was just as¡ª-spartan. There were prisons back home that were more plush than this.

    The entire place was pathetic.

    ¡°So remind me again, what about being my champion would be so bad?¡± Eivilay questioned, peaking down the short hall and spotting two closed doors beside a filthy kitchenette and minifridge.

    ¡°I never said it sounded bad,¡± Conor said, passing her and walking to the storage room. ¡°It is just too good to be true. Life ain¡¯t that nice.¡±

    ¡°I said that I am not deceiving you,¡± Eivilay pouted, stamping her foot on the hard ground.

    ¡°Whatever you say, babe.¡± Conor laughed before closing the door to keep the clingy lizard out while he changed.

    Eivilay huffed, turned about, and plopped onto Conor''s bed, lying back and soaking in his scent¡ªgun-oil, smoke, and sweat, just like a man should. The odor was titillating, reminding her of the smell lingering around the guard barracks right after they finished training.

    Conor returned and had dressed down in a set of ludicrously short shorts and a tight black tank top. Eivilay could not help but stare slightly. This was the first time she had seen Conor out of full battle fatigues, and it made her mouth water.

    Half of his upper chest was shining chrome. Spattered lights and pistons moved at the joints in well-timed order. The mechanical parts were built to match his bulging musculature perfectly, giving his upper torso a wonderful V-taper.

    Conor looked at Eivilay, peering up at him, and shook his head, knowing her plan. ¡°You know you aren¡¯t sleeping there. I have a cot for you.¡±

    She looked away and did not acknowledge his weak-willed request, remembering Fae¡¯s guidance to challenge the Human and make him feel like he had won. Just giving in would not do any of that. She had to be stubborn, put her foot down when it mattered, and get under his skin.

    Conor tossed a small cube into the center of the room and watched as it gradually unfolded. He enjoyed setting up the Carian manufacturing cot; the shimmering lights and dull hum interested him. Conor had no idea how it went from a 15mm cube to a bed large enough for him, but it worked.

    Once the short spectacle was over, Conor sat at the table and texted Brakul to explain where they were. His Jurintik partner would be worried if they did not return eventually.

    ¡°So when are you going to join me,¡± Eivilay purred.

    Connor peaked up at her and almost laughed. This brat was exceptionally persistent. Instead of lounging there and not talking, she was already making moves to emphasize her desires. Eivilays'' long claws plucked at her shirt button methodically, plucking at them like a guitar string. Each time her fatty chest bounced, it was as if she begged Conor to rip it off.

    ¡°I told you you were sleeping on the cot,¡± Conor replied.

    Eivilay rolled her eyes and was about to mope and pout as she had with her temporary champion, but she knew that would not work with Conor. Instead, she decided to play one of the cards Fae had told her to after hearing about Brakul''s orders to the Human.

    Be unignorable.

    ¡°Come on, Conor. Brakul did tell you to keep me happy,¡± Evilay whispered into his ear, having gotten up and shoved her cream-colored cleavage between him and the datapad.

    The Human sighed and looked up at her. A massive, almost pleading frown was across her face. He was about to argue and tell her to sit down, but then a thought crossed his mind. He could have some fun here.

    It would not be hard to put this brat in her place and still get his rocks off. Eivilay certainly was not shy about wanting him. But if this were happening, it would be on his terms.

    ¡°He did mention that,¡± Conor replied, wrapping an arm around Eivilays waist and pulling her into his lap. Eivilay quickly picked up the change in atmosphere from the human and draped her arms over his muscular shoulders as his following words stole her breath away. ¡°So¡ªyour highness, what would make you happy?¡±

    ¡°Just be my Champion,¡± Eivilay replied, pressing her fatty chest against his rippling muscles and smirking. ¡°And I always get what I want.¡±

    There was that hoity-toity royal attitude Conor expected from her. Something about that mentality dug under Conor''s skin like knives. He did not hate it; he wanted nothing more than to break it and make someone showing that off know they were still mortal.

    Conor had a similar reason for liking Fae. She was strong and thought that made her in charge. Well, he had proved that beast of a woman wrong. Now, it was Eivilays'' turn to be put in her place.

    ¡°Let¡¯s see how that works out for you,¡± Conor replied, grabbing Eivilays plump rump with both hands and moving so she landed back blat on the tabletop.

    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

    Evilay gasped as Conor let almost all of his 300-kilo frame push her into the could surface. The table top arched down at their combined mass, threatening to snap any moment.

    ¡°Now you are getting it,¡± Eivilay moaned, Conor''s hard cock rubbing against her wetting cunt through her thin spandex.

    By all that was holy, the intense owning glower pouring off Conor was to die for and was just the attitude any champion should have of their lady¡ªa man ready to slay anyone who looked at her wrong.

    ¡°You are already acting like you''re mine,¡± She purred, running her tail up his shirt and caressing his spine. Evilay knew he must like that a bit; each twitch of his muscles was as apparent as daylight.

    Accepting the challenge, Conor grabbed her head with his metal hand, leaned in, and whispered words that made her heart flutter in anticipation of what he was about to do. ¡°I know I can¡¯t fuck that bratty attitude from you. But Urla knows it will be a blast to try.¡±

    ¡°Come on, wild man, Show me what I¡¯m paying for,¡± Eivilay Impugned, wrapping her tail around his throat, tugging him back like a leash.

    Eivilys''s quip about Conor being a wildman was not too inaccurate. The man was an attack dog for half the city, a true force of nature that nothing under Urla¡¯s skies could stop.

    ¡°Now you are just begging to be spanked,¡± Conor snarled.

    Eivilay lustfully quavered as Conor effortlessly flipped her over, roughly grabbing the back of her head and forcing it against the table, emphasizing to his charge who was commanding who here.

    At the same time, the Human used his metal hand and snatched the waistline of her black leggings. The malleable material gave way, ripping off her body. Conor looked down to inspect the ass he was about to welt but paused when he spotted one of the gifts Fae and Eivilay bought for him.

    Running up the canyon of her asscrack was a black silky thong. Just under her tail, it split and wrapped around it before tightly traversing her hips. On the opposite end of the skimpy black thread, the delicate folds of her throbbing pussy, soaked the small see through patch.

    ¡°What a slutty princess you are,¡± Coner rubbed his finger down the canyon before circling her sopping cunny.

    ¡°Only for you,¡± Eivilay writhed against his pressure.

    The Human''s overbearing command infected her body like a plague, coursing through her veins and growing on her scales. If she had not already wanted him, she did now. At this point, her interest was possessive¡ª-he would be hers, no matter what.

    ¡°Naughty,¡± Coner teased, pulling his hand back, readying to spank her like a five-crit whore.

    Eivilay was going to attempt a witty response, but before she could, Conor''s heavy metal hand tuned her red ass more so, warping her words into cries of pleasure and ecstasy.

    ¡°God¡¯s yes!¡± Eivilay roared, her entire body clenching to include the tail around her champion''s neck.

    Conor was glad Eivilay was enjoying this. He might be an ass, but everyone in sex should have fun. Giving the little brat more, Conor continued to rap against her jiggling ass.

    Each time his hand smacked Eivilay, a tidal wave of ecstasy surged through her body, crashing into her soul and pushing sensual whimpers from her lips.

    Each sharp jolt of pain instilled in Eivilay that Conor was the man she was waiting for. He was strong, intelligent, and capable, yet every one of Conor¡¯s actions was a well-calculated chess move.

    He was meticulous, listening to her yelp, moan, and beg, adjusting his force as needed to put as much pressure on her as possible without genuinely harming her. She had to walk in the morning; Eivilay needing to be carried because of her battered ass would not help.

    Understanding Eivilay at this point was a fool''s errand. When she was not squealing out half a word, the scaled woman was little more than a squirming, moaning mess.

    Conor had been around the block enough times and could tell by her rising sharp breaths how close Eivilay was to reaching her erotic crescendo. Because he did not want to break her just yet, he picked up the panting woman and moved her to the bed.

    It was cute watching her claw at his metal arm as they moved. For a princess to have fallen so far so fast almost filled him with pride. Be it her, a Farun¡¯se hooker, or Fae Conor could drive them wild.

    Eivilays tastes matched his so well this was easy¡ªand mouthwateringly enjoyable.

    ¡°Do you want more fun,¡± Conor questioned, nuzzling her neck while laying her down.

    ¡°P-P-Please,¡± Evilay squeaked as Conor grabbed the tip of her tail and wrenched his neck free from her collaring.

    Once the beast was free from what Eivilay saw as her shackles, Conor wasted no time leaning over Eivilay while pressing his leg between hers.

    Eivilay drew a sharp breath, looking up at Conor looming over her. His eyes dug through her soul, plucking apart every vulnerability and desire. He smirked and closed the gap between their heads, kissing the spines running along her snout.

    The human stopped at each golden ring piercing, twirling them with his tongue. Each lap sent a dull throb through her snout. At the same time, Conor caressed her tail in his palm, treating the tip the way any good lady would her champion¡¯s member.

    Like an animal in heat, she rolled her hips forward and back against Conor¡¯s leg. Her aching cunt rubbed against his soft skin with a force he met, soiling his thigh with her nectar. Each meager grind bludgeoned her spirit with a combination of sensations beyond divine.

    ¡°How does the lady want it?¡± Coner mocked, teasing her about the title she uses while licking around the hole for her ear.

    Not that Eivilay cared Conor was mocking her. She was on cloud nine, and as far as she understood the words, Conor admitted he wanted to give himself to her as she was to him.

    ¡°Take me, you beast,¡± Eivilay breathed, her long tongue lapping at his jaw. ¡°Ravish me.¡±

    ¡°Say less,¡± Conor replied, snaking his hand to the color of the button-up she wore. Grasping the cloth, he ripped it open, the buttons flying away with a pop as the thread gave way.

    Did he need to rip her shirt open? No. But it technically was his shirt, and the lustful way Eivilay looked between her open chest, and him told Conor she adored it.

    Conor admired her fully exposed body. Cream-colored breasts just large enough to overflow from his hands heaved with her breath, capping each was a tantalizingly hard red nipple. Betwixt her plush tits and her leaking womanhood was a valley of smooth flat scales.

    Evilay ground her pussy hard against his thigh, making her abs quiver in waves.

    ¡°Here we go,¡± Color said as he started to mouth from her neck to cunt.

    With just as much tactical precision as navigating the city streets, Conor licked down Eivilays body. He paused during his travels and tried to tease her hard and surprisingly insensitive nipples. Disappointed by the lack of reaction, Conor nibbled on them. When he did, Eivilay¡¯s hands moved from the bed, and she buried them in his orange hair.

    That is more like it. Eivilay dug her claws against his scalp, drawling specks of blood as he licked her quivering abs. By the time he left them behind, Conor had tossed away her thong, clearing away his goal.

    Once between her thighs, his scalding breath caressed her soft blossom, and more sickly-sweet nectar leaked out. He held her there, waiting for her to beg more and express how badly she wanted it.

    Instead of that, Eivilay¡¯s royal attitude shined when she genuinely shocked Conor with her next move.

    Instead of beseeching for more by trying to steer him with her claws, Evilay bucked her hips hard. Additionally, she wrapped her legs around his neck and shoved down on his head¡ªforcing his lips to her succulent pussy.

    ¡°I said ravish,¡± Eivilay panted.

    Eivilay¡¯s juice tasted sweeter than candy and was as addictive as any drug. The moment his tongue entered her warm insides, a rush coursed through him, and his eyes rolled back in bliss. The remnants of what part of him was Human screamed at him to eat, taste, and never give up what he was moaning against.

    Conor could not not resist. He buried his tongue deep in her convulsing tunnel, lapping at her insides while using both hands to hold her hips up. Conor sped up with each lick, going faster and pressing harder.

    ¡°Fu¨Cfu¡ªC¨Ccumming!¡± Eivilay wailed.

    Conor finally giving her tender insides the attention she needed brought her over the edge of true ecstasy. Her warm ambrosia poured out as her collapsing walls crushed Conor''s tongue.

    Every fiber of muscle in her clenched and held her champion tight to her while she came. Conor never lessened his feverous attention throughout her high, using his monstrous strength to carry her through to heights of orgasm unknown to her.

    Once Eivilays orgasm had lessened, he set her down, her succulent cum clinging to his lips. Taking a moment to lick it off, he looked at her, assuming he had won. Eivilay had sprawled out on the bed. Her chest heaved as every muscle seemed to melt.

    But apparently, Eivilay still had some fight in her.

    The Kurlatra woman wrapped his upper thigh with her tail and groaned. The tip caressed his cock. ¡°We aren¡¯t done. You still haven¡¯t claimed me,¡± she finished, opening her legs further.

    ¡°You are a fun one,¡± Conor smirked.

    ¡°I know,¡± Eivilay smiled. ¡°Now come here.¡±

    Without thinking, Conor unbuckled his trousers, with Eivilay slipping her tail in and coiling it around his cock, tugging him closer. He could not deny it was sexy that she knew what she wanted; not enough women were this forward.

    Repositioning Eivilay on the bed, Conor put his hand against the headboard and readied himself to pound into her, breaking the princess in entirely.

    The moment he rubbed his cock tip against her wet, warm folds, she moaned his name in a husky breath. As he pressed the tip of his cock against her sopping pussy, the warm fold welcoming him in, life had other plans.

    His arm-mounted datapad erupted in warning¡ªone that Conor was intimately familiar with. Conor glanced at the datapad, ready to silence it. But he paused upon reading the alert. The human had to reread it several times, unable to believe what it said.

    In bright, bold letters, it showed that Stitch had sustained several gunshot wounds, there was an explosion at his clinic, and that the good doctor was fading fast.

    Then another alert hit¡ª-Stitch¡¯s vital signs had just flatlined.

    ¡°Wait here!¡± Conor yelled as he exploded out of bed and toward the storage room, knowing he had to go to Stitch, getting his dick wet be damned.

    ¡°What happened?¡± Eivilay questioned, incredibly confused that Conor had stopped.

    Before Eivilay had even gotten out of bed, Conor was rushing through the apartment. He was a blur of metal and black tactical gear. He carried a rifle in hand, along with a bandolier of grenades.

    He had just grabbed his general-purpose kit, but that would do for working as a quick reaction force.

    He turned to Eivilay as he threw open the door to the bustling night street. He looked like a hulking premonition of death, only his eyes visible between a black ballistic helmet and the skull-shaped lower mask attached.

    ¡°Lock the door, and do not open it no matter what,¡± He commanded in a heavily synthesized voice.

    Eivialy was not going to argue. Conor clearly had something he needed to do, and it was a lady''s duty to listen to her champion''s guidance. Following a nod of understanding, Conor slammed the door, flicked off his safety, and sprinted full force through the crowds.

 Section Eight: A Credit short and a Second Too Late

    Conor rushed through the city streets, screaming at individuals to make a hole. All headed his warning. Unlike the other day, when he was unarmed and demanding, now he was wearing full battle rattle: helmet, ballistic and nonoflex armor, rifle, and grenades.

    There was no soul on this rock who would not give the 300-kilogram Human the right of way. That was a good thing Conor needed to save the ammunition for whatever was happening at Stitches Clinic.

    Conor¡¯s heavily augmented musculature and respiratory system surged to the absolute limit. Each breath was slow and synthesized; the systems in his body were designed to make him operate as efficiently as possible.

    Running was no exception.

    The most optimal method for him to run was programmed into the regulation chip nestled in his cerebrum: one breath in over the course of three steps, one out on the next two. Like an unaugmented Human, Conor did not have to actively think about breathing, but for him, it was a flawless symphony of timed servos, shifting gears, and winding cogs.

    Before Conor reached the clinic¡¯s road, the cityscape had morphed from its usual hustle and bustle into bedlam. Aliens of all shapes and sizes surged away from the rising smoke and burning fires in the distance.

    ¡°Get the fuck out of my way,¡± Conor shouted, not slowing down from his nearly fifty-kilometer-an-hour pace.

    Any who did not heed his warning were shoulder checked, struck with the butt of his rifle, or tossed away¡ªtheir natural bodies were no match for the cyborg''s will and artificial strength.

    As Conor got within a few hundred meters, the sounds of gunfire were at last audible through the crowds of screaming pedestrians. It was easy enough for a man as experienced as him to distinguish several different weapon types.

    The pistols were easy enough to know; they were dull and thumpy at this distance. The rifles were far more snappy. The hypersonic cracks made them sound like hateful bullwhips. Sprinkled amidst the staccato of those weapons was something that made Conor''s heart sink: the deep and bass-filled thumping of grenades going off.

    Whoever was besieging the Good Doctors clinic was not messing around if they were using tools like that in the open here. Not that Conor could judge; he had his own grenades to use.

    As Conor rounded the final corner, at long last, the crowds cleared, and nothing prevented him from assessing the situation.

    Conor slammed against a duracrete pillar, activated his target-tracking vision, and peaked out around the corner. Immediately, his UI lit up and marked several moving Kyrail tucking behind the cover.

    They popped up and down at random intervals, lobbing rounds toward the clinic¡ªor what''s left of it. Half of the building had collapsed down into the basement, leaving the other half a crumbling mess of bricks, rebar, and glass.

    Another group of toads was closing in on the building from the farside, firing their rifles from the hip, not even aiming. There was only one person they could be shooting at. It had to be Brakul.

    Before they made it halfway, muzzle flashes erupted from inside the basement, flared in defiance, and dropped two of the five charging Kyrail. Yeah, that was definitely Brakul. That man''s thirteen-millimeter hand cannon was louder than any other sidearm Conor knew about.

    Sighing, Conor knew exactly why the Voodal family was attacking them. That one Kyrail that he did not confirm the kill on back in the nightclub must have survived, and now they were back here looking for Eivilay.

    What could the pricks not get that they lost their snatch-and-grab?

    ¡°Brakul, can you hear me?¡± Conor questioned into their secure channel.

    ¡°Fuck yeah, I can!¡± Brakul replied, shooting back from the busted building at the Voodal. ¡°I¡¯m glad you made it. I¡¯m almost black on ammo, and Stitch got hit in the head by one of them.¡±

    None of that shocked Conor; he already knew Stitch was dead, and Brakul had been fighting with his daily carry for almost twenty minutes. That he had any ammunition left was a miracle.

    ¡°Sit tight, brother. I am coming to get you,¡± Conor promised.

    Not wasting any time and understanding that aggression and violence of action were vital to any ambush, Conor left cover and bounded forward, plucking one of the grenades from his bandolier and readying it.

    As Conor was about one hundred meters away, he ditched the stripped pin and hurled the grenade at the group of mooks kneeling behind cover.

    Before the grenade had even reached the Kyrail, Conor mounted his U-15 laser blaster against the hood of a car and trained in on the closest gangster; the holographic dot danced on the alien''s slimy chest.

    Conor preferred to use good old-fashioned gunpowder and lead. Those weapons hit harder and allowed him to shoot straight through light cover. But in a situation like this, where he was walking into an unknown ambush, he picked the U-15.

    It offered him many benefits despite the drawbacks of lethality and always shooting tracers. From the muzzle to the weapon''s maximum range of one kilometer, he did not have to account for drop or lead his target.

    The handy grey blaster also offered him a capacity of one hundred rounds between reloads and was far harder to detect audibly than a traditional slug thrower.

    The grenade exploded as soon as it hit the duracrete at the Voodal''s feet, sending burning shrapnel through two of them. Thanks to Conor''s target tracker, he did not need to wait for the dust and smoke to clear to light them up.

    His sight drifted to the Kyrail¡¯s head as he depressed the trigger. The other Kyrail behind the barricade likely had no idea what had just happened; there was an explosion that ripped two of their allies to shreds, and then their other friends'' head was vaped by an unknown shooter.

    They did understand one thing, though: They were targets. The remaining two Voodal gangers scurried behind cover, Conor''s laser shots clipping just behind their heels.

    Not wanting to give them even a moment to breathe, Conor hucked another grenade and repositioned. The ground crunched under his heavy boots as he crossed the road and slid into the prone behind a stairwell, posting his weapon atop the second step from the bottom.

    Thoom!

    The second grenade exploded, kicking up more dust and frag. Several pieces whizzed past Conor and skidded down the road. Unleashing the U-15''s near-zero recoil, Conor let the weapon''s firepower shine like a supernova. The U-15 pinned the two barricaded Kyrail in place, its blistering automatic fire tearing their cover to shreds.

    Small bits of the duracrete were superheated and turned into molten glass each time one of his lasers struck the barricade or wall behind his targets, chipping away at its height by the heartbeat.

    Getting shot at by a slug thrower was unnerving; the hiss, pop, and snap of lead overhead was bone-rattling. A laser blaster, on the other hand, was horrifying.

    Each time a round passed nearby, the acrid scent of Ozone filled the air. Close shots were worse than that; you could feel the scalding heat envelope you as the energy dissipated off the glowing bolt during its flight.

    In many ways, being able to see the projectile was worse than not. When it was a slug, you just got hit. A laser was so fast that you could not dodge it; all you could do was bear witness to death milliseconds before it befell you¡ªConor had seen it thousands of times over the years; these guys were just going to be a few more to add to the pile.

    But these gangsters were either stupid or fearless. One of them bolted and rushed across the road. Conor tracked him with a continuous stream of burning laser fire and clipped him in the thigh, sending the amphibian tumbling to the ground.

    Before the Human had a chance to bring the hateful spray down onto the man''s head, his friend popped up and started laying accurate fire in his direction, bullets zipping and whizzing past Conor, only missing by millimeters.

    Shifting the U-15, Conor dumped the last fifteen charges in the charge pack into the shooter. Each red bolt sizzled as it impacted and vaporized another section of the ganger''s chest. When Conor rolled behind cover to swap the empty pack, the sapient slopped to the ground, his body so filled with holes it would make someone with trypophobia faint.

    Conor slid a new charge pack into the slot atop the receiver with practiced precision and ensured the front and rear hooks were latched tight. Looking down at the charge indicator, Conor watched as it instantly changed from zero to one hundred.

    Another benefit was that the U-15 had essentially no moving parts. That meant fewer parts could break or fail. The drawback was that if the U-15 broke, it could not be fixed in the field. He might as well use it as a club if that happened.

    Peaking around cover to see if that other Kyrail was still there, Conor could not spot him, only the orange streak of blood from where he dragged himself behind cover. Standing and moving down the wall, Conor listened carefully as the sounds of fire from inside the building grew more ferocious.

    ¡°Brakul sitrep?¡± Conor asked as he rolled past an alley, keeping the blaster trained in that direction as he crossed the fatal funnel.

    ¡°It''s not looking good, brother. They are swinging in through the back entrance, and I''m dry on ammo. I had to retreat into the surgery room,¡± Brakul replied.

    ¡°Hold tight, I¡¯m on my way,¡± Conor replied.

    Conor ditched his typically slow and methodical sweeping method of clearing out urban environments, deciding to favor speed over everything else. Conor stepped over Brakul''s handy work while barreling to the clinic''s collapsed wall. The man''s high-caliber pistol had killed over a dozen Kyrail who tried to charge his makeshift foxhole.

    Each body was a mangled mess; blood oozed out of innumerable bullet holes and dripped off the rubble. Conor could spot casings from Brakul¡¯s thirteen-millimeter hand cannon down the hole leading into the building, but there was no sign of the man or the weapon.

    Conor wanted to go down the hole, but it was too small; if he tried to squeeze in, the whole structure might collapse.

    More gunshots poured out of it the hole, echoing from further in the clinic; mixed in with the snapping fire was Brakuls screaming, ¡°Get some you fucking Frogs.¡±

    At least that meant Brakul must have stolen one of their weapons and was stacking bodies still.

    Before Conor could turn and move toward the back of the building and enter where he had taken Eivilay the other day, his body jerked as a slug bounced off the metallic portion of his back. His armor and metallic build absorbed any amount that would have wounded him.

    Whipping around without thinking, Conor raised the U-15 and started dumping rounds in the attacker''s general direction while backing up to take cover behind a wall. A dozen Voodal gangers were ahead of him, crouching behind cars and windows and blasting at him from a shop across the street.

    Carefully directing the muzzle toward indicated targets, most sought cover from the spiteful red bolts; the two that did not were cut down as Conor¡¯s lasers traced across their heads, vaporizing both.

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    As Conor backed up, he carefully tested each step, uncaring of the slugs bouncing off the duracrete or the two rounds that his ballistic plates and Nanoflex shirt caught. Impacts from low-caliber handguns like that would not even make him flinch.

    Once crouching behind cover, Conor glanced over his shoulder to see if anyone was flanking him from behind the building. Seeing no one, Conor peaked over cover and turned his attention to those who had just shot him. He had to smoke these pricks before going down after Brakul; if he did not, he would just have to fight them later.

    Surprisingly, instead of getting blasted instantly, a voice rang out over the dull thumping of gunfire still going on inside the Clinic.

    ¡°Conor, I know that¡¯s you. Come on out, and let¡¯s make a deal,¡± The nasally voice of a man Conor had never wanted to hear again sounded out as the old fat Kyrail came into view from behind a car.

    Voodal looked just like the last time Conor had seen him. Grey, oily skin oozed out of a tight orange mylar suit. To complete the man''s ensemble, he carried an old cane made of pure white bone.

    Voodoo carried no weapons, but that was typical. The old bastard was not a fighter, but his word held weight around most of the city. He controlled large swaths of the industrial and shopping districts. With that much influence, a mere mutterance of displeasure could sign death warrants.

    ¡°Well, if it isn¡¯t the lead toad himself,¡± Conor yelled with a cruel chuckle at Voodal.

    Voodal was the head of the family and gang of his namesake. Conor and Voodal had some history, mainly from when Voodal hired him for various hit jobs. That and Conor had dusted a few of the Voodal lieutenants when employed by a rival gang; their relationship was tenuous at best.

    ¡°It is; why don''t you come on out, and let''s cut a deal? There is no reason you have to die here tonight,¡± Voodal¡¯s lips smacked while he leaned on his cane.

    ¡°You know your guys smoked Stitch with whatever you used to destroy his Clinic,¡± Conor replied, looking for any stray movement of the gangers behind the man. Thankfully, none of them were; all ten targets were right where Conor had last seen them.

    ¡°It was a shame, but I have too good of an offer for that princess. A few bodies are worth it all,¡± Voodal cackled.

    ¡°Ah, I figured she was worth something when you guys tried to bag her. Sorry about the competition,¡± Conor smirked.

    ¡°Bah, think nothing of it, my lad; it¡¯s only business,¡± Voodal waved a slimy hand. ¡°So, do you care to step out so we can make a deal? I¡¯m certain I can compensate you equal to whoever hired you to harbor her.¡±

    Conor considered the idea of handing Eivilay over to Voodal and weighed the options. On the one hand, as long as Voodal did not dust Conor off before stepping out, this could be a payday, and he could get Brakul out of a tight spot.

    On the other hand, Eivilay¡ªwhat would happen to her? Knowing Voodal, she would be taken to one of the Waste Depots and tossed into a vat of acrid wastewater with a brand-new pair of Duracreet shoes.

    The idea of that made Conor shudder.

    Eivilay was a brat, who was up her ass, but even Conor could not deny she was interesting to be around. Her meeting a fate Conor had condemned many another random Sapient to was not right¡ªShe deserved better than that.

    ¡°Why would I turn her over to you? I know where she is, and you don¡¯t. I could just vape you, the ten zlits behind you, then extract her and Brakul,¡± Conor argued.

    ¡°Because I can have half the city descend on you, lad. You and I both know you won¡¯t last the night if I order a hit on you,¡± Voodal explained, gesturing his cane wide at the city.

    ¡°Oh, you wanna make a bet about that?¡± Conor replied. ¡° Brakul and I could dust half your army on our way out of town.¡±

    There was a long silence across the rubble-filled street. Voodal was no fool and knew Conor well enough. That was not any argument. It was the Human bragging that he would do that and that Voodal could not stop him.

    ¡°You know, son¡ªI wish you would have learned better than your mut of a teacher. YOu had such promise,¡± Voodal sighed, starting to walk away.

    ¡°Well, I learned from the best,¡± Conor replied, tensing his muscles and waiting for the hat to drop.

    ¡°Kill him,¡± Voodal ordered flatly, not even sparing Conor a glance.

    The next ten seconds were a divine display of Conor''s abilities and the folly of Voodal''s pompous confidence.

    Conor leaned out of cover, transitioning his weapon from right to left, going from one of Voodals'' foot soldiers to another. The first two each ate a short burst of laser fire to the chests, dumping them to the ground in heaps of smoking clothes.

    Conor then transitioned to the four inside the shop across the way. They started to fire back, their muzzle flashes making targeting them easier. While Conor did intend for them to die quickly, the group was so tightly clumped together his bolts ended up ripping the arms off two, leaving them screaming in agony, while the other pair got vaped by five bolts, turning their chests into barbeque.

    The remaining four were the tricky ones. They leveled rifles at Conor and made him scramble to lean out of the other side of the cover. The cracking rounds overhead was not the issue for him. No, it was once his sights landed on them for the second time, his tracking software picked up a grenade one of them had hucked at him.

    Nestling against the ruble, Conor allowed his auto-targeting software to aid him. The Human swung the laser blaster toward the incoming frag while streaking rounds across the buildings in a wide arch toward it.

    As the grenade reached its zenith, several bolts slammed into it, superheating its steel surface and turning it into a molten ball of slag. It landed at Conor¡¯s feat and sizzled as the explosive compound inside burned, releasing scalding smoke and sputtering molten metal.

    Diving away from the potential UXO(unexploded ordinance), Conor rolled into the prone and fired eight shots, dropping each of the remaining four Kyrail with two scalding bolts to the chest.

    Taking the fight Forward, Conor knew he had not shot the lead toad himself. Slowly moving higher on the rubble, Conor scanned the area with his target tracker, thermals, and normal vision but could not see any sign of Voodal.

    That slimy zlit ran off, which was unsurprising considering the man''s age and position in Heavalun. You did not live that long without running from unnecessary fights. If Conor did not have to aid Brakul, he would have tracked that bastard down and skinned him alive. But his friend was higher on his priority list. Voodal would be back¡ªafter all, he wanted Eivilay.

    Returning his attention to the Clinic, Conor rushed around the back and watched as smoke poured out of the doorframe. The entire reinforced door had been blown in; whatever tech the Voodal gang was using must have cost a fortune.

    Conor had watched that door take a whole kilogram of plastique without so much as taking a dent. Whatever tool or bomb they had used was something Conor could hardly fathom.

    Switching from his tracker vision to thermals so he could see clearly in the smoke, Conor entered the clinic and tracked Brakul''s path of destruction.

    The living room was in complete disarray. Bodies of the Kyrail trailed to the stairs down, their warm blood glowing brightly under his thermal sight. The only thing hotter than that in the room was the small fire starting in the attached kitchen.

    Conor did not have long before that spread; speed was of the essence here.

    Raising the U-15 and entering a tactical glide, Conor moved toward the stairs leading down, clearing every corner and dead-checking each body with a shot to the grape.

    Descending the stairs was easy enough; there were just more Kyrail bodies slumped against every other step. If Conor''s count was accurate, Brakul dusted at least twenty frogs on the first floor and stairs alone.

    Conor would have to buy Brakul a drink once they were out of here¡ªUrla knew the man deserved it after this massacre.

    As Conor swept the hallway, light flittered in through the hole Brakul had used as a fighting position earlier. Knowing nothing was there, Conor passed that by and headed straight for the surgery room.

    Pieing the corner to the room, Conor saw more Kyrail lying dead on the ground, weapons still clutched in their bony fingers. They were all facing one corner; following that direction, Conor breathed a sigh of relief as his eyes landed on the warm outline he knew so well, hunched behind a barricade.

    ¡°Fuck Brakul; you cleaned house in here, man,¡± Conor laughed, stepping into the room, knowing none of the Kyrail were left and wanting Brakul to realize it was him and not to dust him.

    A deafening silence was all that greeted him.

    ¡°Brakul?¡± Conor said as he pushed closer, crushing the bodies of the Kyrail under his weight.

    Once Conor was closer to Brakul, he could more easily make out the situation; what he saw caused Conor to choke.

    Brakuls had gone entirely limp; in one hand, he clutched his thirteen-millimeter pistol and the other one of the Kyrail Y2-B rifles. His left leg was gone, and a massive pool of blood spread out from the stump, soaking into his trousers.

    That was not the only source of blood from Brakul; dozens of gunshot wounds peppered his chest, arms, and leg. It looked like  Brakul ate dozens of rounds of buckshot.

    ¡°Brakul, can you hear me?¡± Conor yelled, kneeling and shaking his friend''s shoulder, hoping his first conclusion was wrong.

    There was no way Brakul could be dead. The man had basically raised Conor and taught him everything he knew about being a mercenary. As far as Conor saw it, the Jurintik man was invincible and the quintessential example of what you do to survive in Heavalun.

    If anyone would live forever in this shithole, it was Brakul.

    The moment Conor touched Brakuls shoulder, his friend''s body slumped over, blood pouring out of his mouth.

    Without thinking or accepting what was blatant and in front of him, Conor grabbed Brakul and laid his friend on the ground, jumping into medical treatment; that was a fruitless effort.

    ¡°It¡¯s okay; I¡¯m going to help you,¡± Conor said, pulling out a tourniquet and putting it on Brakuls''s thigh.

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, don¡¯t worry. I can save you.¡± Conor said, ripping hemostatic bandages out of his IFAK(individual first aid kit) and stuffing each one of the holes in Brakul¡¯s body.

    Conor continued to stuff each wound, reassuring the corpse that everything would be alright. They would take Eivilay back home, get paid, and then go on a grand vacation somewhere in the universe.

    At this point, they had talked about leaving Heavalun for years; taking a princess home would be the perfect reason.

    After Conor had plugged each of the holes, he went to the next step in resuscitation: chest compressions. Pressing his palms against the Jurintik¡¯s sternum, Coner took a deep breath and looked at the vapid, empty expression on Brakuls muzzle. ¡°This is going to hurt.¡±

    Without waiting for a response that would never come, Conor began.

    On the first compression, blood spurted from Brakuls mouth as wheezing escaped the holes in his lungs. On the second, the snapping of Brakuls ribs ripped through the night. Conor winced hearing it, but knowing that was normal, he kept talking to his friend and performing compressions.

    Breath after breath, compression after compression, Conor became more desperate. ¡°Please wake up,¡± Conor begged, pressing so hard Brakuls ribs collapsed entirely, letting Conor''s hands slip straight into his chest cavity.

    The warmth of Brakuls innards pushed into Conor''s natural arm, a grim reminder of how recently Brakul died.  Conor pulled his hands out of his mentor''s chest, parts of his lungs trailing behind his metal hand.

    ¡°No, no, no, no, no,¡± Conor frantically said, trying to push Brakuls organs back in and hold his body together.

    But it was useless. No matter how much gore Conor forced back into Brakul, he could understand that he could not save him, and it was too late.

    His friend, mentor, and father were gone, taken to Urlas''s side, never to be seen again. The Human fell to his knees and looked down at Brakul, then at the Kyrail bodies, and lastly, out the remnants of the window leading outside.

    A wave of emptiness filled him as he rested a hand on Brakul''s hand and his thirteen-millimeter pistol. It was an odd feeling, one Conor could not adequately describe. The closest he could recall was the hollow feeling you can get in your chest after a bad bender. But that did not encapsulate the picture.

    ¡°Please¡ªdon¡¯t go¡ªI¡ªI need you,¡± Conor sniffled, his hands shaking as he clutched Brakuls.

    With still no response, Conor sat in silence as the fire crawled through the ceiling and began raining down. Flickers of embers flicked at the bodies and Conor. Each glowing seed tried to plant a new sprout of the inferno growing upstairs.

    At the same time, Police sirens echoed through the night and gradually grew louder.

    ¡°Mother fuckers,¡± Conor muttered. ¡°You weren¡¯t supposed to die like this.¡±

    Death in Heavalun was as common as eating.  You could not walk a block without finding evidence of someone dying. But Brakul was supposed to go differently than this. Dying in some never-ending standoff was for other mercenaries. It was for people who were not as brilliant as Brakul.

    Brakul was supposed to retire somewhere calm, away from here. He had dreams, goals, and ambitions other than fighting. Of the two of them, Conor was supposed to meet Urla after a bloodbath. Conor is the monster who is only good at killing.

    ¡°You Mother fucker!¡± Conor screamed at the corpse. Why did you leave me here?¡±

    Conor glared at Brakul as if he could still answer. ¡°Answer me!¡± he bellowed, punching the duracrete floor hard enough to crack it.

    ¡°Everyone spread out and look for survivors!¡± a shout rang out from outside, stealing Conor''s attention.

    The police had arrived.

    With no hope of rescuing Brakul or Stitch, Conor scooped up Brakul''s pistol and stuffed it in his plate carrier. The Human paused and let his near autopilot take over, relying on all the training Brakul had given him over the years; with a steady breath that forced all his emotions into the darkest recess of his soul, Conor started to move.

    When Conor genuinely knuckled down, left his humanity and morals at the door, and relied only on logic, violence, and instincts, he could overturn the city in a day.

    He walked over to the fridge and grabbed all the stimulants Stitch had made. It was not a lot, but it would hold him together for a few weeks.

    As Conor stuffed those into one of his pouches, the flashing lights of the Police cars strobed orange and white through the window. Conor had to get away from here.

    The police would arrest him at best and try to kill him at worst.

    Either way, the end was the same: Eivialy would be alone. Since he could not save Brakul, he would save her.

    The Human took one last look at Brakul¡¯s corpse and burned the image into his mind. ¡°I will finish our last contract,¡± Conor assured before rushing back into the hallways, bounding through the flames and readying for a new gunfight with the cops.

 Section Nine: Expedited Plans

    Conor burst forth from the burning remnants of the clinic, embers flicking away from his heavy armor, making him look like a demon rising from the depths of hell. At least, that was what the two cops he had yet to notice thought about the armed and towering abomination.

    The Human raised his U-15 and swept it through the smoke-filled alley, clearing both sides of himself.

    To Conor¡¯s left, toward Eivilay, was thankfully free of any first responders or others under Voodal¡¯s thumb. He could not afford to have this alley turn into a kill zone. Conor was working on borrowed time and had to outspeed Voodal''s attempts to capture or kill him.

    Conor''s right side was far from clear.

    ¡°Drop the weapon, Conor,¡± one of the trembling beat cops weakly ordered, holding his X-5 rifle shakily in his grip.

    Almost rolling his eyes, Conor aimed at them. He couldn''t determine their species; the heavy armored vests, matte grey uniforms, and reflective visors made them both look like clones.

    Hell, for all he knew, they were clones. Both the GU and the COS could create such things, but it was generally frowned upon, even here. Something about creating artificial life like that being an abomination; Conor never paid enough attention to politics like that to care.

    The cops likely were Kubitals, but Conor was just guessing based on them being scrawny humanoids and how prolific that species was. Either way, what they were did not matter. What did was the pair of X-5 slug throwers they wielded and pointed past his U-15.

    The X-5 was a nasty little piece of work. It sported low recoil, decent ammo capacity, and enough modularity to fill any role, from support weapon to high-precision sniper rifle.

    But none of that was what made the X-5 indeed a force to be reckoned with. That would be its eight-millimeter armor-piercing ammunition.

    The 150-grain slug would rip through Conor¡¯s NanoFlex shirt, ceramic plates, and metallic torso like a knife running through hot butter. If he had known the X-5 would be the rifle pointed at him, the Human would not have bothered with armor¡ªat least then he could move faster.

    Knowing that these two were likely under Voodal''s employ, Conor did not even consider surrendering to them. He had to finish what he and Brakul started; otherwise, what was the point of him and Stitch dying?

    Without saying a word, Conor depressed the trigger, sending a blaster bolt into the head of the first officer, turning his head into a smoking canyon.

    With a reaction that surprised Conor, the other officer pulled the trigger and returned fire. Most cops usually ran after their friend got dusted, but not this one.

    The officer''s weapon angrily barked, shooting flashes of burning powder out the muzzle as his rounds whizzed over Conor''s shoulder.

    Both men wrenched their weapons toward the other; bullets and bolts skidded down both sides of the alley as they tracked toward the other''s chest.

    As Conor''s first bolt made contact with the officer''s chest, he stuffed the U-15¡¯s muzzle into the scalding wound. The follow-on bolts burned away the man''s armor, clothes, and internal organs.

    Acrid smoke filled the air as the officer''s internals boiled away and turned into vapor in a near instant. If not for Conor''s mask having an air filtration system, he would have gagged and likely thrown up. There is no smell as foul as a blaster turning a man''s body to vape at point blank.

    Conor initially thought he had gotten out of the encounter unscathed, but no two of the dead man''s slugs had whizzed through his chest, passing just below his unaugmented pectoral.

    Just as the officer fell to the ground, groping at his boiling chest, a warning flashed in Conor¡¯s HUD, bringing the reality of his injuries to the forefront of his mind through cold, calculated text.

    The flashing text warned him of multiple shattered ribs, two through and through wounds, a rapidly forming Hemothorax, and that his nanite systems had activated.

    ¡°Mother fucker,¡± Conor spat up blood, coating his mask''s insides in warm ichor.

    This scenario was precisely what Conor had been worried about once he noticed the enemy were armed with the X-5. The rounds had amazing penetration, effortlessly passing through five centimeters of steel armor. The downside is that most of the bullet''s kinetic energy was not delivered to the target.

    As such, he was still standing and not dusted like the officers, but still, that did not mean he did not have two sucking holes in the front and back of his torso. Could the assholes have not at least had the decency to shoot him with a hollow point? Or an explosive round?

    For Urla¡¯s sake, did he not rate a quick death?

    At least Stitch had hooked him up with his emergency nanite system, so he might not die.

    Unlike the Nanites Stitch had used on Eivilay a week earlier that drained any remnants of Visage from her, Connors just kept him walking and fighting through the pain.

    The Nanites substituted for blood, bridged gaps in veins and bones, and staunched bleeding¡ªbut that would only last so long.

    In all reality, his one-time use Nanite system was the equivalent of slapping duct tape on a gunshot wound.

    Conor sighed and let the Nanites work for a moment; once the feeling of blood soaking into his shirt had slackened, the Human stood up and rushed down the alleyway.

    Between his Nanite''s limited functions, Voodal and his goons gunning for him, and the local police now looking for him, Conor''s life was measured in hours¡ªnot days.

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    As Conor ran full tilt down the wet alley, he tried to ignore the throbbing pain by gritting his teeth as his fractured ribs ground together. This was impossible because each heavy footfall sent a new pang of agony crashing through his body.

    Conor had been shot before and knew it likely would not be the last, but without Stitch or Brakul ready to stabilize and patch him up, he was unsure how he would survive this. As he saw it, this likely would be a one-way trip for him.

    Just before Conor turned into another alley, he glanced over his shoulder to take stock of the unfolding situation. A dozen officers were already moving down the alley in his direction, ignoring the corpses of their comrades.

    The local Police department''s actions told Conor two things: They were definitely on Voodal¡¯s payroll. Sapients without adequate compensation or intimidation would not ignore their allies like that, especially in places like Heavalun, where reliable allies were as rare as a good night''s sleep.

    It also reinforced that Conor''s choice to stick to the back streets while returning to Eivilay was the right call. The police and every other mercenary in the city would be hunting him down like rabid dogs.

    They would overturn everywhere between here and the upper district within the next few hours. All he had to do was be faster, have more violence of action, and keep Eivilay safe during transport.

    Luckily, Conor had already devised a transport plan.

    It was reckless, uncouth, and substantially dangerous, but he could pull this off with the right reactions and a pocket full of luck.

    ¡ª-

    Eivilay paced back and forth in Conor''s bed and dining room. The Human had been gone for several hours at this point. With her Champion having left wearing tactical gear that made him look like a monster, carrying a rifle and explosives, her mind could not help but picture the worst.

    Eivilays fears were only made worse when she used the burner datapad Fae and Conor had given her and saw that shootings were going on all across the city. Not that shootings were abnormal in the Heavalun, but Conor had to be involved.

    The idea of her champion being shot at wracked her mind with questions she would rather not dwell upon, but idle hands and minds are Jurela¡¯s playthings. What would she do if Conor died? It wasn¡¯t like she had any money, knew how to navigate the city, or where her father was.

    Without Conor, Eivilay was alone in a city that would rip her apart in hours. Unlike her home of Cyruis, Heavalun was vile, nearly lawless, and undoubtedly would sniff out that she did not belong.

    What would Heavalun¡¯s residents try to do to her without Conor''s assistance? Would they hand her over to Voodal? Just kill her? Or ransom her off to the highest bidder?

    Eivilay sighed and looked over at the pile of garments Conor had ripped off her, thinking back to the thrill of having someone so strong yet controlled ready to give themselves unto her¡ªand the ultimate disappointment of it.

    Conor was so close to claiming her.

    Eivilay was painfully close to having a man and a champion in more than just name. Was it a bit of a trick on her part? Yes. She doubted Conor would legitimately honor the Kurlatra tradition of a lady giving their first time to their champion, but once they made it to her home planet, Guelur, she could convince the Human to stay.

    The tender moment of Conor readying to give her what all her sisters already had drove her wild. Eivilay had been so hot and bothered that it took an ice-cold shower to bring her back to reality.

    At least the shower allowed Eivilay to clean up and change into the clothes Fae had bought for her.

    Now, Eivilay wore the cutest outfit they could find in Heavaluns Grunge-chic shops. A loose-fitting aquamarine crop top offered a look at her flat stomach and a peaking view of her pert bust.

    A pair of pants Fae called ¡®Jeenz'' complimented the top. Their dark blue color and tight material hugged her thighs and made her rump look flawless. They genuinely complimented every asset she had to offer.

    The only modification she had to make was a hole for her tail, but adding that only made her supple body stretch the fabric more.

    It was funny because although Fae insisted she was not well-versed in shopping or fashion, she proved the opposite true. This outfit, the negligee, and the other clothes she purchased for Eivilay all looked terrific and comfortable.

    Eivilay could only dream that Conor would react like many other Champions did when returning from combat or training, wanting nothing more than to spend days in bed with their lady.

    Eivilay certainly knew all her sisters and mother vanished for at least that long over the last few years with their champions when they returned from campaigns, or one of her dozens of sisters met the end through fratricide.

    The idea of Conor slipping her out of these clothes and eating her cunt like dessert was titillating. She could already picture him moaning while his tongue danced inside her.

    But the cold, hard reality of how brutal Heavalun was slammed into her when Conor smashed the door in. Fragments of wood and metal showered across the room, scattering everywhere.

    ¡°Why won''t you just fucking die,¡± Conor yelled, shooting a rifle he had not left the house with back into the street.

    Eivilay could not see who he was shooting at but could hear the sounds of whomever he hit screaming like a slit animal.

    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± Eivilay frantically asked.

    ¡°We are leaving!¡± Conor snapped, slamming the door''s remnants shut and forcing his bed against it.

    A slight pause in Conor''s movement let Eivilay get a decent look at the Human. She could see bullet holes in his armor, blood dripping to the floor, and several indents in his metal arm; even his mask and helmet were missing, letting dirt, blood, and sweat cling tightly to his entire face.

    ¡°Conor, what happened?¡± Eivialy questioned, stepping closer to see his injuries'' significance.

    The Human turned around like a man on a mission and grabbed her arm and bag before dragging her toward his storage room.

    ¡°Brakul and Stitch are dead, I have Voodal on my ass, and I have to get you to the upper district now,¡± Conor explained while forcing her inside and shutting the door behind them.

    Brakul and Stitch were dead? How? They were all laughing and sharing jokes at the clinic only a few hours earlier. They could not be dead.

    ¡°But how¡ª¡± Eivilay started but was cut off by Conor, who grabbed an old set of his armor from one of the safes and handed the heavy item to her. ¡°Put that on. We will be leaving through the window.¡±

    Eivilay wanted answers, to know why this was happening and if Conor would be alright, but knew she could not ask them right now; Conor was already tossing open the safes and filling several duffle bags with items from inside.

    He shoveled cred sticks, ammo, weapons, drugs, her clothing bag, and even a few random trinkets inside the black bag, Leaving Eivilay to try and figure out how to put on the armor he had shoved into her hands.

    Conor paused as he pulled Brakuls''s handgun from his pocket, staring at it intently for a few moments before shoving it in the bag and turning back to her.

    ¡°Are you still not done¡±? Conor sighed, donning his bag.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know how to¡ª¡± Eivilay started, halfway in and out of the armored vest.

    ¡°Here, let me help,¡± Conor said calmly, stepping closer and adjusting the vest.

    The juxtaposition of his state was impossible for Eivilay to understand. She had seen plenty of the Champions around the palace be injured or under stress during one of the countless attempts by her sisters to kill someone higher in the running to be empress¡ªbut Conor was different.

    He was calm and collected despite his injuries and the exhausted look in his gorgeous eyes.  Conor gently assisted Eivilay with donning the heavy armor. He even assured it was comfortable once it was on her body.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± Eivilay said, grabbing Conor''s hand.

    ¡°It¡¯s no problem,¡± Conor smiled weakly, opening the window and stepping out into the Heavalun night with Eivilay in tow.

    ¡°Where are we going?¡± Evilay asked as Conor helped ensure she did not fall while mantling the windowsill.

    ¡°We are going to go use my car to get you to your father,¡± Conor replied, leading her away from the side street. ¡°For now, I can at least do that much for you.¡±

 Section Ten: Underground Options

    Conor and Eivaley had descended several stories into Heavaluns'' undercity. Labyrinthian passageways, walk routes, and service tunnels had replaced the neat grid-like streets of the middle city. Each step down lessened the amount of light around them.

    The pair left the wan light of the central city levels for dark, depressing tunnels. The scent of thick moss, piss, and fungal growls accosted their lungs with each breath.

    By the time they rested in a small offshoot, Conor had already been notified his nanites had run out of power. Meaning his injuries were truly his.

    If his body could not stitch him up naturally, he would die soon. But that would have to wait until Eivaley was safe. Urla knew he had enough combat stims to keep him going until them. He just had to pull them from his duffle bag when needed.

    Conor doffed his bag and assessed everything he had taken from his safe house. Thankfully, all he could want was in there: DT200 sub-machinegun, grenades, landmines, combat stimulants, and all his collective wealth, totaling several million credits.

    Conor also snagged his sniping and reconnaissance kit. While finding a use for the Volk-10k or the cloaking gear while escaping was unlikely, having them may prove helpful if he survives.

    ¡°Are you alright?¡¯ Conor coughed, feeling blood erupt from his gullet as the nanites ultimately failed.

    He swallowed the blood and wiped clean his face, not wanting Eivaley to see that he was slowly dying in front of her.

    He also swapped the X-5 for the DT 200. The X-5 was almost out of ammo and would be useless in a few more shots. Plus, the DT-200 had a flashlight and suppressor, making it far more handy in the tight quarters of the underground.

    With him also having to keep tabs on Eivaley, the one-handed operation would allow the Human to easily offer his body as a shield while returning fire at any threat.

    ¡°As well as I can be,¡± Eivaley replied, having known that Conor was injured, but due to his nanites, she lacked the full scope of how close he was to dying. ¡°But what about you? You said Brakul and Stitch were dead.¡±

    Eivaley knelt in front of him and rubbed her thumb on his cheek, clearing away fresh blood from a laceration just above his eye while smiling.

    Conor gently moved Eivaley''s hand away from him. He did not know when it would be time for him to face the reality that his two closest friends were dead, but the Human did know that now was not the time.

    Thinking fondly of the dead and morning them was a luxury Urla gave to people like Eivaley; Conor could not afford any distractions like that. Brakul and Stitch were gone, little more than another pair of bodies added to the endless piles created by the city; nothing would change that reality.

    Conor would not be shocked if the first responders had already moved them to the burn pits in the city''s core. A fate anyone who died in this city and lacking connections would meet.

    ¡°I will be fine,¡± Conor sighed, shoving any thoughts of them deep into his soul, hopefully, where they would remain to rot away. But he doubted that Urla would be so kind to a man like him.

    For now, Conor understood that burdening Eivaley with those thoughts was not right, even if the earnest twinkle in her eye tempted him to tell her what Conor understood now¡ªthat he was all alone.

    ¡°Come on, we are almost to the car,¡± Conor grunted, helping Eivaley up and slinging his bag.

    By Urla, it had been years since Conor had taken such a substantial injury and just had to suffer through it. The searing pain arcing through him with each motion reminded him why Stitch had pumped him full of emergency nanites years ago.

    ¡°Ok,¡± Eivaley replied, wrapping her tail around Conor''s waist and sticking close to his warm body.

    While Eivilasy held her tongue and did not press Conor on his feelings, the near-blank look in his eyes told her the Human was holding back on her.

    Conor could not help but reminisce ever so slightly as they set off. Being this close to death made him feel oddly alive. The last time he nearly got dusted was a few years back while doing some wet work for an off-planet schmuck.

    The guy had hired him and Brakul to stop and slaughter a convoy that held some ancient technology the quack swore could lead to the end of entire stars. Some cult of a dead star had decided it was their holy artifact.

    Man, did those cultists fight. They were hocked up on enough combat stims to keep anyone going for days, no matter the injury. They pulled through, but Conor ended up with a nearly meter-long nano-sword impaling him.

    Usually, that would not kill him quickly, but the Zlit-fucker had managed to nick one of his pulmonary Veins. If stitch had not been only a few minutes away, that would have been the end of it. How funny Urla could be some days.

    The walk to the car lot was simple enough. They rounded a few corners, stuck to the shadows, and descended a few levels via decaying duracrete buildings and half-destroyed hab blocks.

    Each flight down threatened to crumble, sending them plunging into lower levels. But that never came.

    Each time they passed an open passage or door, Conor would clear it out, using thermal and IR so they could continue to travel amidst the dark. While there were few animals or sentients that could see in complete darkness, they were so rare doing so almost assured they would have the element of surprise.

    Even though the total darkness was getting under Eivaley''s skin, she was shuddering like a leaf at this point. Conor could not deny that traveling completely blind like she was must be worrisome. All she had to rely on was his counsel and the sounds of skittering rats amidst the debris.

    Conor paused just before entering the cavernous duractrete parking structure; peaking out, he choked out a bloody breath and was reminded about needing to work fast as his vision started to blur ever so slightly from blood loss.

    Conor sighed and activated his thermal vision, resigning that his regular sight would no longer make due; it was all tech all the time until the end of this.

    A lurking thought crossed his mind as his vision shifted to dark blacks and grays of thermal imagery. It would be a shame if the last sight he got of Eivaley was little more than a heat signature.

    But that might be the reality he just had to stomach.

    Initially, all he could see were hundreds of vehicles in various states of abandonment. Some were lined up nicely and clearly were regularly checked up on by their owners. Others were left to have been scavenged from, rotted, and decayed for untold numbers of decades.

    A few looked like they had even been converted into small shanties. Not that Conor could predict what kind of mutated sentient would want to call this shit hole home. But, you take what you can; that might be all some can.

    Abandoned parking facilities like this were common in the middle and lower city. They were accessible to the general populace, so the state of the place was just another breath of life in Heavalun.

    As he suppressed a wheeze, Conor''s eye was drawn to a particularly odd spot at the far reaches of FLIR(forward-looking Infrared)

    Past hundreds of pillars of duracrete, a flickering light was barely visible. The only reason Conor could even see the wan light was the shadows that spread out from it. It took him a moment, but the Human did piece together what it had to be.

    A fire. One that just so happened to be uncomfortably near where Conor stored his car.

    The Human tucked back away and looked to Eivaley, ready to feed her instructions to stay hidden while he cleared them out. That was until he spotted how she clung to him, shuddering, and kept looking between him and the darkness.

    Fuck, just stab a man in the gut with cuteness. Even in the infrared, the little princess just looked to die for.

    Conor could not leave her alone, even for a minute or two. Down in the dark, where fungus and Zlit rats ruled, it would only take a few heartbeats before she was dragged off into some passage and lost to time.

    ¡°Is something wrong?¡± Conor asked.

    ¡°I detest being underground. It''s the domain of Malura, the goddess of death,¡± Eivaley stated calmly. Then, the sound of a Zlit rat scurrying past her feet made her yelp in fright. ¡°And those things are everywhere!¡±

    Conor chuckled slightly. Of everything going on, a few Zlit rats and mutants in the dark were her concern, not the gunman looking for them, Voodal, or that this was a solo rescue operation showed how innocent Eivaley was.

    While yes, the little buggers creeping through cracks or just out of sight were pervasive here, and Conor hated them to his core, the Human was so focused he had hardly noticed them.

    To Eivlilay, however, they were vile demons, closing in and readying to wrench her away from Conor''s warm safety.

    ¡°Just hold on tight. It will be fine,¡± Conor assured.

    Eivaley nodded and flowed through the door with Conor. They slowly breezed across the rough ground. Bits of debris, crushed duracrete, and smashed glass lightly crunched beneath each footfall, giving the only indication of the specters sweeping through the megastructure.

    Conor led her from one piece of cover to another. At each stop, they paused, scanned the area, oriented, and then repeated the process.

    After a few minutes of deafening silence, they covered several hundred meters and could see who was squatting only a few meters away from Conor¡¯s car.

    A pair of pathetic-looking Bulmeric lingered near a small fire of burning tires. The flickering flames weaved shadows around their gaunt frames and tattered clothes, making both look like skeletons given life.

    Whatever color the Chiropteran-like aliens'' hair and short fur were naturally, they had been matted down with black soot and dirt.

    One used their massive wing hand to pull a long rusty metal rod from the trash around them and used it to stir a hole-riddled pot.

    Eivaley shuttered, watching the man''s wing shiver, struggling to stir the steaming pot while weakly talking to the other.

    The sight of them in their downtrodden state stabbed Eivaley in the soul with a hot iron. Why did the COS treat their people like this? It was not right in any way. Back on her home world, Guelur, Eivaley ran veteran assistance programs, homeless assistance, and orphanages in the capital city of Livayie.

    While it was a form of noblesse oblige, she was the only one of her sisters who funded and assured the smooth operation of the programs her grandmother had created; thus, to her, it was a genuine concern. So, seeing anyone in a state like this was insulting.

    As the pair of Bulmeric spoke to one another, they learned several things: the one stirring the pot was a male, his voice far more profound than the one lounging on a repurposed car seat. She was happily chatting with who they assumed to be her mate.

    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

    They spoke about their future, wanting to leave the city and rise from this dingy hole. However, they smiled about having fresh meat for the first time in months. Conor would not prod at where they got fresh meat. It would either be something they killed or cost far more than he wanted to admit, having seen people pay for it.

    One thing they mentioned made Conor¡¯s hair stand on end and made him decide to dust them. They mentioned Eivaley by name, referring to one of Voodals men who passed through, asking if they had seen either of them.

    Neither seemed to be armed or capable of putting up a fight. And that was all the better for Conor. Dusting them would be as easy as lifting crit off a out of towner¡ªat least it should have been.

    When Conor raised the DT-200 and prepared to aim, Eivaley slapped his weapon. ¡°What are you doing?¡± she hissed. ¡°Because it looks like you are about to murder them.¡±

    ¡°I was going to clear them out, and then we are leaving,¡± Conor rebutted, glaring at Eivaley.

    ¡°That is still just murder,¡± Eivaley argued.

    ¡°No, I am just being efficient. It¡¯s not like anyone will care about two random bums dying¡ªit happens all the time,¡± Conor replied, aiming back in at the two.

    ¡°I will. So stop!¡± Eivaley snarled, tightly lashing her tail around Conor''s neck, trying and failing to yank him back into cover.

    ¡°Oh, so I¡¯m taking orders from you now,¡± Conor snarled, tucking back into cover, jamming a finger into Eivaleys chest, and then a thumb at himself. ¡°Last I checked, you need me.¡±

    ¡°Last I checked, I hired you,¡± Eivaley scoffed, not missing a beat, crossing her arms in a huff and releasing her tail.

    They remained there for a moment, with Conor genuinely not understanding what her issue was. It was just two random fucking bums. Why do they matter? All that was important was her survival.

    At the same time, Eivaley''s mind raced. She was a princess and a trained diplomat¡ªeven if that last part was a bit unused. But she did not want to just kill people, or Conor too, for that matter.

    A champion may fight for their lady and occasionally commit sororicide to push their lady closer to being empress; Eivaley had no interest in that. She just wanted a confidant, lover, and bastion who would help her end that horrible practice.

    But he was not just some murderer if all he had told her about his work, unless it was for money or his friends Conor tried to do right to people.

    ¡°I do need you, but they don¡¯t need to die. Give them credits, tell them to leave, and let''s just go.¡± Eivelay instructed, having decided the best path was to tell him what to do. Conor would listen to her, right?

    The Human wanted to argue that trying something like that was dangerous and would only waste time. But with how Eivaley was glaring at him, he could tell this would be a case of two immovable objects ramming against one another¡ªthat would only waste more time, something Conor knew he was quickly running out of.

    ¡°Fine, we will try this your way. Just stay behind me, and don¡¯t talk,¡± Conor conceded.

    Conor fished out a cred-stick from the duffle, then handed the bag to her. ¡°Hold this, and do not leave my side no matter what.¡±

    Eivaley dutifully slung the duffle and almost collapsed but barely stood from the sudden weight. This thing has to weigh nearly as much as she does. Yet somehow, this beast of a Human carried it and still moved faster than her.

    Eivaley was aware that Conor was far stronger and more robust than any other sapient she knew. That little nugget of knowledge just brought the true gap between him and non-augmented creatures into perspective.

    ¡°Come on,¡± Conor sighed, stepping out from cover and guiding Eivaley so he would act as a shield to any weapons the two may have.

    ¡°Show me your hands!¡± Conor commanded while holding up the submachine gun at the duo. His booming voice rattled everyone present to the bone.

    As the two Bulmeric looked toward the sound, they both yelped as Conor activated the weapon-mounted flashlight, engulfing them in light more potent than sunlight.

    Thank Urla. The pair seemed to have some brains. Both held their wing hands up, letting Eivaley and Conor see the tattered membranes. Neither could fly anymore, even if they wanted to.

    Both had vastly different thoughts on that revelation. To Conor, it meant neither would be quick or too dangerous. To Eivaley, it reinforced that they were pitiful and should not be killed; their lives had clearly been difficult enough.

    ¡°Be chill, biha,¡± the male croaked in a thick under-city accent. It was a variant of Standard; Conor knew that much. But it was slow, struggled, and emphasized the end of each word far too much. ¡°We ain¡¯t got nothing to take, honest.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, I figured that,¡± Conor snapped, scanning them and the area around again, looking for anything he may have missed. ¡°Are there any more of you¡±?

    As the white beam traversed over the female, the male stood and started to rush toward her.

    With an ingrained threat reaction and the ability to follow orders dutifully, Conor¡¯s weapon snapped to the runner''s chest, bathing the Bulmeric in blinding light. ¡°Don¡¯t you fucking move!¡±

    ¡°Whoa, relax,¡± The male said, gesturing with open wing hands to Conor. ¡°We don¡¯t mean any trouble. But could yah not point that thing at Orevii? We won¡¯t do what yah don¡¯t want. Right?¡± the Bulmeric finished nodding to Orevii.

    ¡°Of course not,¡± Orevii frantically replied, holding her wing hands similarly.

    ¡°See biha, we can all be chill here,¡± the man replied letting Conor keep the weapon aimed right at him without any issues.

    ¡°Fine, then this will hopefully go nice and easy,¡± Conor replied, tossing the cred-stick onto the ground at the man''s feet.

    Conor smirked as the man flinched, likely thinking the free money was a weapon. Urla knew plenty were deployed that way: drones, frags, stuns, electro-nades, and countless others.

    ¡°It¡¯s just money,¡± Conor assured. ¡°Take it.¡±

    The Bulmeric looked down at the cred-stick, then up at Conor, looking as shocked as if he had just seen a resurrection of Urla herself.  ¡°You are giving us money at gunpoint?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m giving you that to keep you quiet about seeing me here. I overheard you talking about how Voodals man was here recently and was looking for us.¡± Conor said. ¡°It¡¯s just hush money.¡±

    ¡°Wait, why did you not just shoot us if you just wanted us dead?¡± Orevii questioned, her radar dish-like ears flittering in confusion.

    ¡°Because¡ª¡± Conor started.

    ¡°I told him not to,¡± Eivilay said, stepping out from behind her champion and walking toward the Bulmeric male.

    Conor shot forward and blocked her, lowering the DT-200 and using his massive body to keep Eivilay safe. ¡°What in Urla''s name do you think you are doing?¡±

    ¡°Doing a better job of explaining what is going on than you are,¡± Eivilay protested.

    ¡°That is not my point,¡± Conor argued, turning around and facing Eivilay.

    At the time, he did not notice that he had even done that; these two were unknowns, strangers, and now they could easily stab or shoot him in the back. But for some reason, even Conor did not comprehend shielding Eivilay was more critical than proper tactical actions.

    Eivaley patted Conor''s armor with a hand and sighed. ¡°Conor, they are no threat. You just gave them a perfect chance to attack you, and they made it clear from the beginning that they meant us no harm.¡±

    Conor opened his mouth but shut it immediately; how was he supposed to argue against that reality? He had just done that.

    Conor glanced back at the Bulmerics, and neither had even so much as moved, save for the woman, who was now leaning slightly to look at Eivaley. This woman, by Ural she, was too wise for her good.

    The fact that, as if by some preternatural means, she could read him like a book, manipulate every nerve of his body to her whim, yet make him want to keep her safe was an enigma.

    Conor would rip them apart if anyone else held that power over him. Why in Urla¡¯s name was she different?

    ¡°Now, please keep your weapon down, and let''s be on our way,¡± Eivaley smiled moments before stepping around Conor and dragging her tail across his cheek, patting it once.

    Despite the heavy bag, with the boundless confidence that only a member of true royalty could have, Eivilay approached the male Bulmeric, picked up the cred-stick, and held it out to him. ¡°So, Mr?¡± Eivaley smiled.

    ¡°Uhhh¨C¡± The man sputtered, seeming caught off guard by the whiplash of how the two strangers who entered their camp were acting. The fact that Conor loomed over Eivelay and might as well be growling a warning did not help.

    ¡°My dearies name is Trigul,¡± Orevii chuckled, leaning forward so her wing hands rested on her knees. While she keenly observed the odd couple.

    ¡°Thank you, Orevii,¡± Eivaley nodded before returning to Trigul. ¡°Now, Mr. Trigul. My name is Eivaley. What I am requesting of you is simple. Kindly take this money, forget you saw Conor and I, then as we overheard you two discussing, take Orevii there and leave this city, planet if you can. Do you understand?¡±

    ¡°I¡ªunderstand,¡± Trigul shakily replied, grabbing the cred-stick.

    He looked over at Orevii, then back to Eivelay. Confusion and distrust poured out of him like a vile miasma. ¡°Are you sure? And are there enough credits on this?¡±

    ¡°Of course I am certain,¡± Eivaley replied before looking back to Conor, ¡°And there should be enough, right?¡±

    Conor rolled his eyes. Was there enough? Of course, there was. That was half of Conor''s life savings. You could buy a small ship, hire a crew and go damn near anywhere in the universe with that amount of crit. So long as you are doing things legitimately and dealing with non-corrupt individuals.

    If not, there was plenty to relocate you off-world and begin anew. Once everything was said and done, you would have to find work quickly. The hands that cred-stick would pass through would have taken their cut, leaving you with scraps.

    ¡°Yeah, there is,¡± Conor assured.

    When Conor said that, Trigul sniffled momentarily before dropping to his knees and bawling. The Bulmeric grabbed Eivaleys hand with his two wing hands and frantically shook them.

    ¡°By Urla, bless you, bless you. No one has ever shown us this kindness,¡± Trigul let out between sobs.

    Eivaley remained perfectly calm, met the man at his level, kneeling, and assured him it was right for them to do.  Conor observed as Orevii practically leaped from the chair and joined her partner and Eivelay in frantic thanks and assurances.

    The two Bulmeric might as well have been bowing to Eivelay as their chosen god with how they were kissing her ass. Every word oozed gratitude and reverence for their ruby-colored savior.

    Conor sighed and turned to look around the area, having seen enough of the two bums hugging and crying against Eivalay. While they got lucky with these two, that does not mean there were not others around the area who would not take advantage of someone giving out handouts.

    Luckily, no one seemed to have entered the area to investigate the crying. Only the visages of the cold cars and duracrete were visible as far as the eye could see. Often, if wails could be heard in the underground, you were ringing the dinner bell. There were too many mutants, sub-gangers, and assholes.

    Because no potential molesters were visible and their care seemed to matter to Eivaley, Conor would not interrupt them. He would just remain there watching over them as they finish whatever type of queer veneration these two Bulmeric would give to his lady¡ªer client.

    After a minute of Conor overwatching them and beginning to feel his head go light, that moment was over; Conor felt Eivaley grab his belt and tug at it. ¡°Are you ready to depart?¡±

    Conor turned back toward the makeshift campsite and saw the two Bulmeric packing their bags as frantically as possible. Unlike Eivaley, they were locals and knew the dangers of carrying around crit like that, so they knew they had to move quickly.

    If everything went well, they would be off the world in the morning.

    Conor looked away as a pang of guilt washed over him. Hearing the two lovers speak excitedly about the opportunity Eivaley had blessed them with hurt like broken glass being driven into his brain.

    These two would have been two more corpses on the floor without her. It was not necessarily that Conor felt his solution was wrong but that Eivaley was so much more correct. They were not just two bums. The Bulmerics had dreams, hopes, and ideals; they just now had a chance to leave here, and their excitement almost made the hardened mercenary smile.

    Conor wished he could offer them a weapon or something to aid them in their travels, but due to their Bulmeric biology, namely, the size of their wing hands, weapons had to be fitted to them. So he could not do anything for them.

    ¡°Yeah, come on,¡± Conor replied, wrapping his hand around Eivaley''s shoulder and leading her off into the darkness, leaving the firelight and the hopeful pair behind. The car was close enough that Conor could already see its harsh angles, armored glass, and heavy frame.

    ¡°Thank you, Eivaley, and you, Conor,¡± Orevii yelled as they left the firelight. ¡°We won¡¯t forget it.¡±

    ¡°You are forgetting why we gave you the money,¡± Eivaley replied, cracking the slightest joke.

    Now that got to Conor. Even in the heat of battle, he and Brakul would joke and poke fun at one another and the enemy. The small quip made Conor genuinely laugh. It felt good that the woman beside him could keep that levity.

    Until his laughing turned to coughs, and he buckled over. His entire body shuddered as a mixture of congealed and fresh blood poured out of his mouth, spreading across the ground.

    ¡°Conor, what¡¯s wrong?¡± Eivalay frantically asked.

    ¡°Well, there''s no point in hiding it now,¡± Conor gasped, weakly stumbling to his feet. ¡°I took a few rounds earlier and am bleeding out.¡±

    ¡°What, when did you¡ªhow did you?¡± Eivalay frantically asked, trying to support him and feeling the blood pulsing from underneath his armor and soaking her arm.

    Only now did Eivaley realize Conor had been pushing her to move quickly because he knew how substantial the injuries were.

    He must have been far more injured before even grabbing her from the safe house. Yet despite that, he waited, let her sit with the Bulmeric, and assured them it was okay that they would recover.

    But during all that, she was letting him bleed to death. ¡°Will you make it to the upper districts with me?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about that. I have a plan to keep me alive until you are safe,¡± Conor assured.

    ¡°No, you are going to make it,¡± Eivalay argued.

    She would see to his survival no matter how much money it took. Daddy had Thurda with him. She was the royal physician; out of everyone, Eivaley knew she could save her champion.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± Conor chuckled before coughing up more blood and leading her toward the car.

 Section Eleven: Heavalun Hot Pursuit.

    When Eivaley was finally near their destination, she could hardly believe what she saw. Conor had told her they were going to his car, so she had a picture in her mind of what that may entail.

    Four wheels, an electric engine, and some exciting accouterments would have made the vehicle truly his. Oh my, how wrong she was.

    Floating several centimeters off the duracrete was a massive, matte gray repulser-based vehicle. It was some kind of military transport; even Eivaley could tell that much; she had spent enough time with the military of her planet and the GU to recognize that much.

    Anyone who has watched any holo-flicks over the last hundred standard years would be able to recognize the vehicle as military in origin. It had thick reinforced windows, metal blast shields, and the remnants of what looked like a turret position on top.

    Eivaley could make out a crude paint job over what likely was an emblem of the previous owner on the door. While she could not quite make out what it said through the dried red paint, she could have sworn it showed HPD(Heavalun Police Department)

    ¡°Get in,¡± Conor said, opening the side door and gesturing for her to clamber up.

    Eivaley started to climb into the spartan vehicle; as her foot touched the bottom railing, she felt Conor push a hand against her rump. It was apparent he meant nothing sexual by it because he simply aided her up the near meter to the seat.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± Eivaley said as Conor tossed the bag of gear into the well beneath her feat.

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it,¡± Conor replied, shutting the door and leaving her inside to look around.

    The inside was just as rudimentary as the outside; there were five seats, two up front and three in the back, with a little standing platform and sling for someone to pop out of the roof hatch with.

    The only thing that was not like this was the dashboard: thousands of indicators, screens, nobs, lights, and switches coated the dashboard and front ceiling. All of them had text indicating what they were for¡ªbut how was she supposed to know what APS(automatic defense system) or ADC(automated driving controls) were?

    As Eivaley finished pondering the interior, Conor hopped into the driver''s seat. Before activating the UAPC(up-armored personnel carrier), which he had strategically transferred the equipment to an alternate location several months ago, he dug into the bag and pulled out some items.

    ¡°Alright, take this,¡± Conor said, holding out a vile of stimulants to Eivaley. The green ichor was almost glowing in the dark chassis.

    ¡°What do I need this for?¡± Eivaley asked.

    ¡°It¡¯s a combat stim called Zurega. Just keep that on you, and when I start to pass out, jam it into my thigh,¡± Conor explained while holding another dose and flipping the cap off.

    Conor then slammed the autoinjector into the side of his thigh. A dull hiss sounded as pneumatics forced the green medicine deep into his muscles.

    With no warning, Conor clutched at his chest and screamed in agony, causing Eivaley to jump in fright.

    This was one feeling that, no matter how many times Conor played with fire and decided to use Zurega, he never got used to. The absolutely overwhelming, painful, yet euphoric rush of every fiber of his body being forced into overdrive was beyond description.

    Unless you had used hard drugs for years chasing a high or had spent your whole life pursuing the rush of feeling a bullet skim your clothes and a knife skimming your flesh, you just could not understand how alive one felt while being moments away from dying.

    He buckled against the steering wheel, unable to control himself for the moment as all of his muscles released uncountable micro spasms.

    Eivalay reached over to him and shuddered when Conor started to hyperventilate. His punctured lungs wheezed like a leaking balloon. At the same time, she could feel his heart slamming like a hammer in his chest, reverberating in the air. It spiked so quickly she could not discern one beat from the next. It almost felt like the Humans chest was vibrating.

    The tidal wave of adrenaline crashed through Conor''s nervous system, causing him to sweat buckets nearly instantly.

    ¡°Oh fuck the hell yes,¡± Conor roared while sitting up. ¡°That stuff makes you ready to meet Urla.¡±

    Eivaley shivered as Conor yelled. He was so loud it reverberated down to her bones. The sheer command of his words made him seem like a beast of death unleashed upon the mortal coil.

    That unwavering dominance and presence made her want him more. If he was at her side back home, Eivaley¡¯s sisters would finally ignore her and allow her the calm life she desired.

    They could fight over their mother''s favor; Eivaley just wanted to live life and help people.

    Zurega was for all intents and purposes, not for human consumption. The highly potent combat stim was originally designed for the COS¡¯ premier shock troop species, the Grek.

    Simply put, the Grek were a hearty, nearly indestructible species. They were semi-aquatic, with enough steel-like muscle mass to toss Conor¡¯s three-hundred-kilo frame like a softball.

    However, due to their docile yet fiercely loyal nature, Zurega was created.

    Any of the Grek with this stim pumped through them was the most unstoppable creature this side of the GU border. Unless they get vaped or ripped limb from limb, there is no way to slay them.

    The effects are similar to Humans. The main difference is the speed at which the narcotic is consumed. Due to Humans'' comparatively lightning-fast metabolism, Zurega lasts at most thirty minutes and always precedes a life-threatening crash.

    But that was why Conor had given Eivaley the extra dose. Urla knew he would not be able to administer it once he crashed.

    Hell, the last time Conor used this stuff, he went blind in an eye; that''s why he had a cybernetic implant replacing his left eye today.

    ¡°Are you ok,¡± Eivaley snapped, grabbing his head and making him look at her.

    What the fuck is he thinking? This looks like torture, and now he wants her to inject him with more drugs when he passes out.

    ¡°So long as you remember what you have to do,¡± Conor replied, not telling her that taking so much Zurega would ensure he would die once the effects wore out.

    Eivaley grimaced, watching Conor''s nose bleed; his eye turned bloodshot between blinks, and his skin flushed red like a fresh bruise.

    Why was he lying to her? She knew this could not be healthy for him. She did not doubt his capabilities before he did not need to drug up and hurt himself.

    With him bleeding more, she had to wonder how he was going to walk away from bleeding from every hole and the wounds to his chest.

    ¡°Please be alright,¡± She whined.

    ¡°We will,¡± Conor lied, turning back to the steering wheel and beginning the up-armors start sequence. ¡°Make sure you buckle up.¡±

    Conor meticulously actuated a series of buttons and switches in what felt like slow motion to him, but in reality, it was lightning fast due to the drugs effects.

    Once the sequence was ready, Conor threw the lever in the dashboard''s center, and the APU(auxiliary power unit) whirred. The sound swelled as the small turbine engine announced its life to the world.

    Once the hydraulics and subsystems had power, Conor grabbed the main engine levers and throttled forward to the start position. The dual turbine engines below their feet vibrated violently for a moment as they lurched from hydraulics, forcing tonnes of metal to flick.

    The engines popped and sputtered, drowning out the constant ticking of the sparkers. But gradually, their RPM grew, and more subsystems began to receive the necessary power.

    ¡°That doesn¡¯t sound good,¡± Eivaley commented.

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, babe, it¡¯s all going fine,¡± Conor replied, never looking away from the dozen gauges he had to monitor.

    Eivaley did not comment on Conor Calling her babe, beyond her tail happily wagging to her side.

    The tachometer gradually swung up as the twin turbines fought to be self-sustaining: 15 percent, then 25, then the indicator touched 45 at long last, and the low growling engines roared into the night. They spewed fire from their exhaust and steadied at 110 percent.

    ¡°Fuck yeah, listen to that baby sing,¡± Conor exclaimed, flicking on the exterior lights and bathing the entire area in bright white.

    As soon as all the lights were on, Conor powered the rest of the systems he needed: the ADS(active defense), auto drive, and stabilization assistance. Once he had double-checked Eivaley''s buckle and reiterated what he needed from her, Conor floored it.

    The UAPC lurched forward, pinning Eivaley to the seat for a moment. Unlike when Conor was in a civilian vehicle, or any vehicle with tires for that matter, Conor did not have to care about the metallic carcasses strewn about the underground lot.

    The repulsor sensors at the vehicle''s front detect the upcoming obstacle, empower the thrust in their direction, and gradually tilt the front to crawl over. it

    As the heavy vehicle traversed each obstacle, the repulsors forced thousands of kilos of pressure down, crushing everything beneath it with sprays of glass, crushing metal, and bleeding oil.

    Eivaley stared out the window and watched as dozens of aliens, mutants, and animals scurried away from the light emitted from the lightbars atop the UP armor. Most crawled into the murky black, but a few stopped just short of the border, hissing at them from behind cover.

    Something was wrong with them. Eivaley could recognize that many of them were sapients of some kind: Aviex, Builmeric, and even a few Jurintic. It was as if they could not fathom the piece of technology lumbering through a territory they had claimed.

    ¡°Just ignore them,¡± Conor instructed, seemingly able to read her curious mind. ¡°They are feral.¡±

    ¡°But they are sentients, right?¡± Eivielay questioned while watching a pair of Aivex with a few too many arms pulsing bulbous growths, claws at a corpse, and snarling at one another.

    ¡°Hardly; most can¡¯t speak standard or even recognize language. They might as well be animals,¡± Conor said, turning the wheel to traverse out of the main section of the megastructure and into what looked like a decaying train tunnel.

    ¡° Why doesn¡¯t anyone help them?¡± Eivaley replied, thinking back to all the assistance programs on her planet and in the GU.

    ¡°It would be a waste of time, money, effort and lives. With how many there are, it would be impossible. Those two Bulmeric would likely be like the rest of them in a few years,¡± Conor admitted.

    ¡°That hardly seems like a valid reason,¡± Eivaley sighed, trying not to think of Orevii or Trigul. They deserved to be happy. Befalling this fate would be horrible for them.

    ¡°It ain¡¯t, but¡ªyou can¡¯t save everyone, especially here,¡± Connor growled, just loud enough for her to hear, dredging up long-forgotten memories of his youth.

    He and Brakul would have fallen into the same fate if they had not become mercenaries. Seeing these things made Conor¡¯s blood boil. Why would they get a handout when all he and Brakul got were swift kicks in the chest or a gun to the face?

    Fuck these ferals, they can figure it out themselves. Just like he had to.

    Eivaley clicked her tongue and pondered the idea, watching as more of the wretch crawled into grates and cowered in access tunnels.

    Eivaley wanted Conor to be wrong with all of her heart. She believed that everyone could be saved if one simply tried hard enough, put enough effort into assisting them, and assured them they were not alone.

    But seeing these sentients act like beasts made a small part of her soul crack, and believe him slightly. As much as the idea went against everything she had ever known.

    ¡ª-

    The rest of the drive out of the underground was filled with palpable silence. Only the dull roar of the engines, Conor''s thumping heart, and his labored breathing kept them company.

    As Conor turned the UAPC out of the tunnel''s exit and onto a main street, his demeanor grew sharper.

    In an instant, he began to scan every alien, alleyway, skyscraper, and car for any potential threats for anyone monitoring or preparing an ambush against them.

    While the up-armored did not offer the pair any semblance of stealth or subtlety, it was their best chance of making it to the upper district in one piece.

    So long as no one busted out rockets, landmines, a tank, or Urala forbid a mech, nothing could molest them. Nothing could stop a good mech with a railgun or rocket pod in an urban center.  They were the epitome of maneuverable and flexible firepower, short of an army of cyborgs like Conor¨Cbut no one had that lying around.

    Their pleasant and calm drive lasted a few blocks before Conor''s fear of Voodal having put out a BOLO(Be on The Lookout For) on them was given credence.

    A slug from an old-world rifle slammed into the window next to Eivaleys head. The flex-glass bulged inward and spiderwebed, spraying glass spall over her. Luckily, none harmed her.

    Eivalay jumped out of her skin and ducked down without Conor telling her to hit the deck. The moment she was low, pure bedlam befell all of Heavalun around their vehicle.

    The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    Blasters and slug throwers erupted from all sides and angles of the road. Be it the rear, front, left, right, or even below. Rounds slammed into the heavy armor, sounding like a wildly beaten drum.

    It was as if every soul in Heavalun was gunning for them in this one instant, and knowing Voodal, that was likely half true.

    Eivaley cowered low beneath the windows, screaming like death had come for her, fearing each shot and slam of rounds against the walls. It was her first time in a warzone, so that was to be expected.

    Conor floored it, following all forms of training that he had learned. You have to push through and out of the kill box when you are ambushed. Staying where the enemy planned to fight was only asking to be dusted.

    Get out by all means you have available to you.

    It''s too bad whoever was in charge of these dureks had planned for Conor to do just that.

    As soon as he pressed the pedal down, two trucks with mounted blaster cannons drove into the street and opened fire along with several dismounted Voodal gangers.

    Sket, if only Conor had stolen a tank, this would not be an issue. But those blaster cannons will make short work of the UAPC''s moderately light armor.

    ¡°Hang on,¡± Conor yelled, pushing the pedal toward the floor and accelerating.

    Rounds bounced off the vehicle''s armor, sounding like an army of fists being driven against a metal trashcan. But that would not stop Conor. He aimed the UAPC straight at the two trucks and braced for impact.

    With no warning to Eivaley, the UAPC impacted the trucks, causing the whole vehicle to lurch.

    Conor sneered as several of Voodals men were turned to paste between the UAPC and trucks, splattering blood like a popped water balloon. It serves those bastards right; they are stupid mooks for Voodal, after all.

    They would be freelance if they wanted to live free and have a life with any value. By Urla, the only creatures Conor valued less were obnoxious bureaucrats obsessed with regulations and rules.

    Even Zlit rats held more respect than those two-faced fucks.

    After barreling through the barricade, Conor looked in the rearview to see if they were being pursued. What he saw made his heart sink. One of the Voodal had stepped out of a stulk shop and into the center of the road.

    The Voodal croaker raised a massive recoiled rifle to his shoulder and readied to demo their UAPC.

    ¡°RPG!¡± Conor shouted, shoving Eivaley below the heavier metal armor of the doors while cranking the wheel to turn down a side street.

    Conor cranked the Vic so hard that the bolts holding the repulsers screamed in agony as the UAPC listed onto one side and slid. Just as the vehicle fishtailed, Conor felt the dull thunk, thunk, thunk of crushing small meaty objects, likely a few random pedestrians, but he would never know.

    The RPG''s hellish hiss roared as they almost made it behind cover. However, due to Conor''s abysmal luck, they were just far enough around the corner for the ADS not to activate, but the RPG still hit them.

    A deafening explosion rocked the UAPC and moved it half a meter to the side. Hot shrapnel skidded through the cabin, shattering glass, crushing armor, and rending upholstery to ribbons.

    Most of the scalding slag harmlessly destroyed the inside of the vehicle, but not all. A Sharp jolt of pain in Conor''s lower back caused him to gasp momentarily. His lower back throbbed with each heartbeat once back upright and flooring it through the crowded sidestreet.

    Conor was well aware that he had been hit, but all he could do was knuckle down and keep moving. The screaming woman at his side needed him to complete this mission despite the warm ichor flowing into his belt line.

    ¡°It will be alright, babe,¡± Conor yelled, his and Eivaleys ears ringing like bells after that near explosion. ¡°I will get you home.¡±

    Conor looked over at her when she clung to his leg, and her claws dug in, causing him further pain. The pain was a good thing; at least that meant he was still alive, and that frag in his back had not paralyzed his limb. Urla knew he would already punch his time clock if his legs were done for.

    The problem was that just shifting his head to quickly look at her made him light-headed, and when he looked back toward the road, he was nearly blind. All the human could see in front of him was a blurry blob of colors, roughly shaped like a road filled with screaming and fleeing civilians.

    Whatever was going on in her head, he had no idea. But it could not be anything good. No one was truly born to be in combat; even Conor understood that your environment made you into a killer. Eivaley was not built for events or a life like this.

    Another rocket screamed by them and impacted a shop, showering the exterior of the UAPC and the street with scalding slag. The Voodal, while not incredibly accurate with those rockets, only had to get lucky once, and they would be done.

    Thinking as quickly as his mind could while actively shutting down, Conor scrambled to come up with some way to get off the roads and be able to open up the throttle so they could escape.

    If Conor had not been caught up in this mess, he would have wondered who had paid Voodal so much to have the old croaker pull out all the stops. It had to be a small fortune if he was willing to dust all these civilians and let Conor kill so many of his men.

    But thoughts like that would come later, once he had had his life direction changed holistically by today''s haunting events.

    Knowing roughly where they were in the city, Conor skewed right and turned toward the Heavalun River. It was their only hope to get to the upper district without being torn to shreds by waiting ambushers.

    Though calling it a river was a stretch. In reality, it is a massive kilometer-wide duracrete channel running from one side of the city to the other. The bottom few meters of the mega structure was filled with flowing water, shit, and Urla knows how many bodies. But the upper banks should allow them a near-straight shot to her father.

    Getting there was their only hope now that Conor knew the situation on the street.

    That was far easier said than done. No matter what street they went down, there was another ambush, police barricade, or some rando who decided to shoot at them, hoping to earn some brownie points with Voodal.

    Sure, Voodal was revered throughout midtown and had a large influence on the police, but this was still unreal. It was as if the might of Urlas'' arch angels were being directed solely to blowing Eivaley to smithereens.

    By the time Conor skidded onto River Street, the up-armored looked like it had just been sent through Holois Run on the south side of town. Armor plating was falling off, the engines were leaving a massive black smoke trail, and Conor could hear a few alarms and warnings blaring: low oil, high exhaust temp, over torque, FOD in the engines, and even a busted tail light.

    He would shut them off, but he could not see them with his eyesight fading to near pinpricks, and his focus had to be elsewhere.

    The turnpike into the river should only be a kilometer ahead of them or so. But that was just a guess.

    It''s too bad Conor never had the chance to see if he could actually navigate the city while blind; life and the Voodal mooks had other plans.

    The flaring light of a rocket engine and the hellish wail shot overhead were redirected away from the UAPC by the ADS systems flares and magnesium chaff.

    The concealing field had sent the rocket spiraling and slamming into the sixth floor of a riverside highrise. Debris, bodies, and frag showered down. While Conor could not see it, Eivaley did.

    ¡°Turn right!¡± She yelled, tugging on his arm and forcing the matter.

    Jerking the wheel, as she said, sent them careening over the duracrete barrier separating the river from the road. Most of the rubble harmlessly fell to the road where they were headed. Some of it hit the roof and rocked the vehicle hard, ripping away half of the rear cab.

    The UAPC was a superb vehicle, but just like an old tred-based Vic¡¯ it did not do well with free fall. And that five meters from the barriers top to the riverside slope might as well have been a fall from orbit with how battered they were.

    Both Conor and Eivaley slammed their heads into the dashboard on impact, rattling both of their brains.

    For Eivaley, it only caused a minor laceration over her brow due to Conor strapping her in earlier.

    Conor was far worse. Between the blood loss, cranked heart rate, jacked blood pressure, fading combat stims, and that he was unbuckled so he could get out and shoot someone if needed, Conor was knocked out cold.

    If not for his reinforced skeletal structure, that impact on the steering column would have caved his skull in. Instead, the skin from his brow to his hairline was peeled back, exposing open nanofiber bone.

    ¡°Are you alright?¡± Eivaley asked, rubbing her bleeding head and looking around the cab, noting the massive hole in the rear of the vehicle. ¡°Conor?¡±

    Eivaley sucked in a choking breath when she saw her champion. Conor was limp against the steering dented wheel, blood pouring from every orifice as the duracrete side of the river bank moved by out the window.

    ¡°No, no, no, no, don¡¯t pass out,¡± Eivaley yelled while starting to fumble with the medication.

    This was the only job Conor had given her, and as such, each time she failed to flip off the cap, it felt like a knife stabbing her.

    She glanced out the window and saw they were almost in the river. At the same time, Voodal''s men took position on the upper bank and started peppering the area with bullets and blasters.

    The rounds whizzed, hissed, and pinged off the vehicle and duracrete. After what felt like an endless torture session with Malura, Evialey shakily popped the cap off.

    ¡°Please don''t leave me here,¡± Eivaley yelped, punching the injector deep into the top of Conor''s thigh.

    She knew that was not how the Human had shown her to use it, but while she was in a panic and he was immobile, it was all she could manage.

    For five agonizingly long heartbeats, she watched as Conor did not move. Until, like a man being ripped away from Malura, the Human shot up, gasped for air, grabbed the wheel, and floored it, his mind reverting to the last action he had intended to do.

    The edge of Eivaleys door grazed the acrid water as Conor retook control of the vehicle and floored it.

    Now that they were in the aqueduct, it was a straight shot to the upper district. They just had to pass through the Oletra cistern, but not even the lowliest species would live in that horrible infection waiting to happen.

    As the speedometer rose and Eivaley was glued to the back of her seat, the gunfire gradually faded away. Even the cops stopped attempting to chase as Conor rapidly increased the gap between them.

    By the time they were screaming along at well over 100 kph, all the weapons had stopped. Eivaley could not even see their pursuers anymore.

    The only downside to going this fast was the UAPC shook violently, threatening to fall apart any moment.

    ¡°Conor, they stopped. You can slow down,¡± Eivaley assured.

    But he said nothing. He just kept the pedal floored and drove them into the tunnel''s darkness. They left behind the hustle and bustle of midtown and any threat of pursuit. Voodal might be powerful in mid- and downtown, but in the upper districts, he was just another peon.

    The few lights that remained atop the UAPC illuminated the damp tunnels, which stretched on for kilometers in darkness. They could see the walls, thick sludge water, and the corpses left here by the upper district residence.

    ¡°We made it,¡± Eivaley cheered, ¡°I can¡¯t believe it.¡±

    She sat and watched the duracrete tunnel fly by, expecting Conor to tell her, matter-of-factly, that it was not over and that she was wrong. For a man like him, that seemed fitting.

    Instead of that, a suffocating silence met her.

    Looking over at him, she could see his bloody lips moving and that he looked near robotic with how he drove. He was not wasting a single motion; even his eyes cleanly jerked from one piece of detritus to another before moving around it.

    ¡°Conor?¡± Eivaley touched his arm, causing no reaction.

    Frustrated, thinking he might just be overwhelmed like she was, Eivaley shook him and yelled¡ªstill nothing.

    Then she waved a hand in front of him and screamed in his face, much to the same effect. But at least getting this close to her Champion let her hear him. A knot formed in her throat when she realized something was drastically wrong.

    ¡°Get you home, get you home, get you home, get you home¡ª-¡± Conor repeated ad nauseum.

    ¡°Hey, can you hear me?¡± she asked, desperate to know if he was still in there and had not gone mad.

    But the same phrase was all he said.

    Eivaley sank back into her chair and hugged her tail, nervously fidgeting like she had done since she was a hatchling.

    Her conscious screamed at her like a monster, blaming her for this. Eivaley was not so stupid that she could not put two and two together. Until she had injected him, Conor was fine, speaking, yelling, and acting like her champion, doing everything to keep her safe.

    Now he seemed distant, vapid¡ªno, that''s not right, unresponsive and brain dead.

    With an overwhelming sense of guilt, Eivaley stared at him, taking in the horrible details of what she had done. Blood leaked from every orifice, but in the nightmarish trance Conor was in, he did not acknowledge it¡ªnot even the stream pouring out of his eyes.

    Eivaley stewed in fear for Conor''s well-being all the way through the tunnel and into the upper district. If she could, She would trade places with him in a heartbeat; he deserved to live after what he had been through.

    What was she? A spoiled princess fed from a silver platter. He fought for a stranger and let her essentially kill him, all for what? Credits? She would have just given him them if she could have.

    The opulence and regality of the area did not make her glance away from the Human. Conor was all that mattered¡ªnot the towering palace-like mansions, gardens that challenged one another in their grandeur, or streets made of pristine black marble.

    Eivaley quietly spoke to Conor, having heard from her father, the high champion, and her late assigned champion that if someone was injured, talking to them would ensure they were ok and unharmed.

    But that did not make her feel better; he just kept saying he would take her home, each repetition a knife in her throat.

    As if on autopilot, Conor pulled up in front of Nefuril¡¯s estate, the same one Eivaley and her father,  Vuraley, were guests at.

    By the gods, Conor was perfect; he and Brakul really did find her father''s location.

    Nefuril¡¯s estate was massive and covered most of the plateau where the upper district was built.

    A high wall of bleach-white stone marked its boundary; evenly spaced upon its build were bastions of armed sentinels, ensuring the safety of Nefuril and his guests. The wall Barely allowed one to see the towering spires of gold and bronze that grew out of the manor, that and the kilometer-long driveway and thousands of well-pruned and cared-for orchard trees, whose purple flowers swayed gently in the breeze.

    From where Conor had parked, the front gate was visible, and it was just as grand as everything else. It was shaped of gold and made to look like intertwining branches with small creatures Nefuril kept as pets along its bottom.

    Four men stood sentinel before the gate: two Jurintik armed similarly to Conor and two of the Kurlatra royal guard.

    The guard was easy enough to distinguish as her father''s guard based on their flowing red and gold tabards and the long M84 pattern rifles in their grip. The long arms were popular for the royal guard because they were traditional looking, long and simple, but also capable tools, allowing them to both drill and fight with one armament.

    The four guards stopped their conversation and watched Conor leave the UAPC and limp towards Eivaley''s side. They were paying keen attention to the blood-soaked man.

    When Conor got out of the seat, Eivaley could see the 20-centimeter-long piece of scrap sticking out of his back, along with the blood soaking the floor and his seat. With her being able to see that much of the scrap, how much was still inside Conor?

    She called out to him, but he did not react and kept trundling around to her door.

    Using every bit of strength his augmented body could muster, Conor ripped the door off the UAPC, and tossed it away. It impacted the white wall of the manor with a heavy clang.

    ¡°Conor, please sit down,¡± Eivaley nearly begged. ¡°I will get you help.¡±

    As if he did not even hear her cries, the Human held out a hand for her. ¡°Home.¡±

    Eivaley frantically waved at the guards to get their attention before placing her hand in Conor''s. To her surprise, despite his strength to rip the door off the UAPC, he held her hand as gently as one would a baby bird while helping her out of the car. .

    That gave her a glimmer of hope; despite his state, Conor was still being careful with her and sensitive. At least, she hoped it was that.

    ¡°Yeah, let¡¯s go home,¡± Eivaley said once on the ground.

    As they limped forward, she still held his hand and leaned against him, uncaring of the blood oozing out of him.

    Conor, in absolute single-minded focus, limped toward the gate. Holding his charge close. None of this was a conscious action. It was all the effect of him having taken lethal doses of combat stimulants.

    The drug Conor used made you hyper-focus beyond belief. Right now, with next to no blood left and near blind, Conor''s body was acting without his active thought. It was just his ingrained desire to get Eivaley to safety.

    ¡°Princess, by the grace of Huratal, I am glad you are alright. The high champion has been worried sick about you,¡± the younger royal guard said, rushing closer.

    Eivaley knew him well; he was named Rullen. They regularly watched movies together when she snuck out with the ship''s crew or visited their recreation areas.

    ¡°Who is the big guy?¡± Rullen asked, stopping in front of them.

    As if on hearing that someone knew Eivaley and did not mean her harm was a trigger. Conor held her hand up towards Rullen and collapsed onto the duracrete. He made no attempt to arrest his fall or save himself from harm. The two aliens just saw Conor fall to the ground like a puppet with his strings cut.

    ¡°Conor!¡± Eivaley shouted, couching and turning his head toward her.

    Rullen also crouched, but unlike Eivaley, he knew first aid and put a finger to the human''s neck, looking for his pulse. What he felt was confusing. It was so weak he could hardly feel it, or it was so rapid it felt light. Neither was a good thing.

    ¡°Gotali,¡± Rullen shouted at the other guard. ¡°Go get the high champion and Dreva.¡±

    The other royal guard member ran inside without a moment of hesitation.

    ¡°Princess, I need you to step back while I render him first aid,¡± Rullen said, knowing how unpleasant first aid can be, wanting to spare the princess from seeing someone he could tell was important to her possibly die.

    ¡°No!¡± Eivaley hissed, ¡°I¡¯m not leaving¡±

    At the same time, she clutched Conor''s hand in claim but ezed back to give Rullen some space to work.

    ¡°Alright¡ª¡± Rullen sighed, knowing the high champion would not be happy about this. But if Eivaley, the most popular princess in their empire, wanted to stay, he would not stop her.

    Eivaley sniffled and kept talking to the passed-out and dying Human as Rullen began chest compressions.

 Section Twelve: Deal of a Lifetime

    Dreva clawed at her datapad, equally frustrated and confused by what the display was showing her.

    Conor, or whatever this Humans name was, had not taken well to most of the drugs and medication she had administered to him over the last few weeks, and she fully understood why.

    In all her years as the royal doctor or a medical captain in the Kurlatra Imperial Army, no one had ever been this freakishly wired up. If she could not see the Humans'' X-rays and echo-grams, she would not believe someone could be almost half made of metal.

    Dreva would have called Huratal a liar if the goddess had said this was possible, but she was looking at proof, which was as unbelievable as speaking to the ancients.

    While the man''s wiring was a shock, that was not the main thing Dreva initially wondered. She wished to know more than anything where the fifth princess found this cog-head.

    The vast majority of the tech stuffed inside him was in no way a standard off-the-shelf part. They were individual augments designed exactly for him and his needs. If only she had half an idea what even a tenth of the larger components did. By Urla, she would surrender half a year''s wages just to know about the ones intertwined or replacing some of his vital organs.

    If she had that information, all the issues she had been tackling might have been nonexistent.

    Drevan was not a technician by any stretch of the imagination. The most complicated technical thing she had ever done was plug in a microwave. She was a doctor and not a multispecies specialist common in the GU; she was a specialist exclusively in Kurlatra. This Human was constant guesswork.

    The last two weeks had been filled with sleepless nights, near-death experiences of Conor, and more schematics than she could tolerate. At least Isula, the leading ship engineer, could lend her a hand while removing the Human''s arm.

    She would rather shove the Human out of an airlock and go back to just having to check in on the sailor''s health and deal with minor injuries from the Marines'' training.

    Too bad the High Champion and the fifth princess insisted on the Humans'' survival. Both of them were constantly breathing down her neck for updates and information about him¡ªwell, the princess was. It had gotten to the point where Drevan had disconnected her datapad to keep Eivaley from calling her every hour.

    With how the Humans body was trying to rip itself apart, she had to always be in the room, ready to administer enough sedatives to put a fully grown Pulaka in the grave twenty times over. Yet this man was barely kept still by them.

    But all of that was only a temporary solution. Each new medication, and sedative only lasted a day at most. Then Conors augmented organs adapted to them, and they were as helpful as injecting a placebo.

    Drevan had at least one thing going her way in this messed up situation. The nanite therapy she administered the first day to stitch together the broken bones, fileted skin, and the body-wide bruise on her patient.

    Now, other than the light scaring left on Conor''s lower back, you could hardly tell he had been injured. Even his tachycardia had been fixed, which was a notable improvement from when he arrived.

    At the time, Conor''s heart rate was inconsistent. It was either so fast her sensors could hardly detect beating, or it would speed up and slow down regularly. Now, the Human''s heart was at a slow, steady fifty BPM. At least her reading on humans assured her that was in the realm of possibilities, so she would not mess with his heart at this point.

    As she finished her near-hourly check-up on Conor, the Human started mumbling again. He just kept repeating names and apologizing about something. Why he was apologizing to the princess, someone named Brakul, and another named Stitch was beyond her¡ªbut she had seen this enough.

    The Human certainly had some form of PTSD. Even without building a complete psychological profile on him, she could tell that much. Dreva had treated enough warriors haunted by specters to recognize nightmares.

    Sighing, Dreva prepared another injection of Ifuliton, her last sedative, which she had not used on Conor. Once the Human had stopped squirming and calling out to Brakul and Eivaley, she slid back and looked around the room.

    It was just a simple medical room in the intensive care unit on the Lanseak Brigandul class ship. There was nothing in the sterile white room that would help her restrain Conor once he awakens.

    While yes she hoped he would not flip out and attack everyone and everything when he wakes up, she knows Conor overdosed on Zurega. When he wakes up, Conor will likely try to kill everyone; either that, or he will be as docile as a newborn kit. Honestly, the jury was up on that because Zurega was not designed with humans in mind.

    She messaged the High Champion and informed him of the situation. That Conor would have to be restrained shortly, and how she had nothing to keep him in a coma. And to keep her own ass covered, she detailed that with Conor''s particular situation, what would happen when he awakes is entirely unknown.

    It took a few minutes, but the High Champion messaged her back and told her he and the royal guard would be down there to transport him and her to the brig. He explained that at least there, he and Conor could have a talk once Conor calmed down from his overdose.

    ¡ª

    Conor awakening from the medically induced entombment he had been in for the last several weeks was a long process, even for his wired-up body. Though for his conscious mind, he had only passed out in the middle of their escape from Heavalun a few minutes earlier.

    Every moment since he passed out after leaping into the Heavalun River, each fading moment of lucidity and the long periods of dreaming were bursting at the seams with nightmares beyond any he had ever experienced. None of the snapping specters of his past could hold a candle to the weighing guilt these ghasts made him feel.

    There was a steady mixture of the sights, sounds, and smells of long-forgotten battles on distant worlds and more recent and vivid failures.

    The old memories were filled to the brim with flayed corpses, sobbing warriors, desperate hostages, begging locals, and mangled former allies barely clinging to life.

    The vast majority of the haunting events were things Conor had long since made his peace with. While being reminded of them in vivid detail was not enjoyable, it was tolerable for him.

    Those memories would have undoubtedly brought a lesser man to the brink of clearing out their grape with a blaster bolt¡ªbut not Conor.

    The thing about the dreams that slid knives across his soul was the more recent failures; they were violent and ready for him.

    Smoke-crafted specters of Brakul, Stitch, and Eivaley berated and insulted Conor''s ability to fight and save them. He was not good enough to save them, fast enough, strong enough, a good enough friend, brother, son, or champion.

    While those uncountable methods were painful to hear, one dream repeated like a broken record¡ªenough so Conor would never forget its sights and sounds until he met Urla.

    The dream would begin with Conor running down the streets of Heavalun, the same one that he had been doing so to rush to save Brakul. It was surreal how accurately the dream began; nothing was different. The cars were in the same spot, Voodals gangers were there, and he slaughtered them just as he had in real life. One searing blaster bolt at a time.

    Everything changed once he rounded the corner after dusting the group behind the barricades. A vile, smokey darkness enveloped the world, shoving Conor to his knees and ripping all breath from him.

    As Conor gasped in the acrid air, his weapons would crumble to dust in his hand.

    Moments before the darkness fully enveloped him and caused his death, an echoing, commanding, yet oh-so-familial chuckle pushed away the darkness.

    ¡°You know, when we got out of the gutter, this is not how I saw all this going.¡± Brakuls voice boomed from all corners of the world, carving into Conor like icy blades.

    While sucking in a gasping breath, Conor looked up and saw the figure of Brakul and Stitch standing only a few meters away. But something was wrong with them. It was like they were made out of hard light¡ªthat was smoking.

    Billowing vapor as black as coal whipped around their bodies and trailed each motion they made. The two specters whisted closer until they were on each side of Conor. Then, the torment began.

    Brakul put his foot atop Conor and effortlessly shoved him to the ground. ¡°By Urla, I should have just let you go feral. It would have saved me trouble.¡±

    Pushing against the ground, Conor struggled to move under Brakul''s weight. His pseudo-father''s words felt like a hammer battering his being, forcing him down more. That made frustrating sense to Conor. Brakul was always the one who succeeded effortlessly. Conor was the one who had to struggle to get anywhere¡ªwhy would his dreams be any different from reality?

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong? Can''t make the grade again?¡± Brakul mocked.

    Conor attempted to reply, but no words escaped his lips. It was like they were being absorbed into the cold void of Heavaluns'' streets, decaying and vanishing into obscurity, just like countless souls did daily.

    At the same time, Stitch grabbed hold of Conor''s metal arm at the base and pulled it out as effortlessly as breathing. Unlike usual, when Stitch removed his arm for repairs, the base around Conor''s shoulder and chest all came off.

    Burning agony shot through Conor''s body as his skin, nerve, and nerve endings were slowly pulled apart. After a grueling few moments, the spine-chilling sound of snapping bone cracked like a whip, sending fiery pain through him as the cold air caressed open nerves.

    ¡°You know when I installed this, and the rest of your tech, I thought of it as an investment into my safety. Look at what that got me,¡± Stitch said, looking at the dangling pink nerve endings hanging from the metal arms union point, seemingly fascinated by the masterful union of man and metal he had created.

    ¡°But we all make mistakes¡ªyou especially; I mean, just look at what you let happen to her.¡± Stitch finished, pointing a bloody finger in front of Conor.

    ¡°Yeah, Champion, take a good long look at your handiwork,¡± Brakul snarled, yanking on Conor''s fiery hair and making him look toward Eivaley¡ªor at least the horrible specter mimicking that gorgeous woman.

    Eivaley listlessly swayed back and forth like a wheat shoot in a summer''s breeze. The dim light glistened off her nude form, accentuating everything wrong with her; the woman Conor found breathtaking to the point if she asked him to give her the clothes on his back, he would without hesitation.

    Now though¡ªnone of that woman were within the flesh of this ghoul. She had been battered, marred, and defiled.

    Ribbons of scaled skin hung off her now bony frame, detritus flickering out of ripped silken robes and falling to the ground around her.

    By Ural, she was skin and bones. Every rib and angular line of her skelature was plainly visible. She winced and struggled as uncountable wounds across her body dripped blood and offered a clear view of lacerated maggot-filled muscles.

    Her look was horrific; Eivley''s specter looked like a walking corpse. While that was visible, it made Conor feel a noose tightening on his neck; what truly got to him was what the corpse lacked.

    Eyes.

    Instead of her typical hypnotic gems, two voids of black of all-consuming and incomprehensibly intimidating depth as the long stretches of nothingness between hospitable planetoids stared back.

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

    Despite being unable to emote, those hollowed-out voids somehow communicated an infectious betrayed gaze that weighed the human soul.

    ¡°To think I trusted you!¡± Eivaley hissed, stamping her foot, a large section of her digitigrade leg slopping off and onto the ground. ¡°But look at what you let happen.¡±

    A sinking guild filled Conor''s mind. As hard as he tried to save her, he failed. This had to be Urla''s judgment of his soul. The god laid out all of Conor''s sins to bear against him, the most recent being his greatest.

    ¡°Please, I did not¡ª¡± Conor Started, but Brakul shoved his face into the deck, crushing his nose with a horrific snap.

    ¡°Shut the fuck up, mutt,¡± Brakul growled, wrenching Conor''s head back up, letting blood flow out his nose.

    ¡°I was ready to give it all to you. I would have taken you all away from Heavalun. But you¡ª let Voodal kill me. Some champion you turned out to be,¡± Eivaley chastised, stepping closer and letting more flesh fall to the ground, revealing white bone.

    ¡°Come on, hero, save her,¡± Brakul sniggered, lifting Conor by the hair and tossing him toward Eivaley.

    With a loud slap, Conor''s body barreled through Eivaley, crushing her under his weight. Eivaleys blood soaked Conor''s skin and left a trail as he settled several meters past her during his tumble.

    Conor scrambled from the ground and rushed to her mangled body. Eivaley looked vapidly toward the sky, her chest crushed and the remainder of her twisted at unnatural, grotesque angles.

    ¡°It¡¯s ok, I got you,¡± Conor said, reaching out toward her head so she could look at him. Her vapid blank eyeholes be damned, he needed to look at her and assure his charge it would all be ok.

    The moment Conor''s hand touched Eivaley''s cheek, it disintegrated into ash. In a panic, Conor scrambled and grabbed at her hand, much to the same effect. Eivaley did not give a word, whimper, or spare him a glance as she faded away, leaving him entirely alone.

    That was the last thing Conor could remember about the nightmare because that was where it began again. It repeated again and again, like a broken record for what felt like a millennium.

    All Conor wanted as Urla thrust his failures upon him was not to have failed her. To have kept Eivaley safe. She deserved that much. Conor was just not good enough. And she suffered for it.

    ¡°Are you awake yet?¡± A booming commandment echoed out as Conor unsealed his eyes and grunted in pain in front of the sudden wash of light.

    Conor squinted, shielding his eyes from the light, ¡°I¡¯m dead; it¡¯s not like being speedy matters,¡± he growled, still genuinely believing he had died in Heavalun and this was some kind of afterlife. Conor had yet to see whether it was Urla¡¯s or some other god, but he had plenty of time¡ªit wasn¡¯t like he could return to the mortal coil.

    ¡°Well, you aren''t dead. So get up,¡± The voice replied.

    Something about the voice was odd. It was not commanding like Brakul or himself, but it oozed a reserved confidence. It was a type Conor had seen a few times with sentients around Heavalun. As such, Conor knew one thing about wherever was talking; they must have loads of experience.

    Every fiber of Conor''s muscles screamed in agony when he attempted to sit up and take stock of his new captor and the situation he was landing waist-deep in. For all he knew, Conor was dragged out of the Up-armored and into the old city''s deepest reaches, waiting for Voodal to come and skin him alive.

    Down in those tunnels, not even the Zlit rats wanted anything to do with your corpse.

    As he sat upright, it was as if his metal arm had phased through the bed, causing him to collapse back to its hard, unwelcoming surface.

    ¡°Oh yeah, we had to remove your arm. Something about that, without a drug, it would rip you apart once you woke up. So take it easy,¡± The voice said, with a cruel chuckle at the end.

    Well, at least that told Conor this person had no intention of killing him. They would not have warned him nor have gone through the trouble of disconnecting the limb if they wanted him dead. It also informed Conor of another detail: the length of time he had been out for.

    If his augments risked killing him, he must have been out for at least a week. That meant he needed to slow down and treat each motion like it would split him in half. Not having his arm was safer than having it, but his musculature was so wired up that each fiber fired on all cylinders constantly that it made little difference.

    Hopefully they still had some of Stitch¡¯s cocktail he could use.

    Conor sat back up, moving at a painfully slow pace after years of his augments moving faster and with more force than naturally possible for any human.

    Slowly scanning the room, Conor confirmed a thought that crawled into his mind once he hit the hard mattress. He was in a prison cell of some kind.

    The room was no bigger than a transport conex box. If Conor had both of his arms, he could touch all the walls while standing in the center. Cramped into that space were the bed, a toilet, a sink, and a small desk, leaving no real room for anything else. At least he knew this was not Heavaluns'' prison. That panopticon had no toilet or desk but was roomier than this.

    On the other side of a shimmering hard-light barrier sat a man Conor had not met before but was well aware of because of the research into Eivaley Brakul had conducted. Vuraley, the High Champion of the Kurlatra Empire, and Eivaleys, dear old dad, or as she referred to the man daddy.

    Vuraley was everything Conor had imagined he would be and then some. Granted, all he had to go on was a mugshot and publicly available information on the man. But that information told him the man had thwarted dozens, if not hundreds, of assassination, attempts against the Kurlatra empress and fought on more battlefields than there were stars in the sky.

    That insurmountable experience showed in the confident presence that poured off the man. It was not angelic or caring as one would expect of Urla or her angels. No, this burned like fire yet was as controlled as the blade of a Shelak monk.

    The High Champion looked to be about as tall as Conor and was even more of a bruiser. His heavy muscle mass pressed tightly against what looked like meant-to-be loose-fitting trousers.

    The top of his V-tapered torso was wrapped in a set of golden half-plate with sleek matching pauldrons and vambraces. How a monster as large as him could fit into that without busting the metal open like a tin can was beyond Conor, but apparently, his armorer found a way.

    But considering the Kurlatras'' technological capabilities, Conor doubted the armor was as simple as it appeared. The armor likely was some kind of power suit, which, if it were the case, could mean a myriad of things.

    Vuraley could have enhanced speed, strength, volt shielding, or plasmitic repulsers, to name a few. In many ways, power armor and suits were used by non-augments to bridge the gap between them and people like Conor. Most people just could not afford the ludicrously expensive pieces of kit.

    Vuraley leaned forward, and his dark scales shimmered in the light. Unlike Eivaley, whose scales were as red as the most vibrant ruby, Vuraley''s were such a dark crimson that they appeared nearly black.

    Like his daughter, Vuraley sported emerald eyes that held a discerning disposition, cutting through Conor and staring into his soul. But unlike her, whatever he saw he must not like. That was evident in how his hand groped at the odd pistol on his hip.

    Apparently even with the hard-light barrier, the man was weary of Conor.

    Conor¡¯s eyes slowly shifted from Vuraley¡¯s to the weapon and tried to piece together what it was. The pistol had three sharp prongs mounted around a polished golden crystal. It somewhat resembled the plas-casters the Coheliks used, but those only had two prongs and had that odd spiralling grip. This had a handle that looked like a push saw with a trigger.

    ¡°So what do you want?¡± Conor asked, looking up from the weapon and back at Vuraley.

    ¡°To talk to you and have you answer some questions,¡± Vuraley smirked.

    ¡°Well, that''s wonderful, but before that, I have a question,¡± Conor said, standing up and walking toward the light barrier, the dull hum of it getting louder as he approached.

    Vuraley looked up and raised a brow, pausing to consider Conor. With his head raised, Conor got a look at something interesting about the man. On his neck was a ghost-white design that resembled a coiled serpent. The scales in the design were easy enough to see because of the colors and because they were not in line with his own scales.

    Conor did not know that Eivaleys'' species could get tattoos, nor was he aware that they performed any body-modding other than piercings. The little gold rings in the small horns running up Eivaley''s snout were evidence of that.

    ¡°Oh, and what might that be?¡± Vuraley sniggered, giving the Human some concession.

    ¡°Where is she?¡± Conor almost growled.

    Vuraley chuckled in response, and his entire demeanor shifted. He let go of his weapon and set back to lounge. ¡°That was not what I assumed you would have asked. I was expecting you to ask for money for getting her to us.¡±

    Conor paused momentarily, realizing that he had not even considered money. What the fuck? He always cared about money¡ªif it did not get him crit, he would never have done anything over the last few years. Why was the first thing he asked about her?

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, she is safe. She is on her ship and following ours while we are jumping to the GU border,¡± Vuraley explained, not letting Conor dwell on the idea he asked about the little princess first thing. Instead, Vuraley looked up toward the ceiling and sighed. ¡°You know she has been asking about you every day constantly¡ªyou must have made some impression.¡±

    Did he make an impression? Fuck yeah, he did. Conor got her out of a warzone, had her legs weak, and was watching over her for several days. She better have an appreciation for him.

    ¡°I¡¯m just glad to know she is safe,¡± Conor sighed, letting the tension of the dream and her death fade. At least that was one of the three in his dream who was still alive. He could do nothing for Brakul or Stitch at this point. But at least he did not fail her.

    ¡°Well, now that you do. I need to know something from you,¡± Vuraley said, leaning on his knees and gesturing back to the bed so Conor could sit. ¡°I need to know what happened down there.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not getting out of here if I don¡¯t tell you, will I?¡± Conor sighed, not wanting to relive those fresh memories.

    ¡°We will dump you somewhere if you refuse. But if you want to see my daughter again. You will tell me.¡± Vuraley hissed, two fangs shimmering in the light, venom dripping from them. ¡°Now tell me.¡±

    Conor scratched the back of his head and considered it for a mere heartbeat. Yeah, he could start again on a new distant planet. But who knew how well that would go? He would need more stims made and would only have whatever Vuraley let him have¡ªeither way, he needed to tell the man the truth, whether he was doing this to see Eivaley again or not.

    ¡°Alright, but I want my stuff blacked,¡± Conor sighed, sitting on the cold metal floor next to the barrier before explaining the last two weeks on Heavalun and what went on.

    Conor spent the next hour explaining everything that had happened, from how he and Brakul spotted Eivaley and her entourage being attacked to how they extracted her in hopes of getting money.

    Then he explained her treatment by stitch and the follow-up days before Voodal attacked, and Brakul and stitch died. Conor also mentioned that he thinks someone might be out to assassinate Eivaley, but Vuraley seemed disturbingly unsurprised by that.

    By Urla, Conor even explained how Eivaley and he almost fucked. It wasn¡¯t like Conor genuinely cared whether the man was royalty or her father. He asked for everything to be explained, so Conor did just that.

    For the most part, Vuraley seemed unphased by anything Conor said. He simply nodded and took it all in. The only shift in his expression was when Conor mentioned his and Eivaley''s hookup. But it wasn¡¯t angry or anything; no, he seemed curious and looked at Conor like he was uncertain of something.

    Once Conor had explained all of that, Vuraley sat silently for a few moments. He pulled out a datapad and sent a message to someone before sighing and looking back at Conor with a smile.

    ¡°While I can¡¯t say I appreciate you taking her in the hopes of getting money. In an odd roundabout way, you saved her in the end. So thank you for helping her,¡± Vuraley admitted.

    Conor nodded and watched as Vuraley stood up and approached the edge of the barrier. He reached out and pressed his palm into a section of the wall Conor could not see. He paused for several moments, then looked back at Conor. His expression was filled with a palpable mixture of fear and hesitance. ¡°Tell me, do you want a job? With my daughter''s assigned champion having died, she needs a new one.¡±

    ¡°What, you want me to be her champion like she asked?¡± Conor questioned.

    ¡°No, I am asking if I can hire you to be her bodyguard and assigned champion. You, being her actual champion, is between you and her,¡± Vuraley hissed, something still bugging him about the situation at hand.

    ¡°Why the hell would you hire me? I am falling apart without my medication. I kidnapped your daughter and can¡¯t even save my friends,¡± Conor belittled himself.

    Vuraley ran his hand along the wall, and the light barrier faded into nothingness. He stepped over and loomed over Conor, still on the deck. ¡°Because She wants it. And I can¡¯t tell my little girl no.¡±

    Oh that is just precious. The war veteran is weak to his daughter. That was something Conor had not expected but would not deny it could help him.

    ¡°Tell me, what is in it for me?¡± Conor asked, standing up and looking Vuraley eye to eye, chest to chest, man to man, warrior to warrior.

    They held one another''s burning gaze like two boxers, ready to square off, waiting for the other to flinch or show the slightest hesitation. But neither did.

    ¡°I can get you on payroll, into the GU, your precious stims, and of course, you will get to be around Eivaley,¡± Vuraley said without hesitation, patting Connors'' shoulder. It was a gesture Conor had felt from Brakul when he coached him on things; feeling it from this man felt calming, welcoming, and noncombative.

    That was not a bad deal. It would take Conor far longer than he likely had to get more stims. Plus a payroll, meaning constant pay, no more contracts or odd jobs¡ª-who doesn¡¯t want that?

    Then there was Eivaley. The idea of her being around more, teasing him, and letting him tease her was mouth-watering. He could not deny that he would like that.

    ¡°But there is one thing I need from you. Eivaley needs to explain to you what she tried to do by claiming you because that was stepping over a line,¡± Vuraley said, stepping back from Conor.

    ¡°What the hell do you mean it was just sex,¡± Conor shrugged with his one arm.

    ¡°No, it was not,¡± Vuraley rolled his eyes. ¡°It has more meaning than that, especially if she told you to be her champion.¡±

    Conor considered the concept of it meaning more than that but did not do so for long. It''s not like lingering on that would matter. And Vuraley certainly was the type who would ever explain. He would have to ask Eivaley.

    ¡°Alright, but what if I want to not stay forever?¡± Conor asked.

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, it¡¯s just temporary. Unless you become Eivaley¡¯s champion,¡± Vuraley assured, looking down the hallway at green-scaled Kurlatra, who had just rounded the corner, a large cart being pushed in front of them. ¡°Ah, there is the doctor now. So what is your answer?¡± He said, looking back at Conor.

    Conor sighed and weighed everything but could not think of any reason this was not his best option. Sure, he did not know Vuraley or the Kurlatra, but he trusted Eivaley. Something about that woman just put him at ease.

    ¡°I want to see a contract in writing,¡± Conor said, pulling out a lesson from Brakul.

    ¡°I can do that; now, come on. Dreva has your stims and will have to reinstall your arm,¡± Vuraley replied, walking down the hallway.

    Conor followed, and once he heard the doctor asking why he was out of the cell, he figured out something.

    Vuraley knew he would say yes. As if the High Champion could read Conor''s mind, he looked over his shoulder at the human and gave the most shit-eating smirk he had ever seen

 Section Thirteen: Customs

    ¡°By Urla, why do I care?¡± Conor groaned, leaning back in the chair and looking away from Vuraley and the presentation he had been forcing down his throat for the last half hour.

    Most of what the Kurlatra man had been explaining was about the Kurlatra culture, briefing him on the city and other details about what to expect when they arrived at the GU border.

    Most of it, Conor had completely tuned out. Why did he care about the gods of Kurlatra and the extensive history of the ancient city where the royal palace had been built? He especially did not care about what was supposed to happen at the GU checkpoint. The high champion had assured Conor he would not have to do anything for the event, so he planned to fade into the background and not be spotted.

    The only thing Vuraley seemed to not want to cover was exactly why Eivaley and him almost fucking was wrong. He still insisted that his daughter needed to broach that topic.

    He was interested in why getting his rocks off was a bad thing. Who cared if they fucked? It wasn¡¯t like it would have been more than a good time for the two. And Vuraley¡¯s demeanor certainly showed that it did not involve Eivaley being his daughter. It seemed like that was the case, at least.

    The other thing Conor cared about was what he was meant to do as an assigned champion. At least the tight-lipped lizard was willing to explain that to him. As an assigned champion, Conor was charged with Eivaley''s safety and was to assist her with tasks from the empress.

    However, Conor''s primary role is to shield Eivaley from sororicide until Eivaley becomes a champion of her own.

    Apparently, in Kurlatra culture, the inheritor of the role of the empress was always the first princess. Because of this, any of the daughters lower on the totem pole would regularly kill those higher to move up in the ranking.

    The part about their odd succession ritual that Conor could not wrap his head around was that it was perfectly acceptable. Growing up in the gutter, Conor never had much of a family, but he had always assumed you should support one another, keep each other safe from threats, and not have to look over your shoulder for a knife or check your food for poison.

    Urla knew he and Brakul had done that for one another plenty of times while growing up. Would these people not want to do the same?

    At least, according to Vuraley, Eivaley did not seem to show interest in the practice and simply ignored its existence entirely or openly hated it. A behavior that made her exceptionally popular with her family and the local populace,

    While Conor had not been able to speak to her to confirm this, he certainly planned on watching everything like a hawk, detailing the claims'' legitimacy and shielding her from any threat.

    Conor had already almost died for Eivaley in several ways, not to include what might as well have been a failed suicide attempt, and was not about to let something as stupid as a jealous sister put all his hard work to waste. They would fucking rot in Urla¡¯s dark pits before he would let that happen.

    Conor had yet to let the feelings of Brakul and Stitch¡¯s death boil to the surface, but he had been a bit more snippy than usual since his friend''s death. He tried to keep things prompt if the conversation was not vital or helpful to him.

    ¡°You know it is refreshing to have someone who does not care about my role in society,¡± Vuraley replied, turning around from the projected screen and ignoring Conor griping yet again.

    ¡°That¡¯s not what I asked,¡± Conor rolled his eyes.

    ¡°Yes, but you would not have heard me out as you have over the last week,¡± Vuraley pointed at Conor and the two men he had assigned to trail Conor from the shadows and failed. ¡°Levitus knows I told you to leave people alone, yet here they are.¡±

    Vuraley was unsure if he would punish the duo for failing so severely; they both had life coils on their necks and ladies at home. The last thing he needed to do was to condemn their families to that strife.

    As it stands now, if he chose to reprimand them, it could not be too severe. Something simple like cleaning latrines for a month or a slight pay cut would do. He could also assign them under Conor if the Human officially becomes the fourth champion.

    It had been a week since Conor had woken up on Vuraleys ship. Since then, most of his time was spent with that oddly skittish doctor, eating, sleeping, or avoiding the stares of the crew and the pair of guards that tailed him while traveling around the ship.

    The two likely thought Conor had no idea they were there until he had waited around a blind corner and confronted them. For their credit, they did not seem too shocked at the massive Human a breath away at the time.

    Vitul and Cur''sh, the two guards, lounged in another pair of chairs nearby. After being caught, they had given up on subterfuge, seeing no point in doing anything other than hanging out with who they saw as another soldier. Their black uniforms were disheveled, and they were stuffing their faces with snacks.

    These two were, without a doubt, marvels of the Kurlatra royal guard. How a pair of slackers like them managed to pass the grueling physical and mental examination to be on this ship was beyond him¨Cbut he did confirm they indeed did pass.

    But they were not Vuraley''s concern or reason for losing sleep. No, that blessing befell Conor, who was disappointingly acting much like them.

    To put it lightly, Conor''s adaptation to being an assigned champion was not going well. While yes, he could fight and keep Eivaley safe, that was evident in their few sparing matches, as well as his time on the shooting range. That still only slightly made overlooking the man''s lack of social grace palatable.

    The idea of Conor as he was interacting with the royals of the Kurlatra or even meeting his wife, Fureli, was horrifying. Vuraley could already picture the Human insulting long-standing allies, being an unruly animal around his wife, or even just killing someone who so much as insulted his daughter.

    While he could forgive the killing or hurting people, a Champion was expected to defend their lady''s honor. He might just go a few rounds with the Human in sparing to even things out if Fureli was insulted by his reckless nature.

    The thing that Vuraley wondered about as Conor stole a bag of chips from the guards next to him was. How Conor would affect the tentative relationship and politics that had been forming in the palace the last few years was anyone''s guess.

    Eivaley was undoubtedly the most popular princess, especially in the public eye, because of her drastic departure from the norm of potential empresses'' expected behavior.

    Unlike her sisters, who were utterly stuck up, self-centered, and dreaming of climbing the ladder for the spot at empress, Eivaley was softer, more caring, and generally looked outside of the palace and royalty for validation and interactions.

    Vuraley had no idea that his little girl''s initial curiosities about how the common man lived would have led her to run more outreach and charity programs than the rest of her 16 surviving sisters combined. Nor could he have foreseen most of the Kurlatra race desiring her to be the next empress.

    With recent political developments involving the GU and many people of the Kurlatra desiring to fully integrate into the GU and no longer be a satellite state, the common man has almost begun to see Eivaley as the potential empress who would see that future made true.

    It''s too bad for all of them. Eivaley seemed more keen on keeping her head down and only wanting to work on her projects or spend time with her sisters and their champions. Perhaps something had changed. Vitus knew Vuraley hoped not; he had buried enough of his daughters and sons over the years.

    For now, neither the ghosts of the past nor the questions of what his daughter was thinking were relevant. Conor was not going to listen to anything else Vuraley said. Their classes lasted at most half an hour to an hour before boredom overtook the Human, and he started wasting time with the two failed guards.

    Glancing down at his watch, Vuraley noted that less than an hour had passed since the royal fleet reached the GU border, and they would all have to go through customs.

    Conor was officially on their rosters as a member of the royal guard and would have a certain amount of diplomatic immunity, but the response from the Customs officer regarding that they had a Human that Earth had no record of was concerning. According to the Captain, they seemed almost angry about learning about the odd Human they had onboard.

    ¡°Well, it is fine for now. Come on, we all have to go get ready for the customs officers,¡± Vuraley informed the trio, shutting off the projector and straightening out his gilded armor.

    Apparently, the three were far more alike than Vuraley had initially thought. The moment he told them this, all three groaned, complained, and asked if they had to get out of it. Their similarities were something even they noticed. They shared a glance, laughed, and went to get their gear.

    ¡ª

    The expansive hanger was filled to the brim with fighter and transport aircraft, each sleek and designed for speed. While Conor had seen many species'' different take on space to surface craft, these were unique beasts.

    They were slender, long, and covered in paint as black as the starless sky. Without the weapons racks on the ground near the fighters or the opened panels of the transports, it would be difficult to determine if they were ready to fly.

    Hundreds, if not thousands, of the ship''s crew, soldiers, and their families were in rows running from one end of the hanger bay to the other. Each had their equipment and personal items laid out in front of them, displayed clearly so each item could be seen at a glance.

    While the Kurlatra waited, they messed around on their datapads, talked to one another about unimportant topics, and the families excitedly planned their long-awaited return home. They had been away from their homes for almost two months. That time was filled with work, travel, and the recent developments on Heavalun.

    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    Conor keyed into those voices mixed in with the cacophony filling the voluminous space as he passed them and moved toward the back of the hanger, next to where Vuraley, the captain, and other high-ranking members of the ship were. Hearing them made him almost gag. What was wrong with these people? They were talking about going out visiting brothers, aunts, cousins, and sisters like it was a grand and fun event. It all made no sense.

    The sisters were trying to kill one another. Why would any of them ever feel safe around one another? Conor was already trying to plan how to fit Eivaley with his own Nanoflax armor and teach her to shoot a gun. At least then, she could hopefully defend herself if he was separated from her.

    The other thing that annoyed him as he passed by was the side-eye glances the Kurlatra kept giving him. Because he was a Human, a good chunk of them did not trust him. They would constantly whisper behind his back, speaking about how he tricked Eivaley or was a gutter rat looking for a come-up. Even the Doctor he saw every day and her assistant whispered behind his back.

    Fuck them. They knew nothing about what Brakul, Stitch, or himself gave up to survive on Heavalun. If Vuraley had not already told him not to kill or fight random crewmates after he fed one of his teeth three days ago, he would still be beating them into a paste when they talked shit about him¡ª-or dared to insult Eivaley for wanting him around.

    ¡°How much longer?¡± Conor sighed, dropping his gear between Vitul and Cur¡¯sh, who Vuraley had decided needed to be here.

    ¡°Not too much longer, Fifth Champion,¡± Cur¡¯sh replied while unzipping his bag and removing its contents.

    ¡°Hey now, he is not the Champion yet,¡± Vitul chuckled, elbowing Conor''s flank. ¡°He and Miss Eivaley still have not sealed that deal.¡±

    Conor rolled his eyes and went back to unpacking his own gear. Over the last week, he had heard that exact line from plenty of the crew. They made it clear Conor was not a Champion; he was just a stop-gap mercenary and outsider who did not understand their way of life or deserve someone like the fifth princess.

    At the bare minimum, their teasing let Conor piece together a bit about what his and Eivaley having sex would mean. It was some kind of ceremony or rite of passage. But he still had no idea what it had to do with the coils on their necks or how it would affect Eivaley. He would ask her later.

    ¡°I don¡¯t get why we have to do all of this,¡± Conor complained, gesturing at the hanger bay as a whole. ¡°Why don¡¯t we jump straight through or avoid them by slinging around a non-pop system?¡±

    ¡°The GU just wants to make sure nothing illegal comes through, or if it''s regulated, they have documentation of it. Have you never gone through a customs checkpoint before?¡± Cur¡¯sh said, looking confused at Conor, likely thinking back to the stories the three of them had shared about when Conor had traveled to systems away from Heavalon.

    ¡°Never the legal way,¡± Conor shrugged, earning him a chuckle from his two guards.

    They did not need Conor to elaborate any further. They all understood that meant he either smuggled past checkpoints, bribed officers to look away, or, on occasion, shot his way through.

    ¡°Well, this will be a great chance for you to learn how things are properly done,¡± Vuraley laughed, stepping closer, having abandoned his conversation with the ship''s captain and his mates.

    ¡°Yeah, sure,¡± Conor replied, unloading the last of his guns and laying them out on the ground. ¡°I doubt they will be thrilled to learn I am here. I have kinda done gigs on their side of the border.¡±

    Conor had conducted operations within the GU several times. They were messy, brutal snatch-and-grabs or assassination missions. While he had attempted to be subtle and use tech to conceal his identity, most of the GU was such an overbearing surveillance state that he doubted his identity was unknown.

    It was incredibly likely that the INPIC(Interplanetary Investigation Core) had a substantial force on the lookout for him. That would be especially true because Conor dusted one of the GU council members after they refused to pay for working in Heavalun.

    Vuraley patted Conor''s shoulder and looked at the crowd of soldiers. He held his tongue about how Conor had pieced together the GU¡¯s lack of thrill for an unrelated reason to what he knew, but the man still wanted to assure the Human. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about that I have already worked that out.¡±

    Conor had no idea what that meant, but he had seen enough of the privileges of those with money and influence that Vuraley''s ability to get him off the hook or shield him from the INPIC was a surprise.

    Not long before, the Captain''s voice boomed and drew everyone''s attention in an instant.   His roar of command demanded that they wait next to their equipment as the GU customs officials arrived and were about to start their inspections.

    Following his announcement, the Kurlatra fell silent and watched as he and Vuraley went to the far side of the hanger and unlocked the airlock to the sub-hanger, where arriving ships could land safely. As the large bay doors parted, Conor got a good look at the group working this section of Customs.

    A group of almost a dozen Humans stood in a semicircle, with a young-looking blonde woman front and center. They all wore simple grey and black uniforms and carried small satchels on their hips. Overall, they looked about as official as possible.

    That they were all Humans was a curiosity to Conor. He had never seen another Human, so almost a dozen of them in one place was a bit of an eye-raiser.

    The blonde stepped from the group and began speaking to both the Captain and the First Champion as though they were beneath her. Conor raised an eyebrow when the two impressive Kurlatra men lowered their heads, nodded along, and made no arguments as the rest of the humans shoved their way past them and began to work down the rows of waiting troopers.  The two could easily crush the puny Human; why in Urla''s name were they taking her guff? Was she essential or something beyond just being a customs official?

    Each of the other customs officers was prompt, clean, and commanding, performing their duties with the attentiveness of an individual diffusing a live bomb. They carefully inspected each person''s belongings and checked them against the provided rosters.

    Following that, they used small hand-held echo scanners to ensure nothing was hidden inside each of the items or nestled inside any of the Kurlatra. Echo scanners were a piece of tech Conor tended to avoid. They were incredibly accurate and did work for what they needed to do. The GU even had some large enough to scan entire ships all at once.

    Conor simply did not like them because they interfered with some of the more sensitive tech in his body. Whenever he was hit by one of those scanners, it felt like insects crawled under his skin. While it was not lethal and always passed, he still was not a fan.

    As Conor watched the officers slowly work their way up the rows, Vuraley and the Captain worked their way back with the odd little blonde and another Human male in tow.

    As they neared, the woman''s blue eyes keenly scanned him, like she was judging a marvel that should not be. ¡°So this is him?¡± she said, popping out a hip and gesturing at Conor.

    ¡°Do you see any other Humans?¡± Vuraley rolled his eyes while the Captain and the other Human went and checked the rest of the ship''s lead entourage equipment.

    ¡°No, but you telling me you have a Human within your royal entourage was odd enough. Then, him being a special case beyond that was something else.¡± She continued picking apart Conor''s every detail with a keen eye. ¡°That and looking at him and his gear that did not cover anything about what he truly was.¡±

    ¡°What exactly is that supposed to mean?¡± Conor growled, not liking the near hiss at the end of her words.

    While Conor might genetically be a Human, he was raised by a Jurintik, and his habit of growling, baring his teeth, and being overly aggressive had been built into his mind. The alien-like behavior was something she clearly was not ready for.

    She paused, swallowed her spit, and stepped back slightly. ¡°Well, it just seems you are more metal than man. Where are you from?¡±

    Conor activated his thermal vision and assessed the odd little woman. She appeared unarmed and unprepared to fight him if she was a part of INPIC. There was no sign of any weapon on her, just the steady warmth of her blood pumping with frantic heartbeats. But that did not mean she was not a cyborg like him. She could have something concealed beneath her skin.

    ¡°Heavalun,¡± Conor replied, keeping his metal hand open, ready to lash out at her.

    ¡°No, no, no. Not where you all are coming from, like where on Earth are you from, and how did you end up?¡± She started but almost scowled, then gestured up and down and Conor. ¡°Like this.¡±

    ¡°I mean just that, I am from Heavalun. Born, raised, and repaired,¡± Conor replied,

    ¡°So you have never been to Earth?¡± She questioned, looking toward Vuraley as if he would clarify.

    ¡°Never have, and I¡¯m not interested in going,¡± Conor sighed, not enjoying this conversation.

    Conor had spoken to other aliens plenty of times over the years. Explaining repeatedly that he felt no loyalty to Humanity, or most aliens at all for that matter, was tiresome. ¡°Urla does more for me than other Humans ever have.¡±

    That earned Conor a deep scowl. Undoubtedly, this woman likely had drank the Kool-Aid that the GU had been selling Humanity for the last few hundred years and their other species for countless millennia before that. Rely on us, and we will provide all you need. But that grace was limited, and Conor just played his hand by invoking Urla.

    While Urla was a god spread throughout the Galaxy, worship of her was an indicator of someone born and raised in the COS. The GU had more of a subtle meld of religion or a healthy respect for the idea of live and let live, so long as your faith and culture fit within their narrow existence.

    You can just ask Aviex how the GU treats the culture of those who do not fit neatly within their narrow mold of what it means to be a good galactic neighbor¡ªif you can find any of them left alive.

    Not letting the woman have a chance to respond, Conor crouched and gestured at all of his weapons. ¡°Can we get this inspection over with? I have other shit to do.¡±

    Conor didn¡¯t want to talk to this human about where he was from, or what he had done in the past. Namely, because she was a Customs official, but the way she looked at him just pissed Conor off.

    She wasn¡¯t looking at Conor like a person or someone with whom she shared any kinship. The way her eyes plucked at his arm and metal jaw, it was like she was trying to take them apart in her head.

    Apparently, Vuraley and the other Kurlatra found Conor¡¯s lack of empathy for the Human entertaining because anyone within earshot either chuckled or glanced in his direction to watch the show.

    ¡°There is no need,¡± The blonde said, looking down at Conor''s gear. ¡°Everything you have in and around you is approved under the dividends given to the Royal Courtier of the Kurlatra.¡±

    ¡°A what?¡± Conor asked, not knowing that word.

    She rolled her eyes and gestured up and down at the row Kurlatra Conor was a part of. So were his guards, the Captain and his, as well as Vuraley and his attendant. ¡°None of you are being inspected because of your station.¡±

    ¡°Fuck yeah,¡± Vitul exclaimed, slapping hands with Cur¡¯sh before the two of them started weaseling their gear away.

    Vuraley growled at the pair of guards, quickly silencing their revelry, reminding them that they were not having everything searched because Conor had caught them.

    ¡°So, is there anything else you want?¡± Conor asked, starting to pack up his own gear. ¡°Or are you genuinely just wasting my time?¡±

    ¡°I just wanted to see if you were real and if you would possibly wish to rejoin Humanities'' embrace,¡± the woman sighed. ¡°It is only fitting that I offer it to you at least.¡±

    ¡°I would rather give a zlit-rat a rim job than go anywhere with you,¡± Conor sneered, causing even Vuraley to snort and try to hold in a laugh.

    Without a doubt, this lady had no good intentions with Conor. The GU would remove his wiring, force him into a dull life, and, worse of all, keep him from making money how he sees fit.

    He fully expects that life will be his death, but that is all he deserves at this point. Playing along with Vuraley and the Kurlatra was just the most straightforward way he saw to meet his end on his terms, and he might be able to have a bit more fun with Eivaley before then.

    ¡°So be it,¡± she sighed before walking off toward the other Human near the Captain. ¡°But do reach out if you change your mind.¡±

    At least she took that on the chin and decided not to do anything else when it came to making Conor''s life more difficult. If she felt like it, she likely could have, but with Vuraley and his apparent immunity, that might not be the case.

    ¡°Are you certain about not taking her offer?¡± Vuraley asked,  watching the woman gather her coworkers and head back toward the airlock.

    ¡°Yeah, Humanity has never done anything for me,¡± Conor replied. ¡°The whole species can fall into Urla¡¯s dark fields for all I care.¡±

    Vuraley was silent momentarily, looking out over the bay, pondering something. Whatever it was, Conor could not quite pick up. The older Kurlatra was quite stoic, so there could be a million things.

    ¡°Just keep in mind some people need to be allied with, even if you don¡¯t like them,¡± Vuraley said, seemingly to no one.

    ¡°What?¡± Conor asked, barely able to hear him.

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it,¡± Vuraley shook his head before wandering off.

    ¡°Either of you have any idea what that was about?¡± Conor asked, picking up his bag and looking toward Cur¡¯sh and Vitul.

    Both looked at each other for an answer and then back at Conor before shrugging. ¡°No clue.¡±

 Section Fourteen: Livayie

    Eivaley paced back and forth near the main hatch leading out of her ship''s hanger bay, the ticking of her long-toe claws on the metal keeping time with her rapid heartbeat. The fleet they were a part of had passed through GU customs almost a week earlier, and she still had no real word on what was going on with Conor.

    The last time she had seen him, the royal guards were carrying him on a stretcher onto her father''s ship. He was torn to shreds, had no heartbeat, and was, for all intents and purposes, a dead man.

    The image of Conor with that massive piece of frag sticking from his back, yet still giving her a gentle smile, was burned into her mind. According to the ship doctor, she likely was feeling a form of survivor guilt, especially since the rest of Conor''s friends and her entourage all died, but she, as far as her mind saw it, was the only one left.

    While likely not intending anything by it, the doctor commented that Conor would likely feel something similar, especially since he would now be in an unfamiliar and isolated environment. That only made Eivaley worry about his state of mind more.

    Her father had insisted that Conor had survived the ordeal and that the royal doctor and other medical personnel were taking good care of him. But other than that, he forbade her from contacting him; not even the servants on her ship she was relatively close to would call someone over there and have them give Conor the datapad.

    This was not because they wanted to upset her but because, other than official transmissions, her father''s ship was blacked out completely; nothing was going in or out, save for her father''s calls and the calls of the ship''s bridge.

    Each of these things was not negative in itself, but when combined, Eivaley felt isolated and entirely in the dark. Why would Daddy do this to her? She had made it well known to him and the doctor he let her speak to that she was angry and wanted to talk to Conor, but they would not budge on the matter, insisting it was for both of their good.

    Instead of pouting and throwing a tantrum like a little girl, Eivaley began to plan for once they were back on her home planet of Guelur and in the palace overlooking the city of Livayie. She had so much to show Conor¡ªafter all, she still had to convince him to take the leap from being her assigned Champion to one in full right. She also had to ensure he would not feel alone on this new world.

    She would also have to apologize to Conor for trying to trick him into giving himself to her. According to the chewing-out daddy had given her, that would not have counted at making him hers but also would have been an extreme violation of the will of the gods, one that even her royal standing could not shield her from punishment.

    If she had paid more attention to her studies growing up, Eivaley would have known that, but she found that realm of academics dull, mothballed, and not worth much effort. Their species should be beyond archaic practices bequeathed by the Gods¡ªthe challenge for the house matriarch being at the top of that extensive list to the fourth princess.

    As of now, Eivaley had decided there would have to be a few things she assured Conor got a taste of to keep him around: the glorious food that the royal chefs offer, a velvety bed safe from having to watch over your shoulder, some of the royal gardens that extended for dozens of kilometers around the sprawling palace grounds and, of course, unfettered access to her.

    She could also not wait for the other proper champions to meet Conor. While the women of the palace gave one another a respectful berth due to the nature of the competition they were born into, the Champions tended to spend time together regardless of rank. Hopefully, the other champions will become pillars in Conor''s new life.

    Most were warriors and had much in common. Though many came from other walks of life: police chief, ambassador, intelligence agent, and even one or two former royal guards. Why her sisters chose those other roles was for her to imagine. All she knew was why she picked Conor.

    In the Human case, he was magnanimous, filling the room with his presence and possessive to a near animalistic degree, yet on occasion, he let a little glimmer of his emotions free from his stoic demeanor. All of that protection and mystery he offered was titillating and precisely what she needed in her life.

    Conor does not care about her rank and treats her like everyone else. His demeanor was something she and Daddy both enjoyed sincerely. It was rare for people not to place some respect or awe in their status as royalty.

    Eivaley looked around the area and saw that more of the ship''s crew had started to join her while waiting in the hangar. They were the family members of the crew on her ship and would not have any duties once her ship''s captain permitted them to depart the vessel once they landed¡ªsomething that was only a few minutes away.

    They were all dressed in relatively traditional Kurlatra attire, loose-fitting earthen-tone garments. While most were commoners and did not have anything boisterous, the families of the officers and low-born nobles did have additional accouterments to fill out their styling: spangles of house colors, piercings of gold in the horns running along their snouts, and even a few wore illustrious bangles.

    While Eivaley wore similar garbs, her top was colored baby blue and oozed with golden filigree. The only clothing she wore that was of the more expansive universe was the jeans that Fae had sold her. They were comfortable, and after the adjustments needed for her digitigrade legs and tail, they would undoubtedly work well in the deserts of Guelur.

    The arriving families bowed to Eivaley and offered her greetings; some were just general good afternoons, and a few asked the gods to bless their meetings. The small children going around, taught well by their parents, greeted her as the fourth princess and wished her a fruitful life.

    It had taken her years for most of the adults to feel comfortable greeting her like a person, but they refused to teach their kids to do the same. This was likely because they knew not many of the Kurlatra royals would be as forgiving as Eivaley for such casual treatment.

    Most of her sisters would have them punished, fined, arrested, or, in the worst case, imprisoned for years for such a slight.

    For her part, Eivaley put up a front, buried her nervousness, gave them proper greetings, and casually spoke to them all. She asked them about their plans, what family members they would visit, and if any were going to get life coils with a prospective partner.

    Almost all of the Kurlatra Eivaley spoke to she knew by name and had most of their life stories nearly memorized. She did falter on a few names here and there, but even these commoners understood the Sisyphean efforts she put in with learning the ever-changing ship''s crew. The occasional misnaming or failure to recall their exact life goals was forgiven.

    After nearly an hour of going around to everyone, she could finally feel the inertial dampeners kick on as the ship breached the atmosphere and drifted through the grey clouds outside.

    It was a shame this ship did not offer ports to view outside from the hanger bay. It was always a treat looking at the vast deserts and vast reaching river deltas that poured out from the Capital and royal palace.

    But there would be plenty of time to enjoy the desert''s beating heart once she had reconnected with Conor and he had a place to stay, which her Father had already arranged. Something that slightly annoyed her was that it was clear Conor could not stay in her room. Until the Human was her Champion, he would be stationed in an adjacent room¡ªshe just hoped it was not the one currently in her mind.

    The multikilometer-long ship lurched to a stop, not even the inertial dampeners being able to restrain that much mass abruptly stopping.

    It took the captain an agonizingly long time to arrive. It almost seemed like he was not in any rush to be home, but he would be on the ship all day regardless of how long it took him to welcome everyone back home and let them depart.

    Once he arrived, he quickly lowered the ramp, letting the hot, dry air of mid-spring surround them all. The bright light momentarily blinded Eivaley and everyone, having been adapted to the near-constant dim lighting of the ship corridors and datapad screens.

    Once that had passed, the grandeur of the spaceport outside the capitol was the first welcoming sight of their home. Thousands of ships and personnel bustled around like insects, performing maintenance, waiting for their families, and unloading equipment from the ships.

    Beyond that, Eivaley''s lifelong home reached toward the sky like a stairwell for the gods to reach mortals. Glittering blue rivers flowed down from on high out of grand depictions of the gods standing hundreds of meters high. The water guided the direction of the cities'' streets, just as the word of the same Gods guided the lives of the Kurlatra.

    Livayie¡¯s buildings, including the palace, were carved of uncountable tonnes of bright white stone. Each was given elegance through the craftsmanship and accuracy of its creation; spiraling stanchions, grand statues, and photorealistic depictions of life on the buildings'' faces gave life to each.

    Lush green gardens, standing just as tall as the buildings themselves, were scattered amidst the buildings, canals, and flowing pristine water.

    Atop it all was the palace, which was just as lush and even more grand. While the city took hundreds of empresses and millions of workers thousands of years to create, the palace took twice that long.

    But Eivaley and the people''s appreciation for the history and meaning behind the palace''s legacy would have to wait until they managed to arrive home. For most of the people, the royals had arranged buses and other transport from the military airfield they landed on. For her, however, it would be a private escort.

    ¡°Princess, are you ready to depart?¡± Captain Calital asked, the light making his green scales and white uniform practically glow.

    After a brief moment, Eivaley remembered that she had been waiting and rushed over to the man, wrapping him a hug.

    They had already spoken about how, since she had a potential Champion waiting for her on the other ship, they would forgo the usual method of her having to wait for the Commoners to disembark before she could.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± Eivaley preened, letting go of the hug and rushing down the ramp.

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    ¡°Don¡¯t forget their ship is on the far end of the rows to the right,¡± The Captain yelled after the rushing royal, not having much time to see if she heard him before other Kurlatra, eager to leave, demanded his attention. ¡°Yeah, yeah, hold on,¡± he chuckled and faced a lesser duke''s daughter.

    While Eivaley was not the most athletic of the brood she was born from, she had put a decent effort into keeping herself fit. And the struggle she had been doing over the last month to keep up with Conor was paying dividends.

    Granted, she knew her abysmal abilities were nothing compared to him, nor were they anything against the nonaugmented Kurlatra hull busters, who were more than happy to teach her the basics and encourage her on runs up to a few kilometers.

    She skidded around the bottom of the gangway, the landing pad''s hardpack duracrete. Thankfully, the tough ground was similar to the training rooms on the ship, so it did not bother her feet, nor did she slip.

    Her heart pounded like a speeding drum, keeping up with her increasing breath. Dozens, if not hundreds, of the local Kurlatra stared at her in confusion and worry. They likely wondered why a red-scaled was running at all.

    Unless it was a Champion or someone going through military training, you should never see a ruby-scaled running¡ªmuch less a female rushing anywhere. But once they realized it was the fourth princess, known for her eccentricity among the royals, they let her pass and returned to what they were doing, chuckling about the odd sight.

    As she passed the last of the gargantuan ships parked in neat rows on the landing stips, her target came into view. Her father stood proudly in his golden power armor, directing dozens of troops around as they took supplies into a waiting caravan of heavy blacked-out SUVs.

    It took her a moment to spot her Human, but as her father glanced behind himself and spoke to someone out of sight, Conor came out from behind one of the vehicles, wiping sweat off his brow.

    Conor was the type of man any Kurltatra woman would pine at, even while in armor and wearing simple battle fatigues; with how he was dressed now, Eivelay knew she would have to fend them off with a stick, at least. It might take her using Conor''s gun if he even so much as tried to flirt with any of them, her sisters especially.

    Conor was wearing a simple set of grey trousers that were cut off just above his knee. They likely were some of the soldiers'' old uniforms that he had cut to fit his larger legs. The thing that had Eivaley nearly drooling was his top.

    Like Kurlatra, he wore a simple cloth top hanging off one side of his broad shoulders. Its flowing build let her see every fiber of Conor''s bulging muscles, defined abs, and Adonis belt.

    As she neared, Conor spotted her. He quickly told her father, who looked at her, chuckled momentarily, and then told him to go to her. The only reason she knew that was what was said was that Conor started to jog lightly toward her.

    That spurred her to push her already burning lungs further. Sure, she had not dashed to this point. But for her, hitting the solid seven-minute-a-kilometer pace she had was an achievement.

    Conor slowed once he was within a few meters of Eivaley, likely expecting her to slow down as well. Instead, she leaped at him, forcing her whole weight into him. If Conor was the average man and did not have millions of credits worth of augments, he would have undoubtedly collapsed under the force.

    Instead, the Human wrapped his arms around her waist and halfway spun to keep Eivaley from feeling the entire brunt of the force, allowing her to cling to his neck.

    ¡°I was so worried about you,¡± Eivaley wined, finally being able to speak to the man she had fretted over for the last month. ¡°Are you alright? Did Daddy or the doctors cause you any trouble? Did you miss me?¡±

    ¡°They helped me get settled, and the doctor even managed to make more of the medicine I need,¡± Conor said calmly, setting Eivaley down.

    ¡°That¡¯s wonderful,¡± Eivaley nuzzled into Conor''s chest, taking in the comforting smell of oil and gunsmoke rolling off him. To her joy, he placed his hand on the back of her head and ran his thumb along the last few of her short horns that end at her mid-neck, sending a soft pleasure through her spine.

    ¡°I¡¯m glad you are alright,¡± Conor admitted, having not even told that to Vuraley over the last month. Conor had simply been taking it on the chin and acting like this was a contract, taking payment, and setting up everything for his new gig as her personal bodyguard. But even he had to admit he had taken a little bit of a shine to Eivaley.

    How much he was willing to give up following this shining ruby had yet to be seen, which is why he was her assigned champion. He now had time to decide what he would do, save money, and act accordingly.

    Eivaley looked up at him with adoration and lightly squealed. The simple admittance he missed her made every fiber of her heart scream in joy.

    The two stood there, lost in each other''s eyes. For those few moments, there was nothing else in the universe to the duo. The only thing that mattered was the person they were looking at and the comfort of knowing they were alive and well.

    ¡°Oi, warrior, I said grab Eivaley and get in the car; not look like you are about to undress her on the tarmac,¡± Vuraley shouted, yanking both of them back down to earth.

    Conor looked back and saw Vuraley cross-armed, shaking his head with a shit-eating grin. So at least the man did not seem disappointed.

    Conor just wished the other workers had not taken the First Champions'' yelling as an indication of a spectacle to watch. Dozens of Kurlatra from all around the area had taken to watching the Fourth Princess embracing the Human, with a few taking pictures that undoubtedly would end up spreading like wildfire on the data net.

    ¡°Come on, Eivaley,¡± Conor said, turning around and taking her hand in his. He was not on Heavalun and knew that threatening these people would earn him no favors, as such a graceful exit would be prudent.

    Eivaley had moved her tail and was about to wrap it around Conor''s neck until Daddy silently glared at her and whipped his tail against the duracrete, reminding her of exactly what that action meant and how many people were watching.

    With a slight grumble, Eivaley coiled her tail around Conor''s waist and followed to the SUV. Wrapping one''s tail around someone else''s waist was considered far more socially acceptable for friends and other companions. In comparison, around one another''s neck meant you two were mates and had or were waiting on your life coils to be imbued by a priest on your neck.

    Once inside the plush SUV, Eivaley settled in next to Conor, rested her tail across their laps, and leaned into him. Conor relaxed, looked out the window, and waited for the rest of the convoy to be ready to roll, which did not take long.

    Vuraley joined them in the SUV and made a radio call using a speaker built into the wall so the Convoy could start rolling out.

    Conor looked around as they set off, as he would have on any other protection convoy. He scanned each face as they passed and watched their bodies for any signs that they may have a surprise: bombs, slug throwers, blasters, drones. The threats to a target as large as a dozen SUVs were uncountable, and Conor knew it.

    But once Vuraley Caught onto what he was doing, he assured Conor that he could relax. When Conor turned to object, the older Kurlara explained that he was in their car to keep Eivaley safe from any of her sisters who wanted to attempt to knock her out of the running.

    His reasoning was that while assassinating one of their brood who was higher in the running might be acceptable, killing the high champion was not, primarily because if they did kill him, the empress would not let them survive the night.

    Vuraley then looked somewhat sullen as he explained the most common method of punishment for that would be summary execution by being drowned in the springs at the center of the palace gardens.

    The strategy made Conor slightly chuckle. It was a tactic he would have never thought of, and the fact that Vuraley knew it would work meant he must have learned the hard way; his grim look alluded to that.

    The other thing that Conor found slightly amusing but in a more cruel way was the punishment that the empress would give them. Apparently, it did not matter if you were a warlord, gang leader, head of a crime syndicate, or the empress of a species; the violently brutal punishments did not change.

    Eivaley did not appreciate the ruthless chuckle, but once he explained why it was funny to him, she did not argue; even the princess could see the graveyard humor in it, even if it was no joke to her.

    It took the convoy about an hour to reach the city¡¯s outskirts. Once they did, crowds of Kurlatra waited for their arrival. Tens of thousands of the locals shouted in joy, welcoming the return of the fourth princess and the High Champion.

    Even though the blast-resistant glass, the roar of the people shook the air in the cab. The ocean of Kurlatra carried hundreds of signs with names and even depictions of their faces.

    There were hundreds of colors of scales and uncountable professions, including civilian and soldier alike. The full scope of the idolization of the royalty was only now fully coming into scope for Conor.

    ¡°I never expected you to be this famous,¡± Conor poked Eivaley in the side after seeing a body pillow of her being held high and proud, trying to add some comedy into a situation that would undoubtedly make his typical mantra of slinking in the shadows more difficult.

    ¡°I don¡¯t want them to act like this,¡± Eivaley groaned, covering her eyes with her hands.

    ¡°Why not? They seem to love you,¡± Conor questioned.

    Eivaley gestured somewhat violently at the crowd. ¡°Because it''s ridiculous. They just want me to be the next empress, and I have no desire to do that.¡±

    Conor nodded and looked back out at the passing crowds as they passed more and more crowds of people. He took a moment to reflect on what he heard about Eivaley, how the people supported her, and even his grim past regarding people with near uncontrollable power.

    ¡°I¡¯ve heard that would be a sign of a good leader,¡± Conor replied, parroting a lesson he had heard from Brakul.

    ¡°That is a wise thing to say,¡± Vuraley nodded.

    Eivaley grumbled, disapproving of the comment. Conor was supposed to help her accomplish her goals, not support the populace. It was also disappointing that Daddy agreed with him.

    The rest of the ride was silent, namely because when Conor thought about Brakul, he felt like he was about to vomit. The reality of his lost friend and father figure was something he was not ready to face.

    Conor tightly grabbed Brakuls magnum in his pocket and watched the streets pass by, noting the drastic differences between this city and Heavalun.

    Unlike Heavalun, Livayie¡¯s streets were clean. The people were all smiles and wore clothes that were not in tatters. Not even the welcoming atmosphere could pull Conor from his sickly feeling.

    The vast culture of the cityscape, from the statues, frescoes, immaculate shops, apartments, and luscious town squares, made him somewhat regret not having listened to all Vuraley had to say about it over the last month; learning about this place not as a reason to fight but to appreciate it might be a nice change of pace for his life.

    Everything seemed perfect, And that only made the Human feel worse. Anything too good to be true likely was, and to him, this had to be. To try for some vindication, Conor focused on spotting some of the city''s underbelly.

    No matter how much Eivaley or Vuraley hyped up the capital, something had to be wrong, seedy, and illegal. It did not take Conor long until he spotted what he was after.

    Down a side alley, they passed on a turn where two male Kurlatra lingered about and looked around for anyone watching.  The pair of green-scaled lizards were sloppy and exchanged a cred-stick for a bag of something in board daylight. Conor could not tell what drug the one was hocking but knew a drug deal when he saw it.

    locked eyes with him, gave him a smirk, with one of them flipping a knife in his hand.

    That duo was part of the city''s underground in some way, and seeing this place was not some utopia was, in an odd way, comforting for Conor. But those thoughts did not last long. Shortly after, the convoy rolled to a stop, the doors opened, and everyone exited into the palace courtyard.

    It was grand and beyond anything Conor had ever seen in his travels. But with his mind lingering on Eivaley''s sisters and the deaths of Brakul and Stitch, he hardly paid attention to the grand details throughout the tour.

    Eivaley quickly noticed Conor''s attitude and attempted to cheer him up, but after realizing something was wrong that she did not have the skills to address, she decided to let it lay and instead would just keep him company to his room.

 Section Fifteen: First Princess, First Champion

    ¡°Princess, it¡¯s alright; he must just be sleepy. It was quite a long journey,¡± the maid panted as she struggled to keep pace with Eivaley.

    They had just shown Conor to his quarters a few doors away from Eivaleys on the border of the central hortus conclusus, where the majority of the princesses¡¯ and their champions had their rooms so they could see se through the grand skylight during lunar and solar ceremonies, that and be able to lounge in the lush grass and flowers growing just a few meters away from their chambers.

    The princess was a bit perturbed right now because of how Conor had reacted during his tour of the grounds and how the Human unenthusiastically asked Eivaley if he could be left alone for the night.

    Why would Eivaley not be upset? Conor¡¯s introduction to the palace and Livayie had not gone as she had imagined it would have.

    In her royal mind, he should have cared about the grand buttresses, the never-ending rear garden, the rows of marble statues depicting the gods built into the columns holding the roof up, and the spiraling towers extending to the sky like fingers reaching heaven.

    But out of it all, he especially should have appreciated the effort Eivaley had made for him. Eivaley had passionately described the history of how the black marble of the statues came from the far south in the Roukul badlands, an area that her ancestors conquered and united the entire planet under her family, the red scales rule.

    Her family has ruled for thousands of years, and as such, she had extensive millennia of history she tried to detail to Conor; thankfully, she used the depictions on the walls in frescos, in paintings adorning regions between those works of art to help her along.

    Eivaley was no scholar, but by seeing the pictures, she could remember rough details and explain them to Conor. It was a good thing her father and sisters were not there to watch her bumble through their family''s history.

    She genuinely tried to be engaging and describe the achievements of past Champions and empresses, detailing their achievements and what they did to push the Kurlatra society forward.

    She even tried to tell the saga of Nikitals, the first champion. This grand leader slew thousands of warriors as a slave knight of a barbarous lady before the horrible woman¡¯s empire had captured Eivaleys ancestor Eyalta.

    Eivaley then detailed the years of war resulting in the red-scaled slaves ultimately taking over the city they now stand in and forging the Kurlatra empire''s humble beginnings.

    Since her future Champion seemed uninterested in that, she continued detailing wars, assassinations, coup attempts, and the herculean industrial efforts of the royalty to bring about the stability and prosperous life the entire planet had come to enjoy over the last thousand years.

    But Conor did not seem to care in the slightest, even though, as Eivaley saw it, the Human and Nikitals had much in common that their life stories might as well rhyme. It was not that he was actively ignoring her. No, he still held her close as he had back in Heavalun and allowed her to wrap her tail around his waist, ensuring his lady was close and safe.

    He seemed to be staring off into nothingness; his eyes only shifted from whatever void was calling to him from the shadow when they passed a corner. Conor would squeeze Eivaley tighter and jerk his head in that direction, nearly snarling at some unseen threat.

    Conor''s behavior was odd for Eivaley; why was he acting like this? She understood why Conor acted somewhat like a Jurintik; he and Brakul lived together for years, and the alien imposing some of his species'' actions onto the Human was expected. But why was Conor acting like Eivaley was under threat right now? They were perfectly safe here in the palace. It was not like they were in Heavalun or a warzone.

    Her sisters might try to attack her, but they would not do anything he could likely prevent. She did know that Conor had just recently lost Brakul and Stitch, but that should not be affecting him so much. He was a proud warrior and a potential champion and strong beyond the loss of someone breaking them.

    Everyone loses people in their life; for the royals of the Kurlatra, that was a fact of near-daily life.

    Out of her sixty sisters born over a half dozen clutches, there were only twelve left at this point, a fact Eivaley still hated; she could not even remember most of their faces, most had died so long ago, with the most recent having been a local year ago.

    Almost all of her sisters were assassinated by slug throwers, laser fire, poison, and a few by bombing. But all that happened during travel, from planet to planet or city to city¡ªnot in the palace, something she emphasized to Conor.

    While it was not written in stone, no one could kill someone higher in the ranking while on the royal grounds, it was treated as neutral territory, a place where they could all be together and not worry about the rat race they had to live in.

    Eivaley wished that the world was peaceful like that and that all Kurlatra women did not have to tolerate the existence of looking over their shoulders to check for a dagger or gun ready to cut them down.

    However, her desire was antithetical to how her species had existed long before the red scales took control of the world.  As she understood it, all women had to compete violently for power to ensure the most crafty, intelligent, and capable women remained as the matriarch. At the same time, she would find a male to compliment her abilities and pick up where she lacked, making a more robust unit that would rule their destiny.

    Eivaley threw open the door to her room, unable to come up with a concise answer for why Conor acted the way he did. She did not even bother to switch on the lights; the maid did that; instead, she rushed toward her wardrobe and removed the outer sashes covering her shoulders, leaving her in only jeans and a wrap supporting her bust.

    Eivaley did not need to remove the garment for any heat reasons, but it was nice not having to worry about looking prim and proper. There would be plenty of the dog and pony show when she introduced Conor to other royals, her mother, or goddess help her with this part¡ªthe high priestess.

    That finicky woman would undoubtedly disprove of Conor because he was not a Kurlatra and could not give Eivaley heirs. But she would also be cross at Eivaley for what she was wearing. Good thing it was Eivaleys room; she could be naked in here all day and night, and all that clergy member could do was hiss and wag a disappointed finger.

    ¡°I doubt that,¡± Eivaley harumphed, shutting the closet as the maid dropped Eivaleys bag containing the clothes she had from Heavalun. ¡°That man is not the type to get tired.¡±

    Eivaley genuinely believed Conor was not the type to show if he was tired. He could have been awake, running, and fighting for a week without sleep and would simply pump himself full of enough stims to kill a mature rugelik and keep on trucking. If the display of willingness to put it all on the line was his typical willpower, what Conor was genuinely capable of was unfathomable.

    ¡°You can just leave that there,¡± Eivaley instructed as the maid began to unpack the clothes from the bag. ¡°I will handle that once I''m in the mood.¡±

    The maid stopped touching the bag and its contents, instantly retreating from the garments as if they were venomous vipers ready to lash out. She stood tall and looked awkwardly between Eivaley''s bags and her nervously shifting feet.

    Eivaley sighed and slowly walked over toward the maid. This maid was new to the palace, having arrived since Eivaley had left for Heavalun several months ago. The nervous girl likely did not know much about how each of the surviving royals behaved.

    If all the brown-scaled maid knew about how to act around the royal family was from her sisters or any visiting imperators, there is no doubt she expected Eivaley to scream and stamp about in a huff, followed by punishing her for a perceived slight.

    That was not in any way what Eivaley would do. She cared about each of her attendants, and just like those on her ship, she intended them all to treat her like a regular person¡ªbehind closed doors. While out amidst the other royalty, a particular image has to be maintained.

    ¡°There is no need to be so nervous. I just prefer to do most things on my own,¡± Eivaley assured while patting the maid''s shoulder, taking the slightest moment to adore the colorations on her scales.

    The young lady primarily had brown undertones, but subtle orange, yellow, and beige flecks were mixed in. The combination and how the colored scales crisscrossed her body implied she likely was from the badlands where such a camouflage was typical.

    ¡°I¡ªuhh¨Cyes, princess,¡± the maid stuttered after recoiling slightly from Eivaley touching her bare shoulder.

    ¡°And when we are alone, please call me Eivaley?¡± Eivaley asked, pulling back her hand, not wanting to make the woman any more uncomfortable than she already was.

    The maid looked around rapidly, scanning each section of Eivaleys room for someone watching from the shadows. It was like she was expecting this to be some kind of test given by Eivaley''s mother or perhaps the head maid, Teliala. A trial to ensure the new blood was living up to their expectations.

    But none of that happened, nor would. The entire palace was well aware of the not-so-secret reality that Eivaley treated the servants like friends behind closed doors. Most of her surviving sisters would even come into her room to watch movies with Eivaley and whoever was her maid for the evening.

    Once the young lady started to seem more paranoid, having not been able to uncover the deception Eivaley was supposedly performing, Eivaley attempted to diffuse whatever bomb of thought was ticking in the young lady¡¯s head.

    ¡°What is your name? I have never seen you here before.¡± Eivaley smiled.

    The maid looked around more frantically for several moments until her gaze landed firmly on Eivaley''s angelic smile, and that was all it took. As if that was the first natural treatment any royals had ever shown her, the woman''s guard was crushed under Eivaleys warm, enthralling personality.

    ¡°It¡¯s Alanii, prince¡ª¡± Alanii began, but Eivaley raised a finger and whipped her tail in frustration, reminding her of the request. ¡°Errr- Eivaley.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, Alanii,¡± Eivaley smirked, finding the way Alanii began to fiddle with her hands adorable. It reminded Eivaley of how she held her tail or how Conor would grope at the handgun under his coat.

    ¡°I would love to learn more about you and your family. But would you be willing to leave for the evening? I would like some alone time after my long trip, and well¨C¡± Eivaley started but trailed off and looked at the wall toward Conor''s room. ¡°I havea lott on my mind.¡±

    Alanii nodded and assured Eivaley that should she need anything at all to call for her. It was a simple process of using the dedicated line programmed into her datapad.  That was the typical process, so no matter the time or day, she and others in the palace could receive aid within a minute or two from one of the hundreds, if not thousands, of on-site staff.

    Eivaley tended only to use it for emergencies at night, to allow the maids to rest and recuperate from being run ragged by others.

    Eivaley wholeheartedly doubted that Alanii would have accepted; no, I won''t be calling you; if anything, I would go bang on Conor''s door, so after being assured Eivaley would call her for anything Alanii departed for the maid quarters, leaving Eivaley alone to stew in her frantic mind.

    Eivaley waved goodbye, closed the door, and glanced around the room she had been away from for months, appreciating what she had been missing while aboard the ship or down on Heavalun¡¯s streets.

    A massive wall-to-wall window offered her a view of the gardens, the green trees, and grasses broken up by long lines of blue water flowing through carved open-air aqueducts from the oasis at the garden''s center. Planted neatly along the edges of the water were flowers of every color of the rainbow, giving the entire scene a kaleidoscope of brilliance. This appearance flowed from the palace and down into the city itself.

    The inside of her room was rather spartan when compared to her other family members.

    A tile floor of white and black held the room together, stitching across in diamond patterns. On one of the walls was her extensive wardrobes. Most were open and showed off her simple attire, which was more like what regular people would wear, not a princess.

    On the other two walls were pictures of Eivaley and her family, a grim reminder of how many of her sisters were no longer here or that she would never meet. Their laughs and unique personalities have long since been condemned to the annals of time.

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    Eivaley removed her jeans and tossed them across a chair, sitting in front of a table with all forms of makeup she would use: scale polish, rings for her horns, and even some shed-aid. The chilly air teased her bare rump as it ran past the skimpy underwear Fae had gotten her, causing her to shiver.

    Eivaley slinked into the several-meter-wide divot on the floor, which was her traditional Kurlatra bed. Blue silken fur pillows filled the sides of the bowl while dozens of equally plush pillows pooled in the center.

    Kurlatra had beds designed like this mainly for warmth, with the intent being that one and whomever they shared a life coil with were forced to sink into the depths of the bowl in a deep comforting embrace; something that had saved many a Kurlatra before the current empires rule, and the GU¡¯s technology.

    She had missed her bed beyond everything else in the palace¡ªwith the gardens as a close second.

    Aboard her ship, the Kurlatra used beds similar to those of other bipedal aliens. Her bed on while traveling was not too dissimilar from the cot Conor had in his home back in Heavalun.

    Once down in the ocean of velvet fur, Eivaley allowed it to pull her in tight. As she sunk to the furthest depths her bed could offer, she reflected on everything happening with Conor and her life.

    While she could not figure out why he was upset, now that she was alone in her brightly lit room, she could not help but feel it was due to her attempting to trick him into being her Champion.

    Lord knows Eivaleys father had given her enough grief about how horrible of an idea that was. If he was willing to lay into her, to the point of nearly yelling, she could see her father having discussed it with him at gunpoint; if so, Conor had not brought the idea¡ªperhaps he felt betrayed by her? If that was the case, how to regain the trust of the Human was a complete unknown.

    The worry that Conor was angry at her for some reason occupied Eivaley''s mind wholly until slumber dragged her to an equally troubled dreamland. As she slept, Eivaley tossed and turned, imagining Conor being ripped apart by gunfire and her own possible fate if he had not saved her.

    Over the last few weeks, Eivaley¡¯s mind had been infected by the incident in Heavalun; she attempted to quantify why a powerful slum lord from the far end of the galaxy was out to get her.

    Regrettably, for Eivaley, it did not remain a mystery for long, having only taken her a few days to understand; one of her younger sisters must have paid Voodal to remove her from the running to be empress.

    The question Eivaley wanted an answer to is, who and why?

    All of her sisters knew very well that Eivaley was not interested in the throne, yet for some reason, one of them thought the idea of her continued existence threatened their claim.

    If only Eivaley could manage to find out who it was. Then she could hopefully convince her sister to stop trying to kill her and the rest of their family¡ªbut she had no way of doing that. She could not pull strings across the galaxy, hire investigators, or send subterfuge units to relevant planets and cities. She held no weight in the COS, GU, or even the Kurlatra empire, save for the veneration of all royals and the few locals who adored her.

    Before Eivaley realized she had fallen asleep, she was jolted awake by her eldest sister''s steady hand and gentle voice.

    ¡°Wake up, little sister,¡± Mulaney cooed, rubbing her thumb on Eivaleys horns.

    Eivaley rolled over in bed, looking up at her sister, Mulaney, and Champion Burlai.

    ¡°What time is it?¡± Eivaley yawned, glancing out the large window into the night sky. She knew it had been several hours since she went to sleep since the sun had descended fully for the night.

    It was evident that it was not the witching hour since the moon was not in full view from her window, something that happened every time it reached the late night. So it had to be sometime before then.

    ¡°A bit before midnight,¡± Mulaney smiled, standing up from her crouched position and patting her dress down, straightening it.

    She wore the traditional sash-like garbs most Kurlatra did, but she tended towards having a bit more flare by wearing a bright green color. Her dress also left her incredibly long legs freedom of movement.

    Eivaley had always been jealous of Mulaneys legs and tall stature. But Eivaley could do nothing about that; it was a product of their having different fathers. Mulaneys father was her mother''s first champion, while her father was her mother''s fifth.

    That was not uncommon for Kurlatra royalty, having second, third, or even fourth Champions. While commoners found one Champion that stayed for most of their lives, royals could call for rights to wed and ascend to first champion¡ªso long as the male held status.

    But Eivaley was also not a fan of that tradition because it resulted in the losing Champions'' deat, from a duel for the royal ladies'' hand, or willingly committing suicide after being disgraced.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry about waking you, Eivaley, my little hyu¡ª er your sister wanted to see you tonight,¡± Burlai added as Mulaney sat in the chair near the desk and silently glared at her Champion of ten years.

    Eivaley smirked as Mulaney whipped her tail against the ground, having heard that Burlai almost called her his hyulina, a type of flower found in the jungles of the far side of the planet and Burlai¡¯s birthplace.

    It was a little nickname everyone in the palace knew about, but Mulaney still got flushed with embarrassment when other people heard what she considered a more intimate thing than Burlai did.

    ¡°So, what''s this that I hear about you having found a Champion? And one that is not a Kurlatra?¡± Mulaney smiled while leaning forward, her bangles and other jewelry shimmering in the light.

    Burlai rolled his eyes and leaned against the wall, positioning himself to split the difference between the window and the door. While he certainly did love Mulaney, including her love of gossip and asking questions, her tendency to lack tact with her family sometimes bugged him.

    Eivaley turned in the bed and draped her arms over the edge, hanging onto it like one would the side of a pool. She could not help but smile brightly, thinking about Conor and letting juriflys flutter freely in her chest, making her heart race and body feel as light as a feather.

    The room-brightening smile and Eivaleys tail wagging like she was about to receive the greatest gift of all time told both Mulaney and Burlai that Le-rougea, the god of love, must have visited the younger princess.

    Both could tell the passionate god had struck Eivaley hard with his needle and threads of fate, but neither had a true grasp on how Conor and Eivaley¡¯s lives were intertwined tighter than the life coils around their necks.

    Eivaley spent nearly the next hour gushing on and explaining the story of how Conor pulled her from the nightclub, fought off a gangster''s army, and ultimately almost killed himself to bring her to their father.

    This story was not simple, and Eivaley showed the effects of all the training she had undergone as a diplomat over the years. She used precise rhythm, pacing, and pauses to build suspense as she asked rhetorical questions to draw the observers in.

    If she was not in her bedroom and was weaving the saga of trial and tribulation, the weeks on Heavalun to a crowd of billions, not a soul would be able to forget a word or name. All of which Eivaley included in details that painted pictures more vivid than the most expensive holo-flick.

    Both Mulaney and Burlai could see everything as Eivaley painted them pictures of the nightclub, Stitch, Fae, the gunfights, and even Eivaleys bombastic descriptions of Conor, a Human both had only seen in a single image that had circulated the entire system by now.

    Mulaney held onto each word like it was a precious gem, paying keen attention to how Eivaley described Conor and what he does. She was doing this to ensure the little sister she had spent many an evening playing with and caring for was not making a rash or horrible decision.

    Overall, she was pleased with what Eivaley described. Her little sister needed someone strong willed but also more of a realist¡ªat least as Mulaney saw it she did. Without someone like that Eivaleys bleeding heart and lack of danger sence would dig her a hole she could not escape from.

    As the eldest sister, Mulaney saw Conor and Eivaley¡¯s personalities and approaches as two sides of a coin, two complementing souls, not unlike Nikitals, the first champion, and Eyalta, the first empress.

    Burlai asked Eivaley some follow-on questions about her new prospective champion, an action that was very fitting for a man who used to be a part of the royal intelligence corps¨Cin layman''s terms, a man who went to dark places and did dark deeds the light of the gods should never be allowed to see.

    His inquiries mainly focused on what Conor''s cybernetic augments were capable of, why he installed them, and how he dealt with the issue of nervous system speed disconnect and his body rejecting the augments.

    Eivaley did not have many answers she could give him regarding Conor''s cybernetic augments and what they were capable of. She did not need to dig into that information about the man, nor did she care. Eivaley had been assured the royal doctor had solved any issues caused by cybernetics, so Eivaley was content with knowing he was strong, fast, and intelligent.

    At least Burlai accepted that she did not know as an answer and elected to speak to the Human some other time. The former spook likely wanted to gauge if he could take Conor in a fight.

    Burlai was built like most Kurlatra males, with heavy steel cable-like muscles, about two meters tall, and easily able to fight any Kurlatra female with little issue. But he had nothing on Conor, and Eivaley knew that. Conor was stronger, faster, and would undoubtedly be able to outshoot this old green-scaled warrior.

    Frontline combat and straight violence were not Burlai¡¯s bread and butter. His background had always led him to focus more on intelligence, assassination, and subtle kills. Eivaley was not meant to know that, but in the past Mulaney had let slip that Burlai had dusted a young baron in the Rukelina coast a few years back.

    Eivaley had seen the reports of that event on the news months before her sister let that information out. From what she had read, the baron was found dead in his bed, his lady in the bed right next to him, having not even realized he had been killed in their sleep. Needless to say, Eivaley was cautious around the man after that revelation.

    ¡°Oh, the scandal, a Human warrior comes and sweeps my little sister off her feat,¡± Mulaney teased after Eivaley took the time to explain how she and Conor got involved with one another. ¡°It¡¯s like a story pulled straight out of the Pularia saga.¡±

    Eivaley chuckled slightly, recalling how she initially thought of Conor as a knight of old rescuing a damsel in distress. That Mulaney had come to the same conclusion was further proof of how alike the two sisters were.

    They were not born in the same clutch and had a difference of almost two decades between their hatchings, and Mulaney was the final sister from her clutch, unlike Eivaley, who still had two sisters from her birth.

    ¡°I would imagine the entire planet has seen the picture of the two of you on the tarmac. I must say, I could already see the two of you with life coils already,¡± Mulaney said, crossing her legs and gesturing an open palm at Eivaley. ¡°So, how is he?¡±

    Eivaley blushed brightly enough that her red scales might as well have glowed. ¡°Oh¡ªwell, we still haven''t done that,¡± Eivaley squeaked out.

    Mulaney rolled her eyes, knowing exactly why Eivaley had not made that jump with Conor. While the pair of them were similar, that was a thing that they were very different about. Mulaney did not care about the gods or how the church would view her.

    She had Burlai, who would solve any issues they could cause without question, be that burying a priest, making a witness disappear, or causing enough slander to their names to discredit them. Eivaley did care about the church and the gods far more¡ªnot much, but enough for the clergy¡¯s judgment to possibly sway her choices.

    ¡°Either way, are you glad to have him here?¡± Burlai added, noticing that Eivaley did not look comfortable and that they already knew the answer to if she and Conor had breached that point in their development.

    ¡°Yeah, he is nice to have around¡ª¡± Eivaley replied, having taken a moment to think about his presence just down the hall; but she started to trail off, remembering how Conor had been behaving since extracting her from Heavalun and since he slumped into his bed.

    Eivaley sighed as her tail stopped wagging, and the full weight of those thoughts crushed her. The distraction of her sister and Burlai wanting to know about her adventure had faded fully.

    ¡°What is wrong vulee?¡± Mulaney asked, picking up on Eivaley''s dower mood and change in expression.

    Vulee was a word in the old Kurlatra language, something that few other than the royals still practiced; it was a caring word that could be used to describe one''s younger sister. Mulaney tended to call all of her sisters when they seemed upset or needed some reassurance.

    Eivaley sighed and laid back in the bowl-like bed opposite of where she had been clinging to the side. ¡°I don¡¯t know. Something is bothering Conor, and he has not been acting like he was in Heavalun. There, he was bold in charge and did not take any of my teasing.¡±

    She gestured wide toward the ceiling, ¡°Now Conor seems to be in a slump. He still holds me tight and acts protective¡ªbut he seems oddly distant.¡±

    Burlai exchanged a glance with Mulaney, who nodded and encouraged him to answer. While he would do that on his own, due to the complicated web of relationship dynamics filling this room, it was a decent idea to ensure he was not about to step on his lady''s toes.

    He walked over to the bedside and crouched, his worn knees creaking like old hinges. After taking a moment to gather his thoughts on how to describe a soldier''s mind to someone who had no relative perspective, he explained something to Eivaley to bring Conor''s life and what he would likely be going through into perspective for the young lady.

    It took him a few minutes, but eventually, Burlai elaborated on how soldiers and mercenaries are generally creatures of habit and that Conor has been completely uprooted and needs time to adjust to his potential new life in the palace.

    He also took a moment to explain to Eivaley that Conor had just lost one of his friends, whom he had lived with most of his life. That would take years to move past; hell, he emphasized that Conor might not ever get passed it. Without her and the assistance of others, Conor would spiral in on himself and likely become self-destructive.

    The forlorn look on Burlai¡¯s face as he explained the process of a soldier and warrior grieving and how different it was from what the female Kurlatra experienced was telling. He looked off into the distance in the same manner Conor had during the walk through the palace. Eivaley could not confirm that the spy had a similar experience, but she suspected that Conor and him were cut from the same cloth.

    ¡°I just want to help him feel better,¡± Eivaley explained, looking toward Burlai for further guidance.

    Eivaley could understand the words and the advice that Burlai was giving her, but she in no way took it to heart. This was not because she did not care about Conor, not in the slightest. Eivaley could not fathom the issues Conor was going through. After having buried a dozen sisters, and twice as many aunts and attended the burials of thousands of soldiers, grieving to a true degree was alien to her.

    It was as unnatural to her as breathing water.

    She knew Conor was not like her or Kurlatra, but she would have to try to reach the man on his level and support him through this. It is what her mother would do and what Eyalta had done for Nikitals.

    ¡°It just takes time, be there for him and maybe introduce him to people to settle in more,¡± Burlai shrugged, having slayed his own demons long ago.

    ¡°That is a wonderful idea, dear,¡± Mulaney half yelled in joy. ¡°We have a gala coming up in a few weeks. Perhaps that will be a good chance for him to meet  people.¡±

    Eivaley could admit that it hopefully would be an opportunity for Conor to acclimatize to the palace. But from what she had observed, she doubted that he would enjoy the crowds of people or the prim and proper nature of such an event; she hardly enjoyed spending time with so many people who have sticks up their asses¡ªbut only time would give those answers.

 Section Sixteen: A Grand Entrance

    Conor took a moment to tuck in the gilded sash around his waist. Vuraley had given him the sash and some robes for the gala tonight. Both the First Champion and Eivaley did their best to convince him to dress like the other champions and nobles would be tonight, but Conor would sooner suck start a shotgun than wear one of those skirts.

    So instead of wearing those toga-like garments, Conor wore his black combat pants, tank top, and battle belt with Brakuls'' hand cannon holstered. It was all black, save for the pistol. He had even attached his nano flex armor to his wrist just in case he had to stop a blade or bullet.

    Looking at himself in the mirror, Conor chuckled. The golden sash, tactical attire, and metal arm made him look ridiculous. He looked like some fool peacocking as a warrior ready to lead a group of soldiers to their untimely deaths.

    Conor had seen the type enough times over the years. Usually, they were rich kids, and Daddy Corpo helped fulfill their misguided dreams of being a Billy Badass. They typically ended up bleeding out in a gutter, choking on their own blood within a few hours.

    Such is life when you want to play with guns and pretend you are something you are not.

    Conor pulled out Brakuls'' pistol and racked the slide to check for ammo. He was greeted by a glistening brass cartridge peeking out of the chamber. Once he released the slide, Conor paused and stared at the old pistol.

    The Tenyalin-made 12.7mm pistol glistened in the bright light of the room Vuraley had given it to him. The gun was far older than Conor, and the patina and dents in the slide and grip evidenced that.

    But a lot like Conor and Brakul, despite having been dragged through gutters, buried in bodies, and having killed uncountable sentients, the handgun just kept on trucking. It went bang every time Brakul pulled the trigger; now it did the same for Conor since he swapped his JKL for it.

    Any remnants of his friend''s blood were cleaned off the pristine steel. Conor had a ritualistic cleaning of the pistol for hours each night, never feeling as if it was free of his failure. He could still see and feel Brakuls blood warm and dripping off it, no matter how many wipes and oils he attacked the grime with.

    In addition, the weapon weighed more than it should. Conor had handled the weapon hundreds of times when Brakul was still alive, but now it seemed to weigh more than an antimaterial rifle.

    The Human shoved the pistol back into his holster and sighed, still not used to not having his dear friend around. Conor was glad that Eivaley had gone through the effort of getting him ammunition for the rare weapon before the gala; without it, he was black on ammo, save for what he had left for the JKL.

    The fifth princess had gone through the efforts of requesting the munitions for her potential Champion because it was customary for all Champions to be armed with a weapon of their preference while escorting a lady.

    According to Vuraley, Conor would be the only Champion there wielding any form of a slug thrower, or long-range weapon for that matter.

    The Kurlatra Champions prided themselves on hand-to-hand and bladed weapons, so Conor should expect most males to be armed with swords or the occasional knife. At least he had the advantage of stand-off distance if anyone decided to get froggy.

    Over the last three weeks, Eivaley had been hounding him about the pistol and his aloof attitude. Conor did his best to hide his feelings about Brakul''s death from her. But that lasted only a few minutes. She asked direct, pertinent questions that smashed his defenses like a tank.

    She had been insistent Conor could tell her anything, and she would listen, promising to aid him in coping. But he shut that down, not ready to open that can of worms.

    He would have shoved them through the wall if anyone else had asked them of him.

    But Conor did not want to harm a scale on her. Whether it was that Eivaley could read him like a book, that her eyes seemed to pierce his soul, or that her father arranged to pay him more than he could ever spend for her safety and to act as her Champion, he had not decided yet¡ªbut that was a bridge he could burn later.

    Once she figured out Conor was upset because of Brakul''s passing, Eivaley clung to him more than she had already been. She was waiting for him outside of the showers, sneaking into his bed, trying to help him clean guns, struggling to keep up with morning runs and exercise; Conor even caught her listening in to his meetings with the doctor to discuss his medical cocktails they royal doctor had cooked up. At least she was willing to shove off once the doctor found out that she was around the corner.

    After shutting off the light and double-checking that every entrance to his bedroom was locked, Conor knew he was ready for the inevitable shit show this gala was going to be. At least he was as prepared as possible.

    This gala would undoubtedly be the most out of place Conor had ever been in his life. He was going to be the only Human, the only one carrying strange weapons, and he would wear clothes that did not fit in with the high nobles of the Kurlatra.

    That was all before you stacked up the factors that Eivaley would be prancing around and showing Conor off to every noble from across the planet.

    They were aware of his existence. Plenty of the royals had seen him on his morning runs with Eivaley and his two guards in tow. But for some reason, Conor had to be formally introduced before they would speak to him.

    If Conor''s rolling emotions about the event could be summarized in one word, it would simply be perturbed.

    The royals had been ignoring him and watching him curiously like some fetish for weeks. Now that he and Eivaley would be formally announced as Assigned Champion and Lady, was he worth their time?

    What kind of two-faced, no-good, stuck of fucks were these people? Do they not realize that with Conor''s enhanced senses, he could hear them whispering from a hundred meters away?

    They had spoken about him being a freak, not belonging, and why he should have never tried to reach out from the gutter he came from. Conor could tolerate all of that. But Conor was ready to go right to their hiding spots and rip their tongues out when they started Insulting Eivaley, calling her childish, misguided, and a failure of a potential empress. The only reason he could not was that he had more zeroes than he thought possible in a bank account Vuraley had made for his use.

    So long as this gig ended cordially, Conor would be set for life. He could take a vacation anywhere in the universe. By Urla, with that much money, Conor could become a warlord on some backwater world with little effort.

    ¡°Conor!¡± Eivaley beamed once Conor had shut the door to his room and turned around.

    Like every other morning, she jumped at him, wrapped her tail around his waist, and nuzzled into his chest. She did not hide that she was smelling him and enjoyed every whiff as she did.

    Conor supported her, having given up on arguing that he does not like being touched by people. Eivaley was too stubborn to hear him out, and when he pressed the issue, the little gremlin saucily challenged him to spank her if he did not like it.

    Conor enjoyed the snark but could not yet cross that boundary with her. He still had too much to think about to even consider the attractive little female advances.

    ¡°Nice to see you too,¡± Conor said, setting her down.

    Eivaley stepped back and looked Conor up and down. Initially, she seemed somewhat disappointed at him, and the slight pout on her lips was easy to see. She likely was upset that he had not buckled and wore the entire toga-style garment her species does.

    But that look faded quickly once she peaked behind him and saw that he was not carrying specific tools. She forbade him from bringing them despite him arguing they would aid him in keeping her safe.

    ¡°Thank you for not bringing the grenades, or the flashbangs, or the rifle, and of course the repulsion cannon,¡± Eivaley chirped, stepping back to Conor''s front.

    ¡°Well, I did hack one of the mech suits in the royal armory to deploy to me if I need them,¡± Conor joked.

    Apparently, Eivaley did not take that as a joke in any way, knowing Conor could do that with his augmetics.

    ¡°You did not!¡± She stamped her foot and tapped a long claw on the rug.

    ¡°Relax, little ruby. I did not do that,¡± Conor sneered.

    Eivaley pouted for a moment, letting Conor appreciate the dress she wore. It was still gold and toga-like, similar to what she usually wore, but unlike usual, she was decked out to the nines.

    The fabric danced along her heavenly curves, barely covering her breasts as they split in a v-shape down her front, leaving her abs in the open air. The sides were split deeply and were attached at her hip by a small leather belt, letting her thighs and waist be seen, along with the string of the black thong she wore the first time Conor, and she was close to intimate.

    She was, as usual, a mouthwatering sight. If Vuraley would not kill him for it, Conor would have stripped her down and taken her in the hallway, uncaring who saw or heard them; however, with the warning and understanding that if he crossed that line, Conor would be staying here hanging over them like the sword of Damocles, Conor could only window shop.

    As cute as his little ruby was when she pouted and he wished to bask in her figure longer, they would be late if they did not hurry along. As such, Conor reminded her that they had to go to the gala. Once he had lost all semblance of her annoyance with his attempt at morose humor, she quickly stepped to Conor''s side and grabbed his arm.

    For his part, Conor held her close and escorted Evaley down the hallway, with her on his left, so he could draw his weapon. It was a prim and proper procedure Vuraley had ensured Conor understood for the gala.

    Vuraley has been an asset to Conor in the last few weeks. The high Champion ensured Conor understood the rules of behavior and memorized the names, faces, and roles of each guest in attendance.

    The Human could not have cared less when Vuraley began to school Conor on them. However, once he tricked Conor into learning them by describing them all as threats and potential people he would have to dust, Conor retains the information as if it were gospel.

    Through all the resources Vuraley had allowed Conor access, he had learned their names, faces, histories, fighting styles, and accomplishments. There would likely not be a soul amidst the function he could not isolate and kill based on this intel.

    Given how much intelligence he has on them, they could become Conor''s playthings in seconds. They were open books to him, while they still only know him as the savage Human, the gutter dweller reaching above his station.

    As a man millennia ago said, if you know your enemy, you need not fear a hundred battles. Conor could assuredly protect Eivaley.

    Neither Conor nor Eivaley said much during their walk through the palace halls; neither had much to say. At this point, they spent most of their days together, save for sleeping hours or when Vitul and Cur''sh were trying to get Conor to go with them to drink in the barracks.

    He had been drinking with them a few times since arriving. Conor needed the friends, and they could at least occupy his mind with tales from their time in the war. They were happy to see what the wired Champion could do, namely how many shots he could take and still walk.

    Neither of his guards would be in attendance today. They were off with their own ladies and families, so they had the day off.

    After a quick jaunt through the nearly dead-silent palace, Conor and Eivaley arrived at the top of the preamble stairs to the grand hall.

    As they descended the marble stairs into the grand hall, the eyes of the statues of all the previous empresses stared down at them; their cold diamond eyes judged the pairs'' every action just as the crowd of Eivaleys waiting sisters and their champions in front of the massive doors to the hall did.

    The entrance to the hall featured a pair of doors that were tens of meters high and made of intricately carved wood. They depicted every god of the Kurlatra reaching down and pulling the first empress up while her Champion pushed her toward divinity.

    The other statutes grew from the stone walls and looked down on all the waiting royals with a judgment only one''s ancestors could. Their immaculate and godlike presence loomed; their histories judged yours in contempt, challenging each Kurlatra''s worth as a royal.

    Conor glared at the waiting crowd of Eivlay''s relatives while they descended into the pack, readying himself to tear them apart.

    From his research, the only three he genuinely worried about were  Sheruai, Juklet, and Burlai, the seventh, third, and first Champions.

    Each was a man Conor was keyed in on and spotted quickly, needing to know where such potentially dangerous men were.

    Sheruai, the god of close combat. He was the closest to Conor in upbringing out of all the other champions and assigned champions. The bruiser, who stood a head taller than Conor, grew up as a slave within the badlands.

    There, Sheruai fought in the gladiatorial pits for royal entertainment. There, he killed an uncountable number of Kurlatra slave warriors, beasts, and captured aliens. He is, at this point, undefeated for a decade.

    His lade, Kurelay, had moved to Levalit, the capital of the badlands, so he could continue his reign of the fighting pits. The man was a beast, his muscled grey scales pressed tightly to his simple steel armor, threatening to break it like cotton.

    But Conor planned on killing him in a simple manner; shooting him in the head or poisoning his food would do. The man would assuredly try to fight in close combat. Conor believed he could win if it came down to a brawl. A man like that would be pompous and assured someone comparatively small like Conor could never win against them.

    Juklet was a man Conor was cautious of because he was influential. The man was in charge of thousands of Kurlatra army troops and had held positions in the GU army. All those factors meant he likely knew how to fight at range and counter Conor but also assured he could call on allies, which the Human had not accounted for.

    You had to be cautious about anyone with that much influence when fighting.  They could call on masses of support and likely held an intense cult of personality.

    Burlai was a whole other animal. The green-scaled Kurlatra was not imposing in his build and was a ghost in life. No matter what resources Vuraley offered Conor, the man was an unknown.

    Burlai had no record of birth, military service, criminal record, or even a fucking parking ticket. He was so pristine it was all too good to be true.

    Conor had been around the block enough times to understand that a man with no history, life, or existence was not ordinary. Many people of high influence deliberately erased the lore of a man they wanted to keep on hand by denying him a past; you could not arrest a spook who had never done anything.

    An unknown was far more dangerous than anything else. That Burlai watched Conor intently was evidence of the threat he posed.

    It was odd. Eivaley waved and greeted everyone, ignorant of the tension between the men. Conor and the other champions silently threatened one another with glares and hands-on weapons. Although Conor only focused on those three, all others looked away and submitted to Conor''s presence while the duo descended the stairs.

    Once they reached the waiting area with the others, Vuraley smiled, ¡°Good to see you two.¡±

    ¡°Daddy!¡± Eivaley yelled and rushed out of Conor''s arms, hugging her father near the bottom of the steps.

    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    Vuraley hugged her back and ensured she was physically content before glancing at Conor, who had half drawn the hand cannon. He nodded, approving of the defensive action, but at the same time, slowly waved a hand, assuring it was safe.

    Conor stowed his weapon, and Vuraley tended to his daughter momentarily, caring for her desire to inform him of what she and Conor had been doing¡ªdespite him knowing what they had been up to for weeks.

    Once Vuraley had let her go, in a near-practiced motion, Eivaley returned to Conor, which warmed his soul. Even though he was unlearned in the Kurlatra ways and did not entirely comprehend their customs, having his ruby next to him was beautiful.

    ¡°Alright all. It is time,¡± Vurlaye announced, all muttering, dying as the show started.

    The man''s instruction led all the daughters and their champions to line up in birth order, save for Conor and Eivaley taking up the rear.

    Both knew their austere position was due to Eivaley''s changes in reality. They held the grand last entrance; once all the others had arrived, they would be announced and allotted entry.

    The pairs lined up in front of the closed doors. Each pair waited as the doors were opened, and a man on the other side announced the man and woman in reverence before sealing the doors again.

    Even though the doors were sealed, the sounds of cheers and support for each lady were audible. The attendees loved each lady for what they offered the Kurlatra empire and all the potential she had as a future leader of their entire species.

    The nobles also gawked and jeered for each Champion. They adored their histories and what each had done to have been deemed notable enough to stand by their potential next empress.

    Eivialy squeezed Conor''s waist and hand, hearing her sister''s achievements and abilities. She judged herself compared to them, finding herself lacking.

    In Eivaleys mind, they were the better sisters. They accomplished more than she had ever been able to. Her sisters had collectively revived crops, won wars, stopped uprisings, and increased the influence of the Kurlatra empire across the galaxy.

    In comparison, Eivaley''s achievements and regular work were drops of water in the vast ocean of her family''s accomplishments. Sure, Eivaley overhauled the veterans'' programs and made homeless aid and welfare available. Still, all her family, save for her father and mother, saw them as wastes of time and resources.

    As far as Eivaley saw it, she was the least influential sister. Conor picked up on Eivelay, nearly brooding, knowing how she felt after their long talks. The comparison was coming, so he took steps to support her by being the man she had expected him to be: bold, forward of the fight, and willing to stand between her and danger.

    It was good that Vuraley had devised a plan for Conor to execute when it was their turn to enter. It was undoubtedly something no one inside would see coming, and Eivaley would likely be just as surprised. The stand-out introduction to what a Human could be would surely raise her spirits and shine a spotlight on her.

    ¡°Are you ready,¡± Vuraley signaled to Conor.

    Conor nodded, knowing what he was supposed to do. Instead of waiting for his cue, he stepped forward, planted his feet like tree roots, and pushed with all his might. He was not silent by any stretch of the imagination. Conor screamed, making the massive doors open. Every servo and muscle he could muster roared to force the weight away.

    Vuraley had Conor attempt to push open the doors several times over the last week, assuring him it was possible. Doing so made his eyeballs feel like they would explode from pressure and caused overload warnings to flash violently in his HUD. If these massive frames weighed a few more tons, Conor would have blown a gasket just trying.

    Their entrance was beyond all those in attendance had seen. The doors groaned, accompanied by Conor yelling as he strained to move mass he was not designed to; the announcer declared who they were, his voice barely audible over Conor''s struggles.

    ¡°Presenting the Fifth Princess and her assigned Champion Conor.¡± They began but went slack-jawed when Conor gained enough momentum to shove the doors fully open.

    The massive wooden planks acted like gongs as they slammed into the marble railing. The thunderous boom drew the attention of every member of the gigantic hall, ripping them away from their own little conversations.

    All eyes fell on Conor, who stood up straight and gazed over the crowd, judging them from the high ground like a commander ready to address his troops.

    If this was some B-rate hollow flick, this was the part where a bright backlight would give Conor a radiant halo, and birds would fly past him to emphasize his presence. Too bad this was reality, so all that stood at the top of the stairs was a man clad in the colors of death.

    The doorman snapped to attention, returning to a distant habit from his time in the Kurlatra army. He was stunned and stiff until Vuraley coughed into his hand to signal that he would continue as ordered.

    Before the High Champion had reminded the man of his duties, Conor turned away from the crowd and offered Eivaley a hand, an action Vuraley had assured Conor understood was a sign of a man''s willingness to aid his lady in her desires.

    Eivaley certainly enjoyed Conor''s presentation. He was showing the crowd precisely the man she knew he was. Her tail wagged happily, and she eagerly grabbed his hand, returning her half of the pageantry.

    ¡°Eivaley, fifth daughter of the empress; Angel of Veterans, Lordess of The People, The Lady of The Untamed, and the Warmth of the Steel Heart,¡± The announcer resumed as Conor pulled her through the doors and stood to her side so the world could see her brilliance.

    Compared to her sisters, Eivaley was dressed in a more alluring garment. Her decadent silver robes flowed gracefully around her curves. Her sisters wore far more garish attire, decked out in gems, bangles, and thousands of meters of filling designs.

    ¡°And her assigned Champion, Conor the Human. The Wolf of Heavalun. The Warrior of the Steel Heart, Lord of War, is above reproach in his ability to fight and win. Conor, the savior of the fifth princess, has nearly given himself to save her and her alone. A warrior all Kurlatra should aspire to be.¡±

    Conor glanced at Vuraley, who smirked, likely having been the man to decide what titles he should have been given. Conor could not fight the names publicly; doing so would harm Eivaley''s reputation. He was attached to her. If he must be those names, so be it.

    Conor does not think of himself as one of those things, save for the Wolf of Heavalun. He was known in the underground as the dog of Heavalun, so adjustment was close enough.

    Conor did have to wonder what the other Champions and the general nobles would think about him being declared the Lord of War. He had never technically been to war; Heavalun was an ongoing warzone to the average COS and GU citizen, but to him, it was home, nothing more, nothing less.

    The crowd''s reception was something Conor had not expected. They were not silent, but they were not in revelry either. Through subtle calls of support and near-whispered words of caution, their uncertainty was palpable. Conor had taken all preconceived notions of what he was and smashed them with a hammer in one action.

    Similar to how Conor was about them, they did not know how to categorize him, his relationship with Eivaley, or what impact his involvement in their geopolitics would pose.

    Conor was the odd man out; the rabbit in the mine, the fish on a hike, the outsider. How he acted today would cement an impression of him and Eivaley for years, and everyone understood that. Even Conor¡ªat least after Vuraley had emphasized how much of an effect he can have on people, even as an assigned champion.

    ¡°You did not have to do that,¡± Eivaley insisted once they started down the stairs, not looking at Conor but waving to the crowd of onlookers.

    ¡°Hey, you and your dad said I need to be bold,¡± Conor smirked, scanning the crowd and spotting the other Champions and a few soldiers on the edges, armed and ready to defend the nobles.

    Conor was not surprised they were there. If he was given a job to dust the nobles of the Kurlatra, a gala like this would be perfect. All it would take would be a few drones, bombs, and a semi-clear line of sight.

    After he located the target, the bombs would detonate right on them and take anyone nearby with them. It would be a ripe chance to get some extra brownie points by killing other nobles so he could strong-arm his client into a juicy bonus for some additional work.

    The hall was just as decadent as the rest of the palace. Columns of stone held the impossibly high ceiling and frescoes up. Along the right were doors where red-clad servants lingered, carrying trays of horderves and drinks. They balanced their charges carefully in one hand while waiting to resume serving their betters.

    On the left was an expansive series of glass doors leading to a balcony overlooking the gardens and the glittering city below. Once Conor spotted it, he knew where he would try to get Eivaley as quickly as possible.

    Sure, the balcony would open them up to sniper fire, but so long as he positioned Eivaley close to his front and turned his back to the kilometers of well-tended foliage, he could see any threats coming and offer his armor on him as her shield.

    ¡°So¡ªlord of war?¡± Conor teased, gently pushing his body into Eivaley.

    ¡°Oh, shut up and smile,¡± Eivaley replied, tapping her claw on his waist. ¡°You needed titles that fit who you are.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m above reproach?¡± Conor raised a brow.

    ¡°I thought you were, so Daddy and I decided it was fitting,¡± Eivaley assured.

    Eivaley was well aware of how many ¡®war heroes¡¯ were in attendance. She and Daddy selected the title just to spite them. Her father and Conor were commoners by birth, and out of all the men here, they were the only two who genuinely fought¡ªwell, save for a few outliers.

    ¡°What about the steel heart thing? My heart is nanotubes, not steel.¡± Conor commented.

    ¡°It¡¯s poetic,¡± Eivaley replied flatly. ¡°Now get ready. We must enter our spot before Daddy announces the mother''s arrival.¡±

    Conor left it at that because they were several steps from the parting crowd. They would be able to hear their little conversations, and Conor would rather keep them in the dark about him as much as possible.

    The pair drifted through the passage of Kurlatra, all eyes on them as they assumed their positions near the throne placed upon a dais at the far end of the room. In line with them were the remaining champions and ladies in attendance today.

    Only one or two were not there because they were currently embroiled in politics in another part of the universe, doing their best to carve out their own names and titles.

    Most stared at Conor and Eivaley, disapproving of their sister choosing a Human as her Champion, and a few commented on him bringing a coward''s weapon to a regal affair.

    Those Smug bastards could shove it. Conor would bring what he wanted and care for Eivaley as long as Vurlay continued to pay him a small fortune a day. The only reason that would stop would be she wants him gone or he died. Conor was a man of his word and said he would do that in writing almost a month earlier.

    The only one who did not comment about Conor was Burlai. The man glanced at Conor, saw he was not drawing his weapon, and returned most of his attention to his lady, Mulaney. He was still vigilant of all threats, but that was all.

    Conor could respect a man like that. He was focused and knew what to do. His boundless confidence was as silent as a Zlit-rat yet as potently lethal as a slug thrower. Although Conor does not know much about him, one piece of the puzzle of who this ghost is just falls into place.

    The picosecond Conor stood tall next to Eivaley; the announcer''s voice boomed, declaring to present the empress and her Champion to the entire hall. All fell silent, including Conor, having never seen the empress in the flesh, nor would any dare to disrupt the introduction of a woman they considered just one rung below sanctity.

    ¡°I am honored to introduce the lord and lady of all the Kurlatra. I present proudly to you all Empress Eyurali; Ruler or the badlands, the reach, the desert plains, and all under the Rolo stars.¡±

    Each name dropped initially was a location on the planet save for the Rolo stars, which referred to the twin orange stars of the Kurlatra system. Rolo is the Kurlatra god of the stars. His split personality represents the wan dwarf star and the blazing near supermassive star that loomed in the cosmos.

    ¡°Eyurali, empress of all under the stars. Mother of all children, goddess of the bold and daring. She who tamed the Beast of Hyurilla, his might unknown to living men,¡± the announcer bowed so deeply his snout nearly touched the floor.

    The doors unsealed slowly, and a woman with a presence Conor had never seen flowed through the gap like smoke.  He could not say where she was in the room before the hall, but he predicted she was staged nearby; such is life when half of your existence is a dog and pony show.

    Once Eyurali was in front of the doors, her womanly presence flowed out like a fog. It rolled down the stairs and filled all present with a sense of regality that could never be faked. She was the authentic detail.

    Eyurali was a woman unlike any other. She stood as tall as Eivaley and looked so uncannily similar to her daughter that it was frightening. Her blood-red scales were emphasized by the peacock-like regalia that spread out behind her like a halo of gold.

    She had a buxom build, tightly wrapped by golden straps and silver robes. Her red scales were the color of well-oxygenated blood, brighter than any ruby could pray to be. Unlike many of the other Kurlatra women, Eyutali had no piercings on her horns; instead, they were polished to a mirror sheen.

    Eyurali scanned all the building occupants. A shimmer of recognition for each face twinkled in her otherwise tired eyes. They looked shockingly like the eyes of contract killers Conor had known.

    She had the eyes of someone who had paid the ultimate price for power, success, money, and recognition;  they held no luster¡ªa gift lost once one turned around and saw the mountain of bodies they had climbed to reach the top.

    Since coming here, Conor had seen glimpses of that look in his eyes¡ªlikely an aftereffect of having lost Brakul, Fae, Stitch, and the life he knew. But unlike Eyurali, he tried to hide it with machismo. She, however, seemed to wear the cost of her office with pride.

    She waved to everyone, stopping he glances for a moment to acknowledge them when they made eye contact. Eivaleys mother, the goddess of the Kurltatra, the woman who held divinity in her claws, oozed confidence and maternal grace.

    Conor had never seen a woman quite like her; even standing nearly a hundred meters away felt like a sin. Her radiance burned as hot as a supernova and was twice as bright.

    Sure, Conor had known some bombastic women: Fae, the stalwart companion and oh-so-greedy lover. Jurilra, the Jurintik mother in Heavalun, who freely sold her body to support her children, giving up on all her dreams to see the little tikes fed; and Eivaley, a woman who could see through him and all his fronts with no effort. But something about Uyurali was genuinely magnanimous.

    The only one of her children she paused for an extended period was Eivaley. Euraley and Eivaley''s tails wagged subtly, a detail most would not spot, but with Conor''s enhanced vision, the waves rolling across their dresses were as clear as day.

    Eyurali slowly scanned Conor, up and down from the distance. She assessed Conor like a mother, determining the value of her daughter''s desired man. Whatever she saw in Conor, he was not privy to. She had no reaction if she found anything at all.

    Eyurali looked toward the throne and waved to all her people without any preference; she had mastered all the presence needed of a woman leading billions of people and juggling the favor of thousands of nobles.

    She stood proud before all. She was indeed beyond all comments and descriptions Conor had heard. Not even the paintings and statues of her held a candle to the genuine article.

    ¡°And presenting, Vuralay, the Lord of Combatives,  The high Champion. Vuraley, the man who tamed the long wastes. He was born with an iron soul and has drawn enough blood to stain his scales black.¡± The presenter finished, stepping off as Vuraley moved beside Eyurali.

    Over the weeks, Conor had become used to the sight of the High Champion and genuinely only had good things to say about the man. He stood as tall as Conor and about a head and a half over Eyurali.

    Not unlike her, he wore patterns of gold, but for him, it was that regal armor that Conor had seen him wearing the first time the two had met. Attached to his hip was a sword that likely was as long as the man was tall.

    Conor had seen Vuraley practice with the weapon against the guards. Despite the length and girth of the weapon, he could wield it with as much dexterity and precision as a short nano-blade.

    Despite wielding swords half the length and weight, the guards could not keep up with Vuraley''s speed and violence. They made valiant efforts to close the gap and slip into the blender to even out the playing field, but doing that only led to Vuraley whipping the sword around and bludgeoning them with the hilt.

    Conor had no doubt that if push came to shove in melee, Vuraley would wipe the floor with him. That would not even be a contest. Conor was a ranged fighter and expert at underhanded tactics. A straight-up head-to-head bladed clash was not his strong suit, and he did not pretend to be.

    Learning how to fight from Vuraley would be nice. Hell, Conor''s two guards certainly thought it would be a good idea, stating that if he did, Eivaley would like it, and he would have more options if he ran out of ammo. Conor would consider it and ask the man about some lessons later on that could occupy his mind and keep his crawling thoughts away.

    Vuraley and Eyurali coiled their tails around one another''s necks, the patterns of their scales matching the life coils around the others'' necks flawlessly. Once they had all the couples in attendance, they did the same¡ªeven Eivaley''s tail twitched as if she was going to as well, but she stopped and instead wrapped Conor''s waist.

    ¡°Good evening to you all.¡± Eyurali began, extending hers outward to gesture at the entire room.

    Her angelic voice pushed out all the noise in the room. Each note of her smooth tones sounded like a chorus of cherubs, assuring everyone that the world loved them and that nothing harmful could befall them while in her presence.

    Conor was taken aback by the sound. While Eivaley''s voice was smooth and chirped like a little bird, her mother''s was languid and warm as a sunrise.

    ¡°I wholeheartedly wish to extend my gratitude to you all for attending today,¡± Eyurali continued, bringing her hands to her side as she and Vuraley stepped forward and began down the stairs.

    ¡°Today is a grand event. Several of my daughters have returned from their journeys to the stars, all having accomplished wondrous things they will tell you about soon. It is also to celebrate my Champions return from the COS,¡± Eyurali said, looking at her husband and gently nuzzling into his cheek for a moment.

    Vuraley returned the gesture. The two seemingly had forgotten about the gala for several moments. They were lost in one another for those few blissful seconds.

    It was as if they could forget about being empress and first Champion for that short period. The two would be a small house by a lake on the Huretian steps. They would spend their days fishing and tending to a garden just large enough for them.

    It was a dream neither could tell anyone, except those close to them who understood why they took an extended vacation each year. That small house was their sanctity and solace. Without its existence, neither could stomach the rest of their lives.

    But that moment faded fast, and both understood how much of a pipe dream them running to the steps genuinely was. They bore the weight of the crown and must uphold the office their ancestors secured for them.

    ¡°Now, I do not wish to hold all of you up. Please drink, eat, and make merry. Our chefs have prepared more than enough food for you all, and our liquor cabinets are open. I shall be meandering about and meet with you all individually tonight,¡± Eyurali finished after sighing and slowly separating muzzles with Vuraley, quickly glancing at Conor as she reached the bottom of the steps, joining the crowd.

    The servants quickly moved from their hiding holes and began serving food and drinks to the guests. At the same time, the silence evaporated as a heavy fog of raucous discussion filled the air.

    Initially, Conor moved toward the doors, but before he took a single step, like a pack of sharks who smelled blood, he and Eivaley were surrounded by hundreds of Kurlatra.

    The swarm immediately began to hound him and Eivaley with questions; most of them surrounded Eivaley''s trip and Conor''s existence. Conor had already expected this night would be long and a royal pain in the ass¡ªnow he knew this would be more exhausting than a day-long firefight.

 Section Eighteen: Mother Meet Man

    Eyurali, with a firm grip, guided Conor across the room. His heavy steps and the lively ensemble music barely masked the sound of the Empress''s claws tapping on the tile.

    The other nobles watched with curiosity as the Empress dragged the man who had been the talk of the entire gala toward the dance floor.

    Whispers filled the room as the onlookers speculated about Eyurali''s intentions. They pondered whether she would discuss his role as an assigned Champion, the troublesome nobles, or something scandalous that the Human would never reveal.

    Most were not worried about them falling victim to the man whose history of cold, calculated murder they were well aware of. Only a few nobles had upset the Empress over the last few years, and those were minor annoyances; they prayed that was the case.

    If anyone was to be the victim of reaping, it would be Ecallar. His house had caused issues for the entire species over the last few decades, and the nobles'' disdain for him was evident.

    His follies included everything from costing the empire millions of credits, losing battle after battle against separatists, and, worst of all, failing to guide his daughter to a potential Champion.

    Most of the nobles could not stand him. For some strange reason, the only member of the Empress''s family who favored the man and her house was Feiyala, Eivaleys younger sister.

    None of the nobles, or Conor for that matter, would care if Ecallar and his entire lineage were killed. It would not be the first assassination Eyurali would have ordered for the good of the species.

    While few enjoyed that she and the past Empress¡¯ would kill people who caused strife, they could understand its reasoning.

    Eyurali, like anyone tending a garden or raising fruit, would sometimes have to remove a plant infected with blight. It was necessary to ensure that the rest of all she cared for survived.

    Without the removal of those cancerous individuals, the rest of them would be targeted by dissidents. The average commoner did not think of nobles as individuals; to them, all nobles, except for the Empress and her direct family, were a monstrous congelation simply referred to as nobility.

    To the commoners, the gap between their lives and the nobility was as vast as the Denyila ocean. This difference was an insurmountable obstacle, a chasm that could never be bridged.

    The space around Eyurali and Conor quickly cleared, and the attendees gave them a wide berth. It was as if they were a flock of game birds scattering from a pair of predators entering their midst.

    In a way, that assumption was correct.

    Eyurali and Conor were monstrous killers with their own flavor and methodology.

    While yes, in the literal sense, both came from species who were apex predators on their own worlds, that was not the predation the lessers cared about.

    Conor, the beast, the savage, the brute; through a combination of augmetics, his weight, training, and demeanor was a spring ready to snap. He had already shown the congregation how little patience he had for them through threats and his general goings about.

    Conor was The Wolf of Heavalun, a wild animal with the heart and mind of a calculated killer, and was given distance to protect them physically.

    On the other hand, the Empress was A wolf in sheep''s clothing. Her elegance brought a gentle violence to the table. Eyurali, though none dared to call her by the name she buried upon corrination, most knew her title during her rise in the ranks to be Empress; The Flower of Death.

    While Eyurali¡¯s sisters fought tooth and nail to be Empress, killing one another in open and brutal fashions, she was not. The current Empress was subtle; she would poison her sisters through various means: Helit root powder, Durala venom, or naturally injected venom of Vuraley once she found him at a military ceremony, and he swept her off her feat.

    No one could confirm what happened during the last battle to be Empress, but many suspected Eyurali had caused the deaths of the vast majority of her sisters.

    Dozens of the other candidates died silently in their sleep, some were found having fallen to a strange illness, and a few fell victim to sudden onset envenoming; there even was one who felt it pertinent to suck-start a rifle through the back of their head.

    ¡°Alright, Assigned Champion. I hope you know how to dance,¡± Yurali purred, stepping closer to Conor and tightly wrapping her tail around his thigh.

    Eyurali pressed herself against Conor, letting her angelic curves mold against Conor''s warm muscles. Simultaneously, her coiling snake of a tail gently squeezed his leg from near the crotch to mid-calf.

    At the same time, her fruity perfume invaded Conor''s nostrils, transporting him to a spring oasis just after a rainstorm. The scent was subtle and filled with the notes of thousands of flours and fruits that thrive at the water''s edge.

    The potpourri was disarming in a way Conor had never experienced. His muscles relaxed, similar to the feeling of having an ice-cold drink after a long run.

    If Conor could not see the toxicology screeners active in his HUD, he would have sworn there had to be some kind of poison or drug affecting him--- but all the readings were within safe parameters.

    The watching crowd oohed and awed, with many of the ladies fanning themselves from excitement; it was not because of the Empress readying to dance with Conor; no, the women pictured themselves in her shoes.

    Conor did not yet understand how he behaved like the most flawless Kurlatra male, but he would soon enough.

    He physically was their species'' definition of a picture-perfect mate, tall, muscular, and with a jaw you could crack granite on. A few thought his lack of scales and a tail was a turn-off but overlooked those minor setbacks for everything else that came with the Conor package.

    Any of the women around the gala would gladly take the Human from Eivaley if she no longer wanted him. Especially after the Fifth princes explained how Conor was a solid ten degrees Celsius warmer than any Kurlatra.

    Who would not want a living heater that would hold you as you walked around or would let you snuggle up and take a ride on?

    A few had any plans to make an attempt. The women who would attempt to steal Conor wished to do so for their self-interest and nothing but: Some wanted a piece of arm candy, others a man to drive them wild, but most sought power and saw him as a way to get it.

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    ¡°I never have danced,¡± Conor admitted.

    A choking hollowness filled Conor''s chest, feeling similar to oddly feeling like he was failing someone he had known his entire life.

    ¡°That''s alright. Vurii did not know how to either,¡± Eyurali assured, guiding Conor''s hand to her shoulder and the other toward just over her tail base. ¡°I can show you a simple one that will work for you.¡±

    Eyurali looked up at Conor with a sly grin, not elaborating on his need for the dance. She teasingly walked her fingers up to grab his shoulder, each claw clinking against the metal plating of his augmented chest. Her other hand slipped under his arm, settling in the center of his broad back.

    Closeness like this was typically reserved only for one''s mate, but in Eyurali''s case, she had to show Conor how to act like a mate for a Kurlatra, so this was not taboo.

    Besides, she was the Empress, and no one would question her on what she decided was a necessary action. However, seeing Eivaley standing next to Vuraley in the crowd, glaring daggers at her, did make the Empress giggle.

    There was no chance Eyurali would ever consider doing anything like taking her precious daughter''s new plaything away. The Empress had Vuraley anyway.

    ¡°Just don¡¯t get handsy with me,¡± the Empress teased.

    ¡°I wasn¡¯t planning to,¡± Conor replied, surprisingly flatly to her.

    Eyurali giggled, finding the undemanding tone Conor used to be refreshing. Similarly to her husband, having someone around who puts less stake into her position might be refreshing to keep around, should her daughter manage to worm into his soul.

    ¡°Good, now, follow my lead for a while,¡± Eyurali said, stepping back and looking down. ¡°Just try and keep your foot in front of mine.¡±

    Looking down, Conor positioned his boots a few centimeters away from Eyuralis''s '' clawed feet. Seeing the sight reminded Conor greatly of the insurmountable gap between himself and the nobles, including Eivaley.

    His boots were well worn, covered in abrasions and burns. That, along with his black rip-resistant pants, he was just so different than them. Eyurali especially. She had bangles of solid gold shimmering around her ankles, barely visible through the flowing motions of her dress.

    "Let''s start slow," Eyuali smiled, taking the first step of their in-action lesson.

    Over the next ten minutes, Eyurali showed Conor one of the simplest dances she had in her repertoire. It was nothing fancy and only had six steps in its order. After Conor stepped on her toes half a dozen times and seemingly grew a second left foot, the pieces started falling together.

    They began to move in a slow sloping triangle on the floor, one step to the left, feet together, one step to the left, feet together, and so on and so forth.

    ¡°That''s it,¡± Eyurali encouraged, closing the gap, knowing Conor did not need to watch their feet anymore. ¡°I¡¯m surprised you did not break my toes.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, I am too,¡± Conor cringed, remembering each time he felt the claws on his mid-back dig in with a swift reminder to slow down.

    In true mercenary fashion, the only reason Conor managed to master any amount of the simple little dance was because of the martial comparison he made. Conor compared the simple, consistent steps to how a weapon worked.

    Brakuls pistol each time followed the same steps: feeding, chambering, locking, firing, unlocking, extracting, ejecting, cocking, then the entire process began again.

    In this case, Conor and Eyurali¡¯s feet were the components, both moving in planned synchronicity that flowed like it was ingrained in their DNA.

    ¡°Now that my feet are safe and since I have you alone,¡± Eyurali breathed, laying her head against Conor''s chest. ¡°Tell me, how do you feel about everything happening?¡±

    ¡°Happening with what?¡± Conor replied, scanning the crowd now that he would not crush his dance partner''s toes.

    Amidst the crowd were many of the faces he had seen already throughout the night. Even Eivaley and Vuraley were toward the side, watching the pair dance.

    They were whispering to one another, but through the other conversations going on, it was impossible to make out any of the words.

    Eivaley did notice Conor look at her, she smiled and pulled her tail up into her palms. Something Conor knew very well was something she only did while nervous.

    He wondered what she was nervous about but was brought back to the intimate dance by Eyurali nuzzling under his chin. ¡°There is no need to play coy. After your story, you told me. I want to understand how you are feeling. Just like my little daughter, you are staring at.¡±

    What has been going on with the women in his life lately? They all want to ask personnel questions he lacked a solid answer to. Come to think of it, all the women Conor knew were like that¡ªsave for fae.

    That monstrous woman could care less about how Conor felt ninety percent of the time. With the other ten being if he wanted to fuck.

    Eivaley and Eyurali, however, just had the predisposition to dig under his skin, peal back layers, and seek out valuable nuggets of intel.

    ¡°I am not sure¡ª¡± Conor began as he looked back down and into the green oceans of the Empress¡¯s eyes.

    ¡°That is alright,¡± Eyurali nodded. ¡°You can take all the time you need to figure it out. But a fair warning, no one''s patience is infinite.¡±

    Conor raised a brow at that. What did she mean by patience? Patience for what? She could be referring to an infinite number of people around the nobles and for just as many reasons. But deep down, he knew she was talking about her daughter.

    Eivaley had been patient with Conor and his issues. She had been gently trying to coax him out to speak to her about how he felt and do more than just be a bodyguard.

    So far, all he had done was keep her at arm''s length. Save for a few small moments, when they held one another during a lingering hug, he was still the same¡ªgiving her nothing.

    But Eivaley had been honest to a fault with him. She offered support and lived her words by letting the subject die when Conor showed discomfort.

    Eyurali, having decided that all that needed to be said to the man had been, stopped following his lead and stepped back, holding a hand out to where Vuraley waited in the wings for her.

    Vuraley stepped forward, with both collaring the other with their tails. Conor stepped to the side of Vuraley to reach for Eivaley so they could go somewhere else and he could protect her.  But she was not there.

    Conor looked frantically around the room for her. Most of the crowd shifted like waves as they danced.

    "Where did she go?" Conor snapped at Vurlaey, knowing the Eivaley could not slip away from him without it being intentional.

    "Relax, Conor," Vuraley assured,  gesturing to the gardens. "She is right outside."

    Without missing a beat, Conor strode through the crowd toward the dark glass doors leading into the chilly night. Those who did not move and heed his warning were pushed aside; all were a waste of time for Conor.

    Once on the veranda, Conor looked around and saw a few party guests drinking and mingling, but saw no imidate sign of Eivaley.

    In an ingrained reaction when seeking out any sentient being, Conor scrolled through the optical abilities of his augmetics, looking for any trace of motion.

    His motion tracker, night vision, or particulate sensor showed no hint. But FLIR was not a bust. A lone figure draped in a flowing gown drifted through the night amidst the ancient swaying trees.

    The glowing warmth of oranges and reds made the figure look like a specter haunting the woods.

    To confirm it was Eivaley, Conor activated his audio enhancer to focus on that direction alone. What he heard broke his artificial heart.

    "Stupid, stupid. How could I be so stupid to think he would stay with me," Eivaley sniffled, wiping tears away with her sleeve.

    Conor mantled the banister without missing a beat, falling two stories to the ground below. His servos whirred and whined as they shielded him from the damage caused by the impact.

    As Conor burst forth from the small crater his landing caused, he could hear the nobles on the veranda gasping and gawking at what the Human had just done.

    They likely just learned more about how truly different the Human was to them. But their opinions did not matter for the time being. Eivaley was upset, crying, alone, and in the cold.

    With Eyuralies words bouncing in his mind about how no one has infinite patience, freshly bouncing in his mind, Conor maneuvered through the encapsulating bows, determined to find Eivaley.

 Section Eighteen: Mother Meet Man

    Eyurali, with a firm grip, guided Conor across the room. His heavy steps and the lively ensemble music barely masked the sound of the Empress''s claws tapping on the tile.

    The other nobles watched with curiosity as the Empress dragged the man who had been the talk of the entire gala toward the dance floor.

    Whispers filled the room as the onlookers speculated about Eyurali''s intentions. They pondered whether she would discuss his role as an assigned Champion, the troublesome nobles, or something scandalous that the Human would never reveal.

    Most were not worried about them falling victim to the man whose history of cold, calculated murder they were well aware of. Only a few nobles had upset the Empress over the last few years, and those were minor annoyances; they prayed that was the case.

    If anyone was to be the victim of reaping, it would be Ecallar. His house had caused issues for the entire species over the last few decades, and the nobles'' disdain for him was evident.

    His follies included everything from costing the empire millions of credits, losing battle after battle against separatists, and, worst of all, failing to guide his daughter to a potential Champion.

    Most of the nobles could not stand him. For some strange reason, the only member of the Empress''s family who favored the man and her house was Feiyala, Eivaleys younger sister.

    None of the nobles, or Conor for that matter, would care if Ecallar and his entire lineage were killed. It would not be the first assassination Eyurali would have ordered for the good of the species.

    While few enjoyed that she and the past Empress¡¯ would kill people who caused strife, they could understand its reasoning.

    Eyurali, like anyone tending a garden or raising fruit, would sometimes have to remove a plant infected with blight. It was necessary to ensure that the rest of all she cared for survived.

    Without the removal of those cancerous individuals, the rest of them would be targeted by dissidents. The average commoner did not think of nobles as individuals; to them, all nobles, except for the Empress and her direct family, were a monstrous congelation simply referred to as nobility.

    To the commoners, the gap between their lives and the nobility was as vast as the Denyila ocean. This difference was an insurmountable obstacle, a chasm that could never be bridged.

    The space around Eyurali and Conor quickly cleared, and the attendees gave them a wide berth. It was as if they were a flock of game birds scattering from a pair of predators entering their midst.

    In a way, that assumption was correct.

    Eyurali and Conor were monstrous killers with their own flavor and methodology.

    While yes, in the literal sense, both came from species who were apex predators on their own worlds, that was not the predation the lessers cared about.

    Conor, the beast, the savage, the brute; through a combination of augmetics, his weight, training, and demeanor was a spring ready to snap. He had already shown the congregation how little patience he had for them through threats and his general goings about.

    Conor was The Wolf of Heavalun, a wild animal with the heart and mind of a calculated killer, and was given distance to protect them physically.

    On the other hand, the Empress was A wolf in sheep''s clothing. Her elegance brought a gentle violence to the table. Eyurali, though none dared to call her by the name she buried upon corrination, most knew her title during her rise in the ranks to be Empress; The Flower of Death.

    While Eyurali¡¯s sisters fought tooth and nail to be Empress, killing one another in open and brutal fashions, she was not. The current Empress was subtle; she would poison her sisters through various means: Helit root powder, Durala venom, or naturally injected venom of Vuraley once she found him at a military ceremony, and he swept her off her feat.

    No one could confirm what happened during the last battle to be Empress, but many suspected Eyurali had caused the deaths of the vast majority of her sisters.

    Dozens of the other candidates died silently in their sleep, some were found having fallen to a strange illness, and a few fell victim to sudden onset envenoming; there even was one who felt it pertinent to suck-start a rifle through the back of their head.

    ¡°Alright, Assigned Champion. I hope you know how to dance,¡± Yurali purred, stepping closer to Conor and tightly wrapping her tail around his thigh.

    Eyurali pressed herself against Conor, letting her angelic curves mold against Conor''s warm muscles. Simultaneously, her coiling snake of a tail gently squeezed his leg from near the crotch to mid-calf.

    At the same time, her fruity perfume invaded Conor''s nostrils, transporting him to a spring oasis just after a rainstorm. The scent was subtle and filled with the notes of thousands of flours and fruits that thrive at the water''s edge.

    The potpourri was disarming in a way Conor had never experienced. His muscles relaxed, similar to the feeling of having an ice-cold drink after a long run.

    If Conor could not see the toxicology screeners active in his HUD, he would have sworn there had to be some kind of poison or drug affecting him--- but all the readings were within safe parameters.

    The watching crowd oohed and awed, with many of the ladies fanning themselves from excitement; it was not because of the Empress readying to dance with Conor; no, the women pictured themselves in her shoes.

    Conor did not yet understand how he behaved like the most flawless Kurlatra male, but he would soon enough.

    He physically was their species'' definition of a picture-perfect mate, tall, muscular, and with a jaw you could crack granite on. A few thought his lack of scales and a tail was a turn-off but overlooked those minor setbacks for everything else that came with the Conor package.

    Any of the women around the gala would gladly take the Human from Eivaley if she no longer wanted him. Especially after the Fifth princes explained how Conor was a solid ten degrees Celsius warmer than any Kurlatra.

    Who would not want a living heater that would hold you as you walked around or would let you snuggle up and take a ride on?

    A few had any plans to make an attempt. The women who would attempt to steal Conor wished to do so for their self-interest and nothing but: Some wanted a piece of arm candy, others a man to drive them wild, but most sought power and saw him as a way to get it. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

    ¡°I never have danced,¡± Conor admitted.

    A choking hollowness filled Conor''s chest, feeling similar to oddly feeling like he was failing someone he had known his entire life.

    ¡°That''s alright. Vurii did not know how to either,¡± Eyurali assured, guiding Conor''s hand to her shoulder and the other toward just over her tail base. ¡°I can show you a simple one that will work for you.¡±

    Eyurali looked up at Conor with a sly grin, not elaborating on his need for the dance. She teasingly walked her fingers up to grab his shoulder, each claw clinking against the metal plating of his augmented chest. Her other hand slipped under his arm, settling in the center of his broad back.

    Closeness like this was typically reserved only for one''s mate, but in Eyurali''s case, she had to show Conor how to act like a mate for a Kurlatra, so this was not taboo.

    Besides, she was the Empress, and no one would question her on what she decided was a necessary action. However, seeing Eivaley standing next to Vuraley in the crowd, glaring daggers at her, did make the Empress giggle.

    There was no chance Eyurali would ever consider doing anything like taking her precious daughter''s new plaything away. The Empress had Vuraley anyway.

    ¡°Just don¡¯t get handsy with me,¡± the Empress teased.

    ¡°I wasn¡¯t planning to,¡± Conor replied, surprisingly flatly to her.

    Eyurali giggled, finding the undemanding tone Conor used to be refreshing. Similarly to her husband, having someone around who puts less stake into her position might be refreshing to keep around, should her daughter manage to worm into his soul.

    ¡°Good, now, follow my lead for a while,¡± Eyurali said, stepping back and looking down. ¡°Just try and keep your foot in front of mine.¡±

    Looking down, Conor positioned his boots a few centimeters away from Eyuralis''s '' clawed feet. Seeing the sight reminded Conor greatly of the insurmountable gap between himself and the nobles, including Eivaley.

    His boots were well worn, covered in abrasions and burns. That, along with his black rip-resistant pants, he was just so different than them. Eyurali especially. She had bangles of solid gold shimmering around her ankles, barely visible through the flowing motions of her dress.

    "Let''s start slow," Eyuali smiled, taking the first step of their in-action lesson.

    Over the next ten minutes, Eyurali showed Conor one of the simplest dances she had in her repertoire. It was nothing fancy and only had six steps in its order. After Conor stepped on her toes half a dozen times and seemingly grew a second left foot, the pieces started falling together.

    They began to move in a slow sloping triangle on the floor, one step to the left, feet together, one step to the left, feet together, and so on and so forth.

    ¡°That''s it,¡± Eyurali encouraged, closing the gap, knowing Conor did not need to watch their feet anymore. ¡°I¡¯m surprised you did not break my toes.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, I am too,¡± Conor cringed, remembering each time he felt the claws on his mid-back dig in with a swift reminder to slow down.

    In true mercenary fashion, the only reason Conor managed to master any amount of the simple little dance was because of the martial comparison he made. Conor compared the simple, consistent steps to how a weapon worked.

    Brakuls pistol each time followed the same steps: feeding, chambering, locking, firing, unlocking, extracting, ejecting, cocking, then the entire process began again.

    In this case, Conor and Eyurali¡¯s feet were the components, both moving in planned synchronicity that flowed like it was ingrained in their DNA.

    ¡°Now that my feet are safe and since I have you alone,¡± Eyurali breathed, laying her head against Conor''s chest. ¡°Tell me, how do you feel about everything happening?¡±

    ¡°Happening with what?¡± Conor replied, scanning the crowd now that he would not crush his dance partner''s toes.

    Amidst the crowd were many of the faces he had seen already throughout the night. Even Eivaley and Vuraley were toward the side, watching the pair dance.

    They were whispering to one another, but through the other conversations going on, it was impossible to make out any of the words.

    Eivaley did notice Conor look at her, she smiled and pulled her tail up into her palms. Something Conor knew very well was something she only did while nervous.

    He wondered what she was nervous about but was brought back to the intimate dance by Eyurali nuzzling under his chin. ¡°There is no need to play coy. After your story, you told me. I want to understand how you are feeling. Just like my little daughter, you are staring at.¡±

    What has been going on with the women in his life lately? They all want to ask personnel questions he lacked a solid answer to. Come to think of it, all the women Conor knew were like that¡ªsave for fae.

    That monstrous woman could care less about how Conor felt ninety percent of the time. With the other ten being if he wanted to fuck.

    Eivaley and Eyurali, however, just had the predisposition to dig under his skin, peal back layers, and seek out valuable nuggets of intel.

    ¡°I am not sure¡ª¡± Conor began as he looked back down and into the green oceans of the Empress¡¯s eyes.

    ¡°That is alright,¡± Eyurali nodded. ¡°You can take all the time you need to figure it out. But a fair warning, no one''s patience is infinite.¡±

    Conor raised a brow at that. What did she mean by patience? Patience for what? She could be referring to an infinite number of people around the nobles and for just as many reasons. But deep down, he knew she was talking about her daughter.

    Eivaley had been patient with Conor and his issues. She had been gently trying to coax him out to speak to her about how he felt and do more than just be a bodyguard.

    So far, all he had done was keep her at arm''s length. Save for a few small moments, when they held one another during a lingering hug, he was still the same¡ªgiving her nothing.

    But Eivaley had been honest to a fault with him. She offered support and lived her words by letting the subject die when Conor showed discomfort.

    Eyurali, having decided that all that needed to be said to the man had been, stopped following his lead and stepped back, holding a hand out to where Vuraley waited in the wings for her.

    Vuraley stepped forward, with both collaring the other with their tails. Conor stepped to the side of Vuraley to reach for Eivaley so they could go somewhere else and he could protect her.  But she was not there.

    Conor looked frantically around the room for her. Most of the crowd shifted like waves as they danced.

    "Where did she go?" Conor snapped at Vurlaey, knowing the Eivaley could not slip away from him without it being intentional.

    "Relax, Conor," Vuraley assured,  gesturing to the gardens. "She is right outside."

    Without missing a beat, Conor strode through the crowd toward the dark glass doors leading into the chilly night. Those who did not move and heed his warning were pushed aside; all were a waste of time for Conor.

    Once on the veranda, Conor looked around and saw a few party guests drinking and mingling, but saw no imidate sign of Eivaley.

    In an ingrained reaction when seeking out any sentient being, Conor scrolled through the optical abilities of his augmetics, looking for any trace of motion.

    His motion tracker, night vision, or particulate sensor showed no hint. But FLIR was not a bust. A lone figure draped in a flowing gown drifted through the night amidst the ancient swaying trees.

    The glowing warmth of oranges and reds made the figure look like a specter haunting the woods.

    To confirm it was Eivaley, Conor activated his audio enhancer to focus on that direction alone. What he heard broke his artificial heart.

    "Stupid, stupid. How could I be so stupid to think he would stay with me," Eivaley sniffled, wiping tears away with her sleeve.

    Conor mantled the banister without missing a beat, falling two stories to the ground below. His servos whirred and whined as they shielded him from the damage caused by the impact.

    As Conor burst forth from the small crater his landing caused, he could hear the nobles on the veranda gasping and gawking at what the Human had just done.

    They likely just learned more about how truly different the Human was to them. But their opinions did not matter for the time being. Eivaley was upset, crying, alone, and in the cold.

    With Eyuralies words bouncing in his mind about how no one has infinite patience, freshly bouncing in his mind, Conor maneuvered through the encapsulating bows, determined to find Eivaley.

 Section Nineteen: Baby Steps

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 Section Twenty: A Late Night Suprise

    The night had been going so well for Conor. He and Eivaley had a wonderful dance under the moonlight, and he had gotten off the hook for ditching the party early.

    Getting away from that shithole was something he was thrilled to have done because even here, through nearly half a kilometer of halls and rooms, the sounds of drunken revelry were still plain as day.

    Before arriving here, Conor would have never assumed royalty could party hard. But with how much booze they were drinking and how many of them there were, that party would get out of hand soon.

    Conor would not be surprised if several members of the nobility were sprawled out in the hall or the central garden in the morning. He could picture it now. They would be splayed out, a bottle of hooch in one hand and the ass of whoever they ended up trying to take back to their room in the other.

    Without a doubt, that would be a comedic thing for Conor to see and would make his week; it would also pose the most sublime opportunity for him to take a few pictures to keep in his back pocket. You never know when you will need some blackmail¡ªthat statement goes at least twice as far regarding aggravating nobility.

    The Human hoped the rowdy nobility would not wake Eivaley or disturb her sleep, as his room was only a few dozen meters from here. She was incredibly clingy whenever she was tired; something about him being warm and comforting.

    Until tonight, Conor did not yearn for the contact, but with tonight''s small development in their relationship, Conor did not mind the idea of snuggling up with her.

    On the other hand, her father merely tolerated it¡ªa notably thin tolerance, especially when she crawled onto his lap while Vuraley was feeding Conor intelligence about the other nobles. The older warriors'' glare subsided once the fifth princess quickly fell asleep, and the lesson could continue without her color commentary.

    Once the old softy saw his daughter happy, he held his tongue. Vuraley was just that kind of guy; he put his wife and daughters'' happiness over his feelings ten out of ten times.

    Considering how the Kurlatra culture had cut down swaths of his daughters, the old man''s tolerance and care for the few remaining daughters he had was to be expected.

    The night could not have gone better. Other than finally ditching the last weights of his former life on Heavalun, the day was perfect for Conor. He got to humiliate a noble, hold someone closer and more intimately than he knew possible, and admitted to himself that being with Eivaley was more than just a job. Then Conor reached for the doorknob to his room.

    It was not that the door was unlocked or anything cliche like that; the door was still locked; what skeeved him out was the item on the floor.

    A small piece of reflective paper was barely visible from under the door. The small piece of litter meant nothing to almost anyone who saw it; it was just innocuous garbage to them. But to Conor, it was an alarm louder than an air raid siren.

    In his paranoid yet constant vigilant meticulousness, the Human had placed the piece of paper in a spot on the door where it would not fall unless the door was breached. That the paper had fallen was a problem for Conor because all the maids and other servants had been clearly instructed not to enter his room without him present.

    Eivaley and Vurlaey believed Conor''s request was being overly wary of the staff. They called him skeptical and borderline insane about his need for personal security, but he wore them down. Now, it was well known to all staff that his door should never be touched without his express supervision.

    Not even Eivaley would touch the door without his permission, not because she was afraid of him but because she understood his needs and would do everything possible to make him feel secure.

    Conor unlocked the door and clasped the handle, his heart steady and calm. The Human had faced thousands of enemies and thrice as many breaches. He knew what to do when entering the unknown¡ªthis was just another day at the office.

    When the door parted, a familiar scent rolled across Conor''s nose. It pushed deep into his mind, body, and soul, causing his hair to stand on end in waves. Under almost any other circumstance, Conor would enjoy the smell of Neriumbay; its warmth and pleasant aroma reminded him of a spring day while operating amidst blooming flower fields.

    Conor last experienced a spring day filled with Neriumbay¡¯s delectable scent on a reconnaissance operation for the Skorkow organization almost ten years ago.

    He and Brakul were on Gunaria Five to destroy a drug lab at Voodals request. The location they were lazing for a nuclear payload was centered in a bustling and growing city; its name was lost to time and Conor''s memory.

    The only spot they could get a clear line of sight while at a safe distance was covered in pink bell-like flowers. Neriumbay flowers flowed gently around them in the spring breeze, keeping time with their heartbeats.

    Calling in that bomb was the most surreal experience Conor had ever had. Trillions of sapients would give their left nut to sit high in the mountains on a warm spring day, which Conor was well aware of. However, he was out there for work and snuffed out millions of sentients in an instant, the only remnants of their and the city''s existence going up in a flash brighter than sunlight.

    While they waited for the heavy morning fog around the city to clear enough to allow them to designate the target, Brakul had decided to lecture Conor on something yet again.

    At the time, the Human did not care that Neriumbay was a beautiful poison. He did not care if it was used galaxy-wide as an assassination tool or if it smelled so fresh that it almost drew sentients into its dangerous pollen.

    No, at the time, all Conor cared about was the measly payment from Voodal and that his and Brakuls filtration systems kept them safe from the deadly flowers.

    In retrospect, Conor wishes he had paid more attention at those times. If he had, maybe he could have remembered more about Brakul, his teachings, laughter, and stupid puns. But that was in the past now. All that mattered now was learning why he smelled that poisonous flower in his room.

    Conor sniffed deeply, analyzing the aroma. It was the same, save for a revolting detail. Along with the floral aroma were the faint hints of long-since dried blood¡ªthe same scent that followed anyone with hundreds of bodies under their belt, not unlike him, Brakul, Vuraley, and many other warriors around the palace.

    Drawing Brakuls hand canon, Conor stepped forward into the room, boldly moving in to face the threat as he had done for years.

    Conor switched over to his thermal vision and passed the light switch by, not wanting to alert whoever was in the room of his presence. At least he did not want to give more of a warning than opening the door and his ghostly silent footsteps.

    Dull blues and purples filled his vision, outlining the short L-shaped room. Conor instantly knew there were no threats ahead of him toward the blind corner where his bed and dresser lay before the window.

    When Conor first had thermals installed in his eyes, he was skeptical about their usefulness. But now, he cannot imagine his life without them.

    The tactical edge they offered him was invaluable. Conor did not need white light during CQB, was immune to the concealing effects of smoke, and could track people like no other. Brakul''s nose still beat him out, but the Jurintik''s sense of smell was just cheating.

    Without thinking, Conor twisted and aimed his pistol over the portal he had just passed, ensuring no one or thing was clinging to the wall, ready to ambush him. There was nothing.

    Typically, most soldiers did not clear above them in a flat room, at least to this degree, but Conor had been ambushed from there before, so he and Brakul had worked it into their room-clearing procedures. The last thing you wanted was a viscous Richula jumping down or someone with augments shooting you.

    ¡°Clear,¡± Conor subvocally whispered to the nonexistent Brakul.

    It was only once he spoke that he realized his error and that he had just made a deadly mistake, not because he had spoken; no subvocal communication was essentially silent. Out of sheer habit, Conor had given his back to the area of the room he had not cleared yet.

    Typically, Brakul would have covered the corner to make sure an opportunistic squirter did not pop out and vape him, but Conor was alone now¡ªand always would be.

    The Human made a mental note to readjust his room-clearing habits and returned to the task at hand; without an adjustment, that habit would get him killed. Sure, nothing happened this time, but that was just because he was lucky. Whoever was in his room must have been an amateur who could not exploit everything going on in a battle.

    Slowly, Conor pied the corner toward his bed, leading with his weapon to the front. He meticulously checked from floor to ceiling and then back down before taking another half step and repeating the process.

    No one was visible until Conor began to see the bed. With each step, a feminine figure slowly came into view. She clearly could not see him in the darkness as she seemed to lay there eagerly waiting for him.

    Conor holstered the pistol and sighed. The person in his room was not an assassin or anyone out to directly harm him. Conor was unsure whether to thank Urla for that or damn the God for what he saw.

    Turning around and stepping toward the light, Conor flicked it on and switched over to normal-colored vision. The moment the room was lit, the eager Kurlatra woman started her show.

    Therulay, Eivaleys youngest sister, was lying on his bed, her pink scales complimented by the tight, lacey lingerie she wore. The silk draped along her lissom curves; one of her hands playfully pulled at her coverings, giving Conor a clear view of her womanhood. A diamond-encrusted jewel dangled from a piercing in her clit, eagerness dripping off the iridescent surface.

    At the same time, she slowly licked at the tip of her tail, moaning slightly. To have given the youngest princess the credit she was due, Conor had to admit he did not know a tongue could writhe around like that; it looked like she was tying knots in her tail.

    Before Conor had time to ask if she was in the wrong room, she played her first card of the awkward and equally annoying conversation they were about to have. Therulay moved, propping up her leg, and let out a long throaty moan, one that would not sound out of place on a cheap c rate holo-porno.

    Whatever she was doing was in no way seduction in Conor''s mind. Go figure, a man raised by a predatory species like the Jurintik did not enjoy easy women. The hunt, fight, and desire to have what you cannot have are what drew him in.

    Hell, Fae and Eivaley were prime examples of that. Fae for her bulk, strength, and, of course, gravitic personality. Eivaley because she was, in a way, a forbidden fruit. He had to give up something to get at her.

    When it came to the fifth princess, it was like Conor was a fox in a trap, with a little rabbit taunting him. All he had to do to get that rabbit was gnaw off his foot.Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°So, Mr. Warrior, do you like what you see?¡± Therulay purred, sounding like she was performing for a camera that did not exist.

    ¡°Not really,¡± Conor replied with complete uninterest. ¡°Why the fuck are you in my room?¡±

    Conor did not need to ask that question; he knew why. Thuraley''s attempt to seduce him was evident. He just wanted to mess with her royal sensibilities and see how the princess would squirm when denied.

    Conor especially wished to see this sister''s reaction because Therulay, Last Daughter, the Saintess of Relamora, Guiding Light to the Jerulate Clan, and Healer of the Nuerala Plague, was a fucking brat; Enough so that Eivaley looked like an angel in comparison.

    From what Conor could dig up on Thuraley, she always got what she wanted¡ªand knew it. For Urla¡¯s sake, even Vuraley, as solid of a man as he is, admitted that other than Eivaley, he babied Therulay the most.

    The High Champion was attentive to her, bought everything she wanted, and was the first man she went to, other than her current assigned Champion.

    Why, in all of Urla¡¯s grace, did Vuraley have to cave to this little pink bitch? All that man had done was enable Therulay to genuinely believe that she was above reproach.

    Therulay visibly scowled at Conors''s rebuffing. Her glare was so intense it could cut through diamonds or even a plasmic shield unit if its intention was a weapon. Thankfully, it was not, so it just made her look constipated.

    That look only lasted for a second because Therulay had decided to step up her game. Just showing herself to Conor with an offer was clearly not enrapturing the Human as she expected it to.

    Therulay had envisioned Conor drooling over her for a moment before jumping in the bed and defiling her. He should have complimented her lovely pink scales, her figure that was far more full than Eivlays'', and especially her bold approach. All men enjoyed a forward woman, after all.

    In her twisted mind, Eivaley must have never tried to bed Conor; if she had, the Human weapon would not be an assigned Champion; no, he would be Eivaley''s Champion entirely. That the Human was not introduced as a full Champion was an invitation for her to steal him away.

    Thuraley had ditched Bakalura, her current Assighened Champion when Conor forced the nobles to line up at the gala. She immediately rushed off to get into lingerie, threatened a maid to open his door, and lay in wait for the Human.

    While Conor was not her type in any way, she could see how the Human could be useful. He was strong and capable and could kill the rest of her sisters without a second thought. His past and what she knew of it confirmed that Conor was a living weapon, ready for her to wield.

    Therulay flowed off the bed with definitive confidence and radiance and drifted toward Conor. The jewelry on her horns shimmered in the light, showing her definitive worth to the lesser male before her.

    Thuraley tried to press her body against Conor, but he held his artificial arm out and stopped her motions. ¡°What do you want?¡±

    ¡°I want you,¡± Thuraley licked her lips, eyeing Conor like a prize. ¡°I want you to be mine until the stars die.¡±

    Her look was predatory, devilish, and controlling. How she looked at Conor held no warmth, genuine emotion, or understanding. Conor was all too familiar with that look.

    Each time Conor had met with Voodal, that croaker had looked at him with the same dull, lifeless, and careless eyes. In an instant, Conor unraveled all she thought of him. Conor was a tool, a weapon, an arm of violence with no purpose.

    Through Therulay''s thorny mentality, she wished to use him unrestrictedly, wield him¡ªthen, like Voodal, once Conor had too many independent thoughts, she would toss him away, just like Voodal did to Conor and Brakul.

    ¡°I get that, bitch,¡± Conor growled, twisting around with Thuraley in his grip, pushing her toward the door. ¡°but that does not answer my question of what you want.¡±

    Therulaey sputtered and spat, unable to understand what was happening. She was unsure of what Conor was doing. She struggled to claw into the ground and not move, but Conor could move her as if she meant nothing to him.

    He was a male. Conor should have been drooling over her and willing to do whatever she wished. All others had done that throughout her life; why was he not doing so?

    Conor should be standing before his bed, his cock hard and begging to be her Champion. There were hundreds of men dreaming of being that for her. Why was Conor not groveling at her feet?

    The reason was simple, but someone so up their own ass like her could never comprehend the feeling. Conor had finally started to act for himself. After years of only acting for cash and survival, he had an option. Eivaley, Vurlaye, his guards, and even the empress had guided him to that reality.

    Conor was not shackled to his wallet and could make decisions based on emotion, not pure brutalist necessity.

    While his Lady, Vuralay, and Conor''s guards had done most of the heavy lifting, always mentioning that Conor should do what he wanted, the empress and her cunning presence had sparked the idea that Conor was a man, not a tool.

    While Conor still struggled with the idea that crit was all that mattered, he had glimpsed the light¡ªand liked what he saw.

    Beyond the money was a feeling¡ªone of warmth, care, and comfort. Holding Eivaley during their dance emphasized that. He wanted more of that addicting drug, and as he saw it, being around Eivaley was how he would understand this blissful warmth.

    The last few times Conor looked at Eivaley, he felt it; it was like a small sun had ignited in his chest each time she smiled or wagged her tail.

    It was a queer feeling. Acceptance? No, that was not right. She would accept him even without his abilities. It was understanding. That little ruby just knew Conor; she knew him far deeper and more tenderly than he had known possible.

    Being with Eivaley just felt right. Conor was not quite ready to say he loved Eivaley but was well on the road to that.

    Now, acting like the soldier of fortune, he wanted that comfort to never end; it meant more than gold, platinum, or crit. Rejecting Therulay hard was the only way Conor could see him retaining the warmth Eivaley offered him.

    ¡°How about you get the fuck out of my room,¡± Conor growled, pushing the youngest forward, grabbing her arms, and forcing them behind her back.

    Thurulay, realizing what Conor was doing, clung to the doorframe with her foot, her claws acting like anchors.

    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Therulay begged. ¡°I am offering myself to you. Are you not ecstatic about it?¡±

    ¡°I''m not,¡± Conor growled. ¡°I want you gone.¡±

    Conor had dealt with enough whores to understand this was not a strings-free deal; hookers, regardless of status, wanted something in return for their bodies; this bitch was no different.

    Even if he did not understand that, Eivalay. His ruby, life, and woman¡ªwell, woman to be; she would never want this nor would forgive him if he hate-fucked her sister, even if he could have this pink broad moaning his name through the night.

    Her younger sister was in his room, trying to bed him; a few months ago, that would be great; Conor could get his nut off and send the bitch off. Now, though, he wanted Eivaley, not this false desperate bitch.

    Conor would rather be celibate for life if it meant Eivaly was nearby.

    ¡°Get the fuck out,¡± Conor demanded, picking Thuraley up by the neck and tossing the last princess into the hall.

    Therulay landed on the marble ground with a dull thump, several of her bits of jewelry flying off. Conor''s force was nearly enough to kill the woman. He only did not because Eivaley would cry if her youngest sister died; that woman loved all her sisters despite them trying to kill her. If Conor had his way, he would have dusted the bitch then and there just for annoyance alone.

    Therulay twisted on the floor, her silken lingerie failing to cover her embarrassment. Blood seeped from one of her horns that snapped on the landing; it was a good reminder to her to not mess with the Human, not that she would take the hint. ¡°What the hell is wrong with you? Are you gay or something?¡±

    Conor growled, not because he was gay or anything, but because the youngest lady determined that was why he did not like her.

    That this woman could not understand him so fundamentally was infuriating. Eivaley understood him. She knew Conor was a violent and troubled being. Conor was violent beyond measure and could kill anyone. But Eivaleys call calmed the beast inside. She tenderly coaxed his demons out and put each to sleep with seemingly no effort.

    It was as if Eivaley was feeding a monster. She would tenderly hold out food and wait for the monsters to come to her. Once they were in reach, she could pet, hold, and assure the monstrosities that all would be okay.

    Thuraley, on the other hand, raised millions of red flags. She was a danger, an unknown, a woman who clearly put a lot of effort into this stupid seduction attempt.

    The demons in Conor''s soul witnessed her attempt, ripped her plans apart, and now were teething to rend her to nothingness piece by piece and scale.

    ¡°Wait, Conor. I can offer you riches. All the Kurltatra have.¡± Therulay begged, crawling to him as he grabbed the door, ready to shut it. ¡°All the wealth and power you could ever want are yours. Just be mine and do what I want.¡±

    Conor paused before slamming the door in her face. Yeah, his deal with Vuraley gave him a few thousand crit a day to protect Eivaley; if what Therulay just said was true, she was offering trillions of crit in an instant. It was an offer he could not ignore, even if it was frivolous.

    ¡°How much am I worth to you?¡± Conor asked, curious about the deal.

    ¡°Anything,¡± Thuraley replied, standing and fixing her lingerie. She now knew the sexual display meant nothing to the Human, but switching gears and appealing to the money-hungry animal was bearing some fruit.

    ¡°Anything at all?¡± he reiterated.

    ¡°Yes, anything you want,¡± Therulay nodded.

    ¡°What if I wanted you to leave Eivaley alone?¡± Conor asked. ¡°do not touch her.¡±

    While he was not thrilled about the idea of dusting all of Eivaley''s family, Conor saw that offering to slay them could assure his little ruby''s safety.

    They could move somewhere quiet, far from the palace, politics, and danger. Conor could keep Eivaley safe. He would guard her like a dragon defending its hoard, so long as Thuraley understood what Conor meant by do not touch Eivaley. That potential path on the river delta of life was clear to him, but her reaction cemented his choice to deny her.

    Thuraley paused and scowled; she looked to genuinely be thinking over the idea of not killing her older sister, but the troubled curl in her lips told Conor all he needed to know.

    This woman before him did not care about Eivaley. If Thuraley had it her way, all of her sisters would die a slow and painful death. She likely was just pondering how to dust Eivaley after Conor cleared the path for her to be empress.

    Sure, Conor would willingly slaughter pretty much anyone in the universe for some cold, hard crit, but Eivaley and her family felt different. The family, because they had been kind to him, would rather not, but for Eivaley''s safety, he would stomach it.

    However, the mere thought of hurting Eivaley caused a visceral reaction in Conor¡¯s chest. The idea alone made the Human feel like he was betraying her, harming her.

    As if Urla was punishing the wayward man, images of Eivlay looking up at him as she slowly bled out on the end of his knife flashed in his mind. Her warm blood soaked his hands, crawling into his fake arm like coiling worms.

    The betrayal in her eyes was as apparent. How Eivaley looked at Conor contained flecks of understanding and acceptance of her lover''s choice. Her eyes screamed louder than anything in the universe, declaring her understanding, acceptance, and sorrow all at once.

    She understood Conor completely and could pull anything from him; Eivaley knew how much credit meant to him throughout his life and the horrible things he had done in their name. Why he was killing her was not a question; it was a reality waiting to happen. Conor might as well be a ticking timebomb unless Eivaley could convince Conor that her love and care were worth more than any amount of money.

    ¡°I''ve seen enough,¡± Conor growled, looking down at the regal beggar.

    Nothing about Therulay was regal, royal, or worth Conor''s breath. She was a wolf in sheep''s clothing and the perfect person to survive the trials to become empress. This pink bitch would kill anyone who got in her way, including him.

    Thuraley sputtered and tried to get Conor to see why she would be the next empress with his help, but Conor was done. He slammed the door shut and quickly locked it. Granted, this bitch had gotten into his room once and likely had a key.

    Conor stepped his game up for his alarm to prevent her from entering, with him not knowing. Instead of placing a piece of paper in the slit between the door and the frame, Conor went and retrieved a flashbang and wire from his closet turned into an armory.

    It did not take him long, but after a few minutes, the Human had rigged a tripwire to drop the non-lethal explosive on anyone who opened his door. The entire time, the rejected noble was screaming at Conor from the other side of the door.

    Now, he would have to ensure Eivaley knew how to disarm the grenade before she sprung the trap herself. Thankfully, Eivaley never did set off the trap, mainly because she and Conor did not sleep separately for long after that day. But she also followed his instructions the next morning like they were gospel.

    As Conor drifted to sleep that night, he could not help but smile. Kicking a princess out of his bed was something he had never done before. But if Thuraley looked at him with that same shock and disgust again, he knew he¡¯d enjoy rejecting her just as much next time.

 Section Twenty One: Morning Sparing

    The cold steel blade sparked against Conor''s artificial wrist, sending his knife skidding off into the blazing hot sands. Several onlookers leaning against the training grounds railing skipped back to avoid the razor-sharp projectile.

    The scalding heat made the heavy padded gear Conor and Vuraley wore nearly unbearable. Their coats and trousers were weighed down by gallons of sweat, and the ballistic glass visors had steamed up, making it almost impossible to see..

    Despite the sweltering heat and the fact that they had been sparing for the last three hours, Vuraley showed no signs of slowing down. He was still as nimble as he was during the first strike, even though he was swinging around a massive two-handed sword like it was a small tactical blade.

    Fighting the man was undoubtedly surreal. Each strike and parry almost seemed to phase through his blade, resulting in Conor being slammed into again.

    Conor had been trained in dozens of martial arts and had years of practical experience, but Vuraley had been thoroughly whooping his ass. The vast gap in their ability was as wide as the galaxy.

    Vuraley seemed to effortlessly float around the shifting sands. He parried, repositioned, and reposted so quickly that Conor could not keep up.

    As Vuraley danced around Conor''s attempts to fight or draw the man in, he constantly gave a lecture. Most of it was genuinely solid advice that Conor had heard before but never focused on. Having those lessons literally beaten into him, Conor was beyond frustrated.

    The Human was a gunfighter, not a blade master. The techniques Vuraley used¡ªwatching for feints, distracting with false strikes, and targeting glancing blows¡ªwere not Conor¡¯s forte. Sure, Conor had learned them in the past and knew how to put them into practice, but this day of being treated like a toy by the older warrior showed how sloppy he was.

    No matter what Conor attempted, Vuraley had an answer to defeat him in a near instant. Fieng high and strike low, the pommel of his sword ended up in Conor''s back. If he attempted the opposite, Vuraley would flow his long blade into Conor''s guard and into his neck.

    All the other soldiers of the royal guard had long since abandoned the morning sparring sessions. Instead of training until they dropped, the armored soldiers stood around drinking water, ogling the High Champions'' duel against the Human and flirting with the female servants who liked to watch the fight.

    The ladies and soldiers oohed and awed and constantly gave colored commentary about their performances. Some coached their favorite, like an all-star armchair quarterback, while others even placed small bets on how each round would go.

    Most had spared with Conor and Vuraley, and each was horribly put down; none could hold a candle to either of the well-seasoned fighters.

    However, a few used the fact that they had brawled the high Champion or the Master of War as a bragging point to tell the nearby maids.

    Initially, having such a crowd was odd to Conor, but Vuraley had made it plain for the Humans to understand. Every royal guard member was the pinnacle of the Kurlatra species, and most were nobility.

    The servants that lingered around the training grounds passing out water and snacks and giggling bashfully at the men''s bravado were fishing for a Champion of their own.

    While Conor was not an angler or a hunter, he could understand the methodology. To snag a prize, you must go where the trophies are. They had mixed success.

    Without a weapon, Conor stepped back, creating distance between himself and Vuraley. But the older warrior was not done with Conor, not by a longshot. The High Champion stepped into Conor''s guard and thrust his massive two-handed sword straight at the Human''s chest.

    ¡°You are still too predictable,¡± Vuraley barked.

    It was too bad the Humans still had one last desperate act for their mock battle.

    Using his high-strength alloy arm as an impromptu shield and parrying dagger was something Vuraley had not expected when Conor joined them for sparring while Eivaley was preparing to go out into town with the Human.

    The move would work only for Conor or someone clad in power armor. Vuraley could technically do the same with his shimmering golden armor, but power armor could only withstand such impact as a last resort.

    Unlike Conor''s alloy arm, power armor could only take so much of a beating before its shielding would run out of power and leave you vulnerable.

    Acting quickly, the High Champion skidded the blade along Conor''s arm, twisting the angle of attack to plunge the sword straight into the Human''s chest. To Vurlay''s surprise, Conor did not continue to retreat like he had initially predicted; no, the Human assaulted forward.

    ¡°I can say the same thing about you,¡± Conor sneered. ¡°You always aim for my chest.¡±

    In reality, Vuraley''s fighting style was not predictable; it was fluid and only attacked in hundreds of ways. But, after being thrashed all day, Conor was beginning to understand.

    Conor twisted his metal arm with lightning-fast reflexes and grabbed the sword''s crossguard and Vuraley''s hand. He squeezed tightly enough that even through the fog of their masks, Vuraley''s pained wince was visible.

    Conor then twisted around while pulling Vuraley in close. ¡°It''s my win!¡± The Human roared while sending the older warrior ass over teakettle.

    Vuraley landed hard, sending a wave through the sands. He groaned in pain as all the air left his lungs. Conor had to admit that a landing like that, even with his artificial lungs, would make breathing difficult.

    As soon as Vuraley was on the sand, Conor ripped Vuraleys sword from his hand and tossed it off. Conor did this because Vuraley had taken his knife each time he won.

    Disarming your opponent was part of how the Kurlatra trained and fought. The royal guard believed that losing your weapon meant death, so some guards had tattoos stating that fact.

    The group of soldiers roared in excitement, with a few passing credit sticks to one another. They had lost their bet that Conor would not win a single match with the high Champion the entire day.

    Well, the Human just showed them¡ªeven though he had only won one out of the fifty or so, he still won.

    ¡°Fuck, is that what you did to Therulay?¡± Vuraley groaned in question, rubbing one of his horns, which took most of the force of the impact.

    ¡°Not that one,¡± Conor chuckled, holding a hand out to help the man up.

    ¡°Well, show me that next time,¡± Vuraley replied, standing with Conor''s aid.

    ¡°Sure,¡± Conor replied.

    Conor was over the moon that Vuraley was not upset about what he had done to his youngest daughter. Namely, he mammed the woman for the rest of her life by breaking off one of her horns.

    Once Conor had explained what led up to him throwing the princess out of his room, all was forgiven. After today''s training, he knew that was a good thing because Conor woke up the following day to Vuraley trying to break down his door with a sword and pistol in hand.

    The father was fully prepared to rip Conor''s cock off and choke him with it after the princess had spun him some tall tale about him attempting to rape her.

    If it was not for one of the servants having witnessed Conor kicking the princess out, he likely would not have gotten away with beating her up.

    Once the air was cleared, Vuraley joked with Conor over a few glasses of Stulk that he was surprised that it took as long as it did for one of his daughters to attempt to seduce the Human; Vuraley assumed they would have all tried the first opportunity that presented themselves.

    He was surprised that his youngest had been the bold one to try and grateful that Conor hadn¡¯t truly harmed her. But Vuraley was clear that if a Human ever harmed his daughters without just reason, his life would be short and painful.

    Vuraley and Conor retrieved their weapons and moved out of the training circle, wanting to clear it just in case any of the soldiers wanted another go or show off to a prospective lady. This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.

    The pair crossed the bustling training yard toward the shelter where padded armor was stored. They weaved their way around the soldiers, practicing drills and others taking breaks.

    Seeing the Kurlatra royal guard''s training effort warmed Conor''s artificial heart. Almost all of his worries about Eivaley''s safety had been put to rest. These troopers were well-prepared and disciplined.

    Every royal guard member was an elite athlete, an expert in multiple martial arts, spoke more languages than Conor knew existed, and could shoot the color of a gnat''s ass at a hundred meters..

    They embodied the motto ''never shall I fail,'' treating every movement, task, and training drill as if their very lives depended on it.

    Each knot tied, trigger pulled, or blade sharpened was given the same sanctity and respect as disarming a bomb.

    Over the last three weeks, Conor has been training and learning alongside the royal guard. Each day was a grueling regiment of early morning physical training, late-night weapons drills, and even shoot house training in the repurposed catacombs below the palace.

    Several of the other champions even joined in from time to time¡ªalthough they mainly seemed interested in listening to the stories Conor told to explain his ideas about warfare.

    Despite Conor''s vastly different background, he worked incredibly well with the royal guard. Their standard operating procedures were identical, save for a few procedures regarding clearing houses.

    The largest difference between their operations was their preference in how they attacked a house. The royal guard attacked like the shock troops they were.

    When the royal guard was clearing a house, you knew it. They were fast, violent, and assaulted as a group. Their clearing procedures were like watching a crashing tsunami raging through a house. They left no couch unturned and no enemy alive. Their tactics were ruthlessly efficient, leaving nothing but carnage in their wake.

    Conor, on the other hand, used a far more subtle and silent method of room clearing. He did not yell, kick in doors, or shoot unless necessary. The Human moved in like a deadly revenant, shooting targets through windows, peepholes, and door frames.

    Most of the guards did not seem to like the idea, believing it was dishonorable. Although a few did change their tune when Conor''s solo time in the shoot house was faster than theirs.

    The only ones who seemed to genuinely see the reasoning behind why being subtle, silent, and able to garrote a throat without being seen were Vuraley, Vitul, Cur¡¯sh, and, unsurprisingly, Burlai.

    Vitul and Cur¡¯sh believed in what Conor said because they were his guards and, at this point, friends. They trained with Conor every day and quickly adapted to fight alongside him to keep Eivaley safe.

    At least the pair was quick on the uptake. Conor had drilled them on everything and gave them no quarter. The two guards could use every weapon Conor knew how to use and could fight just like him.

    They were still sloppy in some regards, but overall, they had learned everything Brakul had taught Conor, and he had taught them in return. It was an act Conor had not reflected on; in Conor''s mind, all he was doing was ensuring they were capable of doing their duty alongside him without issue. Vuraley, on the other hand, saw it for what it was¡ªpassing the torch.

    Conor had subconsciously grown. He had become a mentor, teacher, and friend to many troopers who attended his training sessions, eager to absorb everything he had to offer.

    For the Kurlatra, a militant and martial expectation for males was typical. Now, through the Humans'' influence, the royal guard was far more lethal. Conor was acting like a High Champion, even if he did not believe what he was doing meant anything more than guarding Eivaley.

    Vuraley and Burlai did not even need to train with Conor to be able to fight like silent monsters. They were already well adept at being the monsters in the dark. The shades haunt their enemy''s dreams, and the demons grabbing throats.

    As Conor and Vuraley entered the small, air-conditioned building where the lockers were, Conor scanned the area. It was not a neurotic clearing of the building; it was casual, just seeing who was around. That was a vast improvement and showed his comfort within the palace.

    Dozens of guards were around the room, changing out of physical training gear and chatting about their lives. The conversation topics covered the gamut, from early morning chow, to what little piece of Kurlatra ass was trying to snag them; overall, the vibe in the room was one of safety and understanding.

    Conor did not mind this place at all. Being surrounded by soldiers who could kick teeth with the best of them and were dedicated to protecting the same things as him was comforting. He knew that any of the royal guards would work as solid impromptu battle buddies when in doubt.

    Each guard ditched their shorts and tank tops for the drab grey utility uniforms and golden sashes, marking them as royal guards before assuming their daily posts. However, that was not before their battle buddy checked their uniforms, ensuring they looked prim and proper.

    Only three within the building stood out. One stood out because he had always listened to Conor''s classes but rarely participated in practical application.

    Burlai lounged in the first room, reading something on his datapad¡ªor at least tried to appear like he was.

    Conor had spotted him watching the sparing matches from the window. It was the same thing each day. The man was just uncertain of Conor and kept tabs on him.

    They both knew the other saw them, but the act remained.

    Burlai had made no effort to harm or approach Conor, nor did the Human do so. Both were, in their own ways, building a profile on one another. Each saw the other as a threat, an unknown factor, a wildcard.

    Both understood they would speak to one another soon enough. Who would make the first move? Neither knew; it was just a matter of who thought they had the other figured out first. As such, a short nod was shared, acknowledging once again that they saw each other and moved on.

    The only others who were odd in the building that wreaked of stoic desire to kill anyone who dared oppose them were Vitul and Cur¡¯sh. The dynamic duo were lazing about on the benches in the locker room. They were loudly jeering at one another about who was more of a billy badass.

    One would tell the tale about their extraordinary accomplishments in one battle, before the other would rebuff with a story from another. It was comical to Conor and Vuraley; in their minds, both were fine fighters and capable warriors; a dick-measuring contest did nothing.

    Sure, both had a pension for laziness and wanted nothing more than to go out, have a few drinks, then go home and rail their wives. But what warrior did not want that? Conor and Vuraley certainly understood the desire, even if only one could do that.

    ¡°Oh, so you two must be hitting the two-kilometer target now?¡± Conor crossed his arms, recalling the order he had given them this morning.

    While the pair were excellent warriors for the most part, they did falter in one area Conor sought to correct: long-range shooting. Both were abysmal at the artform because it required a steady hand, sharp mind, and unparalleled fundamentals. They were capable of being snipers; Conor knew it. They just had to get the patience to do the math in their heads and take the shot.

    ¡°We were,¡± Vitul said, sitting slightly straighter and looking toward Conor while Vuraley went to his locker to change.

    ¡°Each shot?¡± Conor raised a brow.

    Vitul started to him and haw, attempting to draw out time to build an argument for him not meeting the standard of one hundred percent accuracy at that range. But like the brothers in arms, they were Cur¡¯sh chimed in.

    ¡°I did,¡± Cur¡¯sh chuckled before pointing at Vitul. ¡°Allstar shooter her only hit eight out of ten.¡±

    ¡°Fuck you. I did my best,¡± Vitul argued, pointing at Conor. ¡°Not everyone had a ballistic computer in their head.¡±

    Conor shrugged. It was true that he did have a ballistic computer in his head. All he had to do when shooting at long range was input the calculation into the scope and shoot straight. Sure, he had an easier job than most due to his augmented beyond belief, but his point of their training still stood.

    Brakul could shoot ten out of ten at two kilometers, and Conor could shoot it. Now, it was Vitul and Cur¡¯sh¡¯s job to be able to shoot it. While Conor liked having the two around as a company, they still had to meet his standards as their impromptu boss.

    Hell, most days, they ate lunch, trained, watched holoflicks, or just shot the breeze together. Conor and Eivaley even went to both of their houses to meet their families for dinner.

    By Urla, the way Eivaley looked at Conor after meeting their children and Ladies was downright feral. The little ruby looked like she was ready to rip Conor''s clothes off on the way back to the palace¡ªsomething Vitul and Cur¡¯sh were more than willing to taunt Conor about.

    Their teasing only doubled once news of Conor and Eivaley¡¯s late-night sparring had slipped out. Conor had returned from the bathroom to the pair dancing with music while pretending to be Eivaley and him whispering sweet nothings to one another.

    Even with his cold synthetic heart, Conor admitted it was funny. But he would have preferred if one of them had worn a dress. That would only have added to the little show in his bedroom.

    ¡°It¡¯s alright,¡± Conor said patting Vituls shoulder, ¡°we can practice more tomorrow.¡±

    ¡°Ok, boss,¡± Vitul nodded nervously, knowing damn well that meant Conor would have them running gun drills while he and Eivaley lounged nearby in the shade.

    ¡°Now, Get dressed,¡± Conor ordered. ¡°We are going into town in a few minutes.¡±

    The pair nodded and started to get into their low visiblity gear. Meaning they were going to dress similarly to Conor, and wear the same equipment he was. They even would sport the same handcannon Conor had gotten from Brakul.

    They had already been briefed about the plan of the day, meaning Conor did not have to explain to them what he needed them to carry and what was expected of them. The plan was to visit the veterans center Eivaleyu managed; while it was a safe route and location, Conor ensured they were as armed as he was and then some.

    Conor would be the face standing at Eivaleys side and visiting the old warriors at the venter. Vitul and Cur¡¯sh would be the heavily armed backup hanging out in the car. They would be ready if anything went down and Conor needed extra firepower.

    While this preparedness was not needed, Conor treated each excursion out of the neutral zone that was the palace as if he were protecting Urla herself. He and his two teammates knew every alley, shop, and location within a kilometer of their destination, like the back of their hands.

    It did not matter who tried to touch Eivaley. Conor and them would be there, ready to protect her. It could be Voodal, the GU army, or even Thuraley; either way, they would meet the end of Conor''s gun long before touching his woman.

    Now, the only thing Conor wondered was why Eivaley seemed so excited about going to the veterans center and walking through a garden called the Field of Heroes.

 Section Twenty Two: Field of Heroes.

    The Luriket Veterans home was a sight to behold. Its red vine-covered siding, gently sloping roof, and decorative wooden shutters stood out against the desert on the city''s northern edge.

    Despite being close to an endless sea of shifting ivory sands, it was surrounded by a lush and well-maintained garden.

    The verdant greenery wrapped around three sides of the small high-rise apartment building, leaving the fourth open for a path onto the Field of Heroes.

    Unlike the royal gardens, which had hundreds of small plots for flowers, statues, and fountains, this one was practical, meant to be used and not just gawked at by nobles who had never had their hands soiled in dirt their entire lives.

    Spattered around the greenery were gazebos, park games, and vegetable gardens. These forms of entertainment were intended to help the veterans by giving them something to do to keep themselves in shape, entertained, and happy to be here. From what Conor had seen, they put them to use.

    Dozens of former soldiers and Ladies who had lost their Champions to war mingled around the trees. Some painted, others enjoyed a beautiful brunch, and a few ran classes that looked like yoga.

    The Lost Ladies mainly attended those classes, but a few participants were old soldiers. Given how unabashed the men were with flirting, it was obvious why they were in the class. The retired soldiers might as well have been removing the flowing robe-like clothes with their eyes.

    Not many of those men would ever get a chance to convince those ladies to give them a chance; they were Lost Ladies.

    The Lost Ladies were women whose husbands had died in the line of duty or through other means. They were a form of protected class in the Kurlatra empire; it was considered a horrible tragedy for any Lady to lose their Champion. It meant that the life coil tattooed on their neck no longer had the accompanying man.

    They were a lock without a key, a woman who lost someone who swore to always be there and now left them alone in the bitter existence of living out their days without a part of their soul.

    While Conor could not directly empathize with them, having never had a wife, bonded pair, or Lady of his own, he did comprehend having lost someone who should always be there.

    The Kurlatra Empire handled the basic necessities of life for the veterans and the Lost Ladies until they bought the farm.

    Eivaley explained to Conor how she had procured enough money to ensure that they were cared for and had extra pocket cash for the remainder of their lives.

    Through careful legislation and using thousands of veterans and Lost Ladies as her advisors, Eivlaey concluded that the stagnant workforce should be employed and have their efforts sold to the public or the government should they have an excess they did not wish to retain.

    All across the planet, each veteran center had adopted its own money-making methods, adapted to the environment, the products manufactured in the region, and, of course, what the new workforce wished to do.

    Down in the Velityan forest, they mostly grew fruit and grains and prepared them for shipment. While the badlands sun-scorched mountains, veterans acted as hunting and hiking guides for the most adventurous sapients.

    Here in the capital, it was a whole other struggle. Eivaley and the locals had difficulty deciding what they could do. Inside the bustling metropolis, what could they do? Open a shop? Sell Stulk? Perhaps maintain a museum?

    All of those ideas were pondered and scrapped. None of the veterans here wanted to own a shop, nor could they corner the market well enough to make their efforts viable. As for a museum, the royal family maintained one outlining all of Kurlatra history near the city center as is, so another would be redundant.

    They struggled for years to devise a solution until Rokoyu came along. He was the son of a prized Waiye vintner. In fact, the khaki-scaled veteran was the last in a line of vintners who had produced some of the most renowned Waiye for nearly five hundred years.

    However, one of the most recent rebellions destroyed his vineyard and the rest of his family. They had all gone up in flames when the rebels decided that his father, a loyal citizen of the empire, would not bow to their will.

    After watching his father die fighting the rebels fang and claw in the vineyard, Rokoyu was alone. With nothing left, he joined the army and fought like the devil for ten years, suppressing the rebellion before losing an eye and being retired here.

    The man, a skilled quidnunc with nothing else, approached Eivaley with a solution: Open a Waiye production facility on a nearby vacant hillside.

    Now, the succulent, sweet odor of countless rows of Grutal fruit filled the air. Across the street, spreading out for several square kilometers, was his new vineyard, the only production facility for the newly christened Royal Ruby Waiye.

    Eivaley saw the irony of the name, but workers chose it, and the production gave hundreds of the veterans something to do.

    They tended to and harvested the Grutal and then, through meticulous traditional methods of crushing and fermentation, made bottles of Waiye, which cost an arm and a leg and were considered the most sought-after drink on the planet.

    Conor teased Eivaley a bit about how she did not think what she had done was remarkable¨Cin private, at least. That she did not hold her accomplishments in high regard was insanity. She was in every way the remarkable woman Conor knew she was, and he was not alone in that regard.

    Every Kurlatra who lived in the veterans center dropped everything when they saw her arrive, swarming like insects trying to feed from a radiant flower. Initially, Conor wanted to shield her like he typically did, but she reached up, rubbed his cheek, and smiled. ¡°It¡¯s alright, they are friends.¡±

    ¡°But,¡± Conor started to argue, looking up at the soldiers waiting at arms reach for his permission to come closer.

    They were battered, all covered in countless ancient, long-since-healed wounds. Some were missing limbs, others eyes, and a few had massive burns.

    The Lost Ladies looked at Conor with overflowing pain in their eyes. The yearning look almost reminded Conor of some of the strung-out junkies he had seen in Heavalun. They wanted to even have Eivaley acknowledge them as if her doing so would be a fix more potent than Visage.

    Accepting that Eivaley had to be who the Veterans had expected of her, Conor let her go. Stepping away from Eivaley almost hurt; now that Conor had started to accept his life with her, not being in contact felt like he was exposing himself.

    As Eivaley started to laugh with her people, the commoners, who granted her the title of Lady of the People, the Human could not help but smile. She accepted gifts before passing them to Vitul and Cer¡¯sh; she was given flowers, drinks, candies, and dried meats, all the product of her people''s labor.

    Blooming like a flower, Eivaley petalled out and ensured everyone saw that they were not left wanting. She smiled at each and spoke to them all by name, recalling everything about them without fault.

    Eivaley knew their names, dreams, families, and hopes. She was a woman of the people to her core. To her, her title did not ring hollow; she was their princess and lived each day to exceed their expectations.

    As much as the potential danger of the people scared him, Conor supported her by stepping further back and resting under the shade of a tree.

    Soft footsteps came to his side as Conor watched the crowd absorb his woman''s radiance. If someone approached from where Conor could not see, he would throttle them, but seeing Eivaley in her element put him at ease.

    Her ability to tenderly calm the monster in his soul extended to this distance. Even though they were not touching, a warm, soothing feeling in his chest assured Conor he and she were safe.

    ¡°You know, she saved me too,¡± the man who walked up to his side said. ¡°Master of War,¡± he finished like Conor¡¯s title was an afterthought.

    The man''s accent differed greatly from what he had heard around the palace or the town. He spoke flowingly, seeming like each word was a soothing assurance. His vowels extended unnaturally as if his tongue had never touched his teeth while talking.

    The manner of speech gave his T¡¯s almost a z-like twang. If Conor had spent time on Earth, the man would have reminded him of a Frenchman who spoke galactic standard.

    Looking over his shoulder, the man. Unlike many of the others nearby, this unappealing tan and khaki-scaled Kurlatra was clad in grey overalls covered in countless blue Grutal fruit stains.

    The man took a deep swig from a shiny tin flask he produced from one of his many pockets. Dribbles of golden amber rolled off his chin, glistening in the sunlight and adding more stains to his attire.

    ¡°That¡¯s the good stuff,¡± The man inhaled before offering a drink to Conor.

    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Conor asked before taking the flask and sipping from it.

    The amber liquid burned like fire going down Conor''s throat, like a thousand-degree oil flowing into his gullet. A warning flared in Conor''s HUD that the drink was flammable and had an incredibly high alcohol content. Too much of this drink could quickly put Conor on his ass if he was not careful.

    ¡°By Urla,¡± Conor coughed and handed the flask back. While Conor had drank plenty in his life, this was otherworldly potent.

    The man laughed, enjoying watching a man of regard nearly brought to his knees by a simple drink. ¡°Will you be alright?¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± Conor waved him off before looking back to Eivaley as one of the Lost Ladies hugged her. ¡°What do you mean she saved you?¡±

    The man fell silent for a long moment, as if he was allowing the hours to pass, and drifted off to a otherwhere even he did not entirely understand. Conor had been around enough war-torn souls to recognize the pause; he did not need to look at the man to see the tired recollection of long-since-dead memories in his eyes.

    ¡°She gave me back my passion. My desire to live. When the Fifth Princess was scurrying about, looking for something to do with us¡ª¡± The man paused and sighed, looking at the other soldiers. ¡°I was ready to die, punch my own ticket. You know?¡±

    Conor did not understand the feeling of wanting to kill yourself but shifted slightly to get a better look at the man, observing other veterans tending the steep hillside as the man took another drink. ¡°But she seemed desperate for something us to do. I had seen that hillside and remembered my days as a kid; I would frolic around as my father and mother would see to the tending of the fruit. I also remember the passion my father would explain: fermenting, growing, tending¡ªit was an art to him¡ªto us.¡±

    Conor thought of interrupting the old salt and telling him to get on with it and make his point already, but something about the man gave him pause.

    It was like Conor was back with Brakul and learning a lesson. He wanted to know more and learn at the pace his oh-so-wise instructor would inform him, so Conor held his tongue.

    ¡°Eivaley,¡± The man continued hauntingly. ¡°I hope I am not overstepping by calling her that,¡±

    Conor shook his head and gestured to Eivaley for him to continue.

    ¡°She listened to my idea to start a vineyard, grow fruit, make Waiye, and give us purpose again. Before she arrived, we were in squalor, ignored, stepped on, and forgotten. But she saw us; we just had to see her back¡ªyou get it?¡± The man finished before handing the drink back to Conor.

    Conor sipped again, the light fruity notes breaching the harsh burn. It was like he had heard a glimpse of the story of the creation, given by who Conor knew had to be Rokoyu, and he could appreciate the subtle complexities of what happened to bring this drink to him.

    The Human paused and looked down at the flask, his reflection staring back at him. The reverse image of him judged him, staring back with untold honest understanding. For months, Conor had been lying to himself about how he felt about Eivaley. Sure, he had taken some steps to show her his feelings, but accepting his feelings himself was still a struggle. The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    A firm guiding hand landed on his shoulder as the mirrored surface screamed and mocked his inability to admit how he felt. Rokoyu patted the man''s metallic shoulder, silently assuring him that he was in safe company and that whatever Conor said next would not leave them.

    Brakul and Conor had made similar gestures to one another over the years. Granted, it was mostly Brakul handing them out, but Conor had his moments. When Brakul had to be fished out of a Colbyuri¡¯s tentacles after he seduced her, she decided they were destined for one another, for example.

    ¡°I think I do,¡± Conor smiled, watching his paramour embrace a soldier missing an arm.

    ¡°Good,¡± Rokoyu replied. "Then you had better act on it. We never know when it''s time to clock out of life, right"?

    ¡ª

    Rokoyu and Conor stood under the mighty tree in silence, neither needing to speak. There was a weightful understanding that only two wounded men could share. The air was heavy, similar to how humidity weighed down on you just before a thunderstorm.

    They shared pain and care for one another, one that transcended their species and circumstances. Despite the differences, they knew the other was like company.

    Being near someone who understood him in such a way was disarming, enough so that by the time Eivaley returned to Conor, stood on her tippy toes, and nuzzled into his collar, Rokoyu had vanished without the Human noticing, leaving Conor with a half-full flask.

    ¡°Come on, my paramour,¡± Eivaley purred, ¡°We have two more people we have to visit today.¡±

    ¡°Who?¡± Conor raised a brow.

    From all that Eivaley had told Conor, there should not be anyone else for them to visit. All that they had planned was to visit the Field of Heroes. But knowing Eivaley, it likely was another key local political figure.

    But it was sometimes difficult to tell who was a high roller and who was not. Eivaley treated everyone as if they were the most precious thing on the planet. She valued them all, from the eldest veteran to the youngest babe fresh from the clutch.

    ¡°You will see,¡± Eivaley replied, taking Conor''s hand and leading on, "but you will want to see them."

    The soldiers lingering around returned to their work, having gotten their fill of Eivlaey and being entirely aware of what was about to happen.

    While all of the soldiers or Lost Lady were welcome to join them at the Feild of Heroes, most decided not to; those who were going to attend the service had left earlier to get into their dress uniforms and arrive at the gravestones the fourth princess told them about.

    Those not attending did wish to be there but would not; it was not because they did not wish to welcome Conor and show him Human support in what he had lost; from what Evialey had told them during their conversations, he needed it. They simply wished to allow Eivaley and her family, who had been transported in from an angle Conor could not see, to be his mourners.

    They were merely run-of-the-mill soldiers and their windows. They could never compare to a noble''s support in the Human''s time of need.

    The nobles could be far more articulate in their words and be far more capable of giving the man the aid he needs. The soldiers all had their own losses. None of them could comprehend the empress and her loss¡ªsomeone Eivaley had informed them would be in attendance: both her and the First Champion.

    The empress would do more for the Human than their words and gestures combined with just her presence.

    Eivaley led Conor along a small path of duracrete beneath bows, similar to palms waving overhead, around the building. Many of the soldiers wearing their dress uniforms with chiming metals followed at a respectful distance. Conor saw them, and they saw him. It was a respectful glance at one another.

    They were wounded animals glancing at one another who inherently understood neither had a need to fight. Besides, Conor had another thing he had to focus on. Eivaley wanted him to meet someone, so he had to put his best foot forward for her sake.

    But none of his preparation mattered; what Eivaley had planned would break him down.

    That this gesture broke him down was an understatement. Conor had lived his entire life without the warmth of love, care, and concern. His mother died when he was less than five, and Brakul, while a fatherly figure, was like him desperate, so they did not give symbolic gestures of care.

    Conor listened to Brakul in fights and training because neither could escape Heavalun. Conor could understand this; Brakul loved him as a brother and battle buddy, but the feeling differed from what Eivaley was about to show him.

    As the pair breached the hillock leading to the Field of Heroes, the troopers trailing behind Conor and Eivaley flowed past the pair, including Vitul and Cur¡¯sh.

    Like a flowing mist, the hundreds of soldiers flowed through the graveyard toward a waiting crowd.

    The mass of tenders to Conor''s soul flowed through the countless white gravestones. The pillars of memory blocked Conor from seeing their pained looks as they congregated around a new memorial.

    The tombstones did not seem to be anything special at the distance. At a glance, they were just rows of white pillars rising from the endless grass fields.

    It was as if they were the stumps of once proud trees, cut down well before it was their time to go. Conor understood what a graveyard was, but Heavalun did not use them; there, you burned the dead.

    To Eivaley, however, this was more than a graveyard. It was a memorial and a statement of sacrifice. Each of the white stones represented a life: a brother, a father, a farmer, and a mere man who died for what he believed in.

    Each of these stones was a soul who should be remembered. They gave everything so all the living could still be here and live their best lives.

    As Conor and Eivaley approached the crowd of well-dressed soldiers and Lost Ladies, they parted, revealing Vuraley and Eyurali standing beside two new tombstones that had only been placed an hour earlier by Vurraley and Burlai.

    Soldiers carried Kurlatra tombstones by hand. It was a tradition for them to make the weight of someone''s passing a very literal thing.

    The Kurlatra army had soldiers carry the stones to remind them what it cost to pull a trigger and end an enemy. Sure, you might kill them, but they were still a person struggling to fight against a never-ending battle for what they thought was justified.

    Behind Eivaley''s parents, Burlai and Mulaney waited. They were the only other members of the royal family in attendance, despite a half dozen others being only a few hours away and having been encouraged to show their sister and Conor''s support.

    Conor was not aware of it at the time, but this memorial service was looked down upon by many of the nobility. They believed sanctifying an alien''s loved ones on the Field of Heroes was wrong and insulting to the memory of those who had given their lives in the name of the empire.

    Anyone who verbalized this opinion was promptly uninvited and told to stay away, or they would have the empress to answer to.

    The High Champion stood tall, the greys and golds of his uniform and the uncountable awards dangling off his chest, fitting someone of his status.

    The look he gave Conor was calm and reserved yet equally caring. The man was a true stoic, but with his experiences of having buried dozens of his own daughters and hundreds of soldiers, he knew the strife Conor was about to endure once he stepped away and allowed the Human to see the graves.

    Eyurali stood by his side, wearing a white dress that flowed gracefully off her curves. Accenting her beauty were several bouquets of flowers she clutched tightly, like they would run away if she let slackened her hold.

    Like her husband, she had done the song and dance thousands of times. But it never got any easier. If anything, each memorial only got more painful. If Eyurali could go the rest of her life without hearing the wails of a Lost Lady or the quiet sobbing of a warrior missing his brother, she would. But life was never that easy.

    No one ever wanted to say goodbye to someone they loved and cared for but for the sake of those you still have, letting them go but not forgetting the fallen was important. You could never truly care for those still with you if you could not look to the future.

    Eyurali waited for Eivaley and Conor to breach the crowd. The moment they did, she hushed the mumbling crowd with a simple flick of her tail.

    A wave of respectful quiet flowed out over the attendees, all aware of what was about to transpire. Anything they had to say could wait.

    ¡°Come on, Conor,¡± Eivaley whispered, squeezing his hand tighter.

    Eivaley had been planning this funeral for months, the seeds of it being planted the moment they had escaped Havalun. At that time, it was just a passive thought; she believed it would be a caring gesture for Conor. Now, her reasoning was vastly different.

    Conor, her paramour, needed this. Every day, while training, eating, or just lounging in the gardens, he frequently went to that other place in his mind. Somewhere that she knew was him replaying the events of extracting her in his mind.

    Conor had told her that much. He was desperately trying to find something else he could have done to save Stitch and Brakul. Conor questioned every step, breath trigger pull, and tactical pause he made; there had to be something he could have done differently or better.

    But no matter how much he tried, he could not come up with an answer. He was killing himself, burying all he was in guilt. Conor was so hungry for answers that he even privately spoke to Vuraley about what he had done.

    Eivaley knew she was likely not supposed to have overheard their conversation, but she listened in that night anyway. While she had sneaked out of her room late at night and was going to watch a movie with her sister, she overheard them through a cracked door.

    Conor and her father were in the library, flanking a glowing three-dimensional holographic map of Heavalun. The wan light of the sand table made them look like demons overlooking soon-to-be prey.

    Conor meticulously walked Vuraley through the events of that night as they unfolded in front of him in the past. The Human left no detail out of the recounting¡ªeach footstep, shift in his weight, and shot fired¡ªit was like he was trying to justify the events to a High Judiciar, who had a gun to his head, ready to pull the trigger if anything about his answer was found wanting.

    Vuraley could see through Conor''s act. The Human was not trying to explain the night''s reasoning to convince Vuraley he had done the right thing¡ªthe Human wanted to convince himself he had given his all.

    But like a wise warrior poet, Vuraley helped the Human heal and answered Conor''s questions by explaining what he would have done at each phase of that impromptu operation. To Conor''s dismay, Vuraley''s solutions to the Voodal, the locals, and even the police were nearly identical to his own.

    They repeated this process hundreds of times, changing details, options, and tactics. But no matter how the pair of warriors broke it down, Brakuls''s death was a universal constant. There was just too much distance, too many targets, and not enough time.

    Conor was not found lacking. That day, he lived by the creed of the royal guards. His actions were the embodiment of "never shall I fail." All the Human had to do was see it.

    ¡°Come on,¡± Vuraley patted Conor''s shoulder and shut the holographic projector off. ¡°Let''s go get a drink.¡±

    ¡°But there---¡± Conor tried to argue, wanting to give it another go to find an answer to what he had done wrong, but Vuraley stopped him.

    ¡°Son, beating yourself up for having done everything right is not healthy,¡± Vuraley replied, his voice as strong as duracrete yet as warm as the winds of the desert. ¡°I''ve done it; hundreds of my men have done it. Good men die in war. Sure, it sucks when our friends go, but killing ourselves over their deaths is not what they would want.¡±

    Vuraley looked up from the dark table, where Conor''s vision was still trained. He looked right at Eivaley through the ajar door and smirked. ¡°All we can do is not forget them and ensure others know of them.¡±

    Eivaley knew that message was not just for Conor, they were for her as well. That was the moment she knew for sure that making sure Brakul and Stitch were remembered was what she would do.

    They stepped up to Vuraley and Eyurali. Conor''s confusion about the situation grew. There was no one here he had not met earlier in the day or knew well after having been in the capital for months.

    ¡°What''s going on?¡± Conor asked no one in particular. He had pieced together that this would not be a typical meeting like Eivlaey had insinuated.

    ¡°Conor, please come here,¡± Eyurali said.

    Eivaley let Conor''s hand go and nudged him forward. Euyurali wrapped Conor in a gentle hug. The same kind of embrace one would give to someone who had been hurt and needed assurance that they would be safe where they were.

    ¡°Eivaley, she arranged this for you,¡± the empress whispered to the Human. ¡°But there is some procedure for a funeral. Will you and Eivaley stand across from us?¡±

    ¡°Who is it for?¡± Conor replied, not aware anyone had died since he arrived at the palace.

    ¡°Your friends, Brakul and Stitch,¡± she replied, stepping back and looking over her shoulder at the tombstones.

    Without missing a beat, Conor moved. The Human disregarded all forms of protocol, procedure, and, of course, courtesy. He did not care in the slightest. He had to see the truth for himself. No one moved to stop Conor; if anything, they empathized with his need to see the graves for himself.

    Vuraley, Mulaeny, and Burlai stepped to the side to let the man see his friends.

    There they were, plain as day on the two white pillars, Stitch and Brakul. Not only were their names on the memorials, but a depiction of each was painted on the surface just above a short bit of text regarding each as a hero of the empire who should not be forgotten.

    The depictions were a bit off, likely because Eivaley had to describe the men she had known for hours. But it did not matter.

    Conor hesitantly ran his hand along the cold pillar, caressing the images. As he recalled the pair, it felt like a rope was tightening around His neck. In an instant, he relieved every laugh, scream, and moment with them.

    They were there and not as far gone as Conor had imagined them to be. The onlookers watched as the warrior was given his moment to say goodbye to his friends. Most attendees saw it as just that, but from the close distance the royal family was, they could see far more.

    A shimmering tear rolled down Conor''s cheek. He made no noise as more quickly followed and fell onto the grass. In silent mourning, they let Conor cry, accept the reality of what was before him, and forgive himself, even if it was only a little bit.

    Eivaley walked to Conor''s side and leaned on him, wrapping her arm around his waist. That embrace pulled Conor back from the otherwhere he had just gone. He looked down at Eivaley with a sharp motion as if she had just appeared at his side.

    Eivaley did not mention what she saw to Conor; he did not need to know his stoic facade had slipped. She gently reached up and wiped the tears off Conor''s cheek. ¡°I''m here, Conor.¡±

    Clasping Eivaley''s hand, Conor leaned over and hugged her. Eivaley, without hesitation, returned the gesture, ensuring Conor understood he was not alone. She and the rest of her family were there for him¡ªnow and always.

 Section Twenty-Three: Conors Custodian

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

 Section Twenty Four: No Other Lady

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

 Section Twenty Five: Guilty In Absentia

    The palace grounds were serene, to say the least. Just as they had been since this morning when the two royals and their stalwart guards flowed into them.

    They made an effort to ensure no one witnessed the small elopement. They primarily did this because they desired privacy. Many of the servants and other royals were chatterboxes and hopeless gossipers.

    So, vanishing amidst the nearly ancient trees or locking themselves away behind lock and key was the only way they could enjoy privacy.

    The gardens stretched on for what might as well have been an endless eternity. Nothing but the green bows, soft grasses, babbling waters, and the wind singing through the bright flower pedals accosted the young couples.

    Eivaley leaned back against Conor, who was propped against a tree. Her silken gold robes exquisitely festooned her womanly curves, letting Conor appreciate the sunlight shimmering off her cream-colored bust and the gorgeous red shine on her legs.

    His firm grip held her close, not letting her move from his lap, not that she had any desire to shift even a nanometer. This spot, right on his lap, reading a book while he unthinkingly traced small circles on her thigh with his thumb, was right where she belonged.

    Nothing under the stars or within the reach of mortals could make her give this up. Sure, she still waited for Conor to take the final leap into the unknown with her, but with his assurance that he just was not ready refreshed in her mind every few days, she could be patient.

    He was worth the wait. The stars could smolder into black husks of ash and dreams of what was, and her desire for him to take her would still burn more brightly than a quasar.

    Not even the gods could snuff out her reverence for the man holding her close and bequeathing his entire attention to her comfort and care.

    Slinking off into far corners of the palace was a nearly daily occurrence since Eivaley snuck into Conor''s room at night.

    The locations were different, and the reasons changed; they went to a beach, had dinner at Mulaney''s private estate, or, like now, it was just too lovely a day to be stuffed inside the palace.

    In Eivaley''s mind, the day could not have been more flawless, and then Mulaney giggled nearby.

    Sighing and looking over at her sister, Eivaley could not help but scowl slightly. Mulaney and Burlai were under another tree nearby, the flecks of sunlight dancing along their polished scales, highlighting the black life coils on their necks.

    The two giggled and tossed small berries into one another''s mouth. The giggles this time resulted from one of the morsels falling into Mulaney''s bust and Burlai fishing it out with his tail.

    Make no mistake, Eivaley was glad that her sister had found a man who complimented her calculating and meticulous nature so well, but their being here now was an annoyance.

    Could her sister not let her be alone with her man? or at least the man Eivaley saw as only being a few days away from being hers. The fifth princess could already imagine her life coil on his neck.

    It would be pleasant if they could be left alone a bit more so she could continue to attempt to lure him out and catch his heart and soul. But Conor and Burlai seemed to have struck a deal to keep the two princesses safe, so now they were nearly joined at the hip.

    If Eivaley did not want to roll over and have Conor suck on the tip of her tail while she rode him like an untamed beast, she might feel less affected by the unwanted presence; but this was reality, and they were around, save for night time nude snuggles.

    So, she would simply have to suffer and have Conor always hold, cuddle, and compliment her.

    Other than the brokerage between the men, the reason Conor tolerated the presence of others was apparent.

    No one other than Mulaney and Burlai knew about the little private excursions that Conor and Evilay had been undertaking for the last few weeks. They could not risk anyone knowing they acted in ways an assigned champion and lady should not.

    Sure, what they were doing was not technically against any rules. But with Conor and Eivaleys planet-wide fame, it would undoubtedly be talked about in betting halls and the halls of nobility for weeks, if not years.

    But Burlai and Mulaney willingly acted as their alibies. So long as her sister and stepbrother were present, no one could raise suspicion about their whereabouts.

    What they had was quite unique in Kurlatra society, especially the nobility. Gods knew more Kulrata women and men wanted the opportunity to struggle for what Eivaley and Conor had; a chance to genuinely love one another.

    The couple could look beyond status, station, scale color, species, and the other''s faults. They truly wanted the other, and it took time, tender care, and endless tending to grow that love from a small sprout into a mighty garden.

    Mulaney and Burlai were more than happy to assist in that. They understood the risks that Eivaley and Conor were undertaking better than anyone else.

    Most Champions and their ladies were quickly assigned or chosen, and the opinions of those to be betrothed were rarely considered. A fate Mulaney and Burlai were initially condemned to ---they just got lucky and were told to love someone they easily wished to do.

    Sadly, those who did not understand care only saw what the fifth princess and the Humans were doing as going against the gods and the empress''s desires.

    The fact they had never crossed the line of mating did not matter, especially to the most zealous. Their perception was reality, and those brow-beating fucks knew what reality was, and anyone who questioned it met the blade of an inquisitor or a man like Burlai''s swift judgment.

    ¡°Want to keep reading?¡± Conor yawned, having been drifting in and out of consciousness for the last hour.

    ¡°I doubt you would listen,¡± Eivaley giggled, snapping her book shut.

    She had been reading Conor the sagas of her ancestors, specifically the stories of Nikitals, before he met Eivaleys ancestor.

    The stories outlined the progenitor of Champion''s life, struggles, and victories. Nikitals was a warrior who fought for causes he did not care for and ultimately became the Champion of an empress.

    Burlai was no slouch on his history and ensured Conor could see the similarities between Niktals and the Human, but he was scoffed at. Conor did not care about fate or give any stock into history rhyming.

    Eivaley, on the other hand, enjoyed the comparisons because they fed her desires and belief that Conor was destined to be hers. So, to her, the uncanny resemblance between her story and the tale of her ancestors was as sweet as candy on her lips---she could not get enough of it.

    Granted, Eivaley was no empress, and Conor was not exactly a slave, but when money was the only means of survival, and there was one way to get it, what difference was there?

    As she saw it, Conor was a slave at the time. He was no bondsman with a master or a slave knight; Conor only cared about money.

    He was a serf to the almighty credit and made no effort to hide how much it mattered at the time. By Urla, each of his stories of fights, battles, or jobs included how much he was paid.

    But he was not anymore. Conor could choose his fate now, just like Niktals could a thousand years ago. Eivaleys just prayed Conor would again shape his story with a similar choice.

    ¡°I was,¡± Conor assured, ignoring that he had been nodding on and off for half an hour.

    It was not that he did not like the story. But Eivaley''s presence put him at ease. When she relaxed and pulled warmth from him, it was like she sucked all the regrets away.

    She understood the demons in his mind, yet accepted them. Conor would never forgive himself for Brakuls death, but her existence made stomaching it possible, even if acknowledging it felt like pulling a knife from his heart.

    ¡°Oh, you were? Then what happened when Nikitals was twelve and was sold off to the Razaiya of the badlands?¡± Eivaley teased, licking Conor''s cheek and pressing her bust tighter to his chest.

    ¡°I know that,¡± Conor replied.

    The Human''s mind raced, trying to recall the tale, but it was useless. Conor had not been paying enough attention. Eivaley''s soft touch, slow breathing, and soothsayer-like voice were all his mind cared about.

    Sure, he could remember that Nikitals had led armies into battle, been enslaved multiple times, and spearheaded numerous uprisings, but anything beyond those high-level details was beyond him.This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

    ¡°He was¡ªuhh,¡± Conor drew on,  looking off, hoping Urla would answer.

    But no answer came from the absentee god, just as it always had been in his life. At least this time, Conor was not praying to have the next bullet miss his head.

    ¡°We can keep reading later,¡± Eivaley assured, setting the book down.

    ¡°Tonight?¡± Conor asked, implying she should snuggle up in his bed again.

    ¡°Hmmm,¡± Eivaley purred, not verbally saying yes, but her tail, sinching down on his hand, screamed yes.

    The quartet lounged as the sun passed its zenith. Conor and Burlair asked about going to the range to shoot more, but the women opposed it. Now, they did so for good reason. They shot better than most of the guards at this point.

    After only a month, the first and fifth princesses could shoot better than ninety percent of the royal guard on the flat range and well over half at dynamic targets.

    Some of the soldiers were discouraged that the women they were supposed to protect could shoot better than them, but most took it on the chin. They saw the royals'' lightspeed improvements as a reminder that they were not good enough.

    After being repeatedly taken to the cleaners by the Lady of the People and the Lady of Enterprise, the troopers tripled down on training.

    The NCOs and officers were troubled by the fact that two women who should never fight could hit targets out to a thousand meters more consistently than their troops. They could not accept this. They had to show that their troopers could still be of value to the nobles. As such, weapons drills never ceased.

    Conor could still recall hearing the soldiers, including his guards, screaming, "Never shall I fail," while running around the palace for hours each morning.

    Since the girls did not want to do much other than snuggle, eat snacks, and read, they did that until a world-shattering bang ripped through the palace.

    To Eivaley and Mulaney, it was just another gunshot. They thought it was just the soldiers training at the range nearby; Burlai and Conor knew better.

    The sound and direction were all wrong. That one specific snap came from the center of the palace, while the usual staccato pops of training came from the polar opposite.

    Conor and Burlai shot out from their relaxation and grabbed their women, shielding them from potential harm.

    ¡°What was that?¡± Conor asked, looking around frantically.

    ¡°No idea,¡± Burlai replied, drawing his pistol while Conor pulled his own.

    It did not matter that the two had such drastically different upbringings and training. Over the last month, they worked out kinks in doctrine and repeated what needed to be done enough that they did not need to speak to operate in close proximity.

    Uncountable hours had been spent deciding where they would move Eivaley and Mulaney. How they would act, and who they trusted.

    The dynamic duo had plans for everything from murder in the palace, earthquakes, military invasions, and even the other being killed.

    Not only were their plans extensive, but they were also well-informed and constructed with contingencies abound. Their contingencies had contingencies, and fallback plans had millions of errant factors considered.

    If you laid out their decision-making process into a flow chart, the paper would cover several square kilometers. Burlai and Conor had their choices memorized and did not have to think about what to do when the next what-if popped up.

    Granted, most of the backups'' backups boiled down to going to Conor''s room, arming up, then heading to the royal bunker via the emergency entrance in the throne room. If that did not work, they planned on stealing one of the landing craft at the small shuttle port on the palace grounds.

    With their flow of operations in mind, they knew what needed to be done. For now, they had to hold their position, protecting each other and those they cared about.

    Eivaley and Mulaney understood what was happening right now. They were to remain in place while their Champions decided on the next course of action or Colonel Blakek announced all was safe.

    The royal guard would assess the situation, capture the threat, and deal with it.

    Over the last month, dozens of drills and false alarms have been conducted. Except for Vuraley, the empress, and the Colonel, no one knew about the drills.

    Conor and Burlai had expressed their concerns about being left in the dark over dinner, but Vuraley and the empress would not budge on the matter.

    Treating everything as real would ensure their reactions were always genuine. And would assist in keeping the Colonel''s troops sharp, ready to fight, and clear on what to do no matter the incident.

    Vuraley and the empress did not even care that Burlai and Conor seemingly took more strong-armed actions with each passing scenario.

    During one drill, they had taken over a section of the palace and had the soldiers they gathered start building reinforcements out of toppled statues.

    The duo even had taken another noble hostage and were about to start interrogating him through---less scrupulous means before Vuraley disarmed the near disaster.

    The empress seemed more amused by their paranoia than anything else. She seemed reassured that even without direct instructions, the two were taking the royals'' safety seriously.

    For Conor, that level of borderline psychosis was to be expected. Burlai, on the other hand, seemed to be more on edge when the drills happened.

    It took a bit of work and talking with Burlai and Mulaney, but eventually, they told Conor about the last sister from Mulaney''s clutch to die.

    Nicori, had died during one of these drills almost a decade earlier. It was, as far as everyone could tell, a genuine accident; a maid, while rushing through the halls, had run into Nicori, a paring knife in her hand having accidentally cut a vein in the royal leg.

    No one even knew that someone was genuinely harmed in the panic until Therulay was found holding her sister''s body. That was not until several hours later when the all-clear was announced.

    Apparently, Therulay was so affected by the loss she had spent years going to therapy to accept the loss. Even to this day, that incident affected Therulay.

    If Mulaney was to be believed, that fateful morning, mere minutes before the drill, was the last time she had seen her youngest sister smile.

    By Urla, Conor might hate the little scag, but no one should see their older sister die at the ripe old age of five.

    They waited almost an hour for the all-clear to be heard over the loudspeakers. If no word was passed within the next twenty minutes, Conor and Burlai were going to get the girls out of Dodge through the gardens.

    It was odd most of the time. A drill would never last more than a half hour at most. That was all the time it took for the Guards to assemble, be told it was a drill, and return to their duties.

    As if the length of the wait was not strange enough, the day had more to give. The word was finally passed out of nowhere, and no one had expected it.

    ¡°Conor to the peristyle. To the peristyle immediately. Should you not, you shall be declared a murderer in absentia,¡± was announced over loudspeakers, shaking the entire palace and the city.

    ¡°What the fuck?¡± Conor muttered, not to anyone in particular, but just as a natural response to something that seemed so nonsensical it could not be true.

    Sure, over Conor¡¯s time as an Assigned Champion to Eivaley, he had been in brawls, threatened plenty of nobles, and had pulled weapons on perceived threats, but those events meant nothing. Vuraley had assured Conor that those days'' events were justified as an action fitting his station.

    Why was he, and the entire city for that matter, being told that he was being declared a murderer if he did not go and defend himself? While sure, the Human could understand that he would have to prove he was innocent, he understood that much about the way trials worked in the empire.

    He could not understand that he was being accused when he had not left Eivaleys side in days. It was confusing, and his entire mind kept screaming at him to run and take Eivaley with him.

    That would do him no good. If he ran, this strange scenario would only worsen, and he knew it.

    Conor looked down at Eivaley for an answer but was cut off by the message repeating even louder as if whoever announced it was insulted that Conor was not there immediately.

    None of the four could recognize the voice through screams and sobbing pouring from the operator.

    ¡°What do you think?¡± Conor looked to Burlai and Mulaney.

    Sure, Eivaley had experience in the politics of the Kurlatra. But it would be wise to rely on those who collectively had decades more experience.

    ¡°Well, I would say go,¡± Burlai advised, with Mulaney parroting.

    There would be no reason not to go. If you did not, you were already declaring your fault. It was seen as if, by avoiding showing, you were admitting guilt.

    Granted, none of them knew what exactly was being brought up against Conor as a charge, but avoiding it would always be the worst option.

    With no other option at hand, the four gathered their things and started toward the summoning location. None of them had any idea what to expect when they arrived.

    They could see another accident being used to frame Conor, but after hearing the gunshot, they doubted it. Either way, all the possible scenarios they could come up with could not prepare them for reality.

    A crowd muttered around the outside of the courtyard, whispering their own ideas as to why the Human would do such a thing and how he had broken the cardinal rule of the royal family.

    The declaration that you will not harm each other within the palace grounds.

    As the group approached, a skittish servant spotted them and parted the crowd, letting them see the scene of an unfathomable crime.

    A massive brown-scaled Kurlatra knelt in the center, knees sinking into blood-soaked sands. It was Sheruai, the God of Close Combat. He was a man Conor had seen dozens of times since his arrival, since he and his Lady, Kurelay, regularly visited the palace.

    While Conor would not call the hulking man a friend, they had mutual respect for the other''s fighting ability and had shared a few beers during visits.

    Kurelay, the Lady of the Badlands, was clutched weakly in his trembling grip. She was clearly dead, half of her head blown off and scattered around the area. Blood and brain matter soaking her silver robes.

    To see such a proud man brought to his knees by the death was not surprising. Despite being three meters tall and weighing as much as Conor, he was a big softey regarding Kurelay.

    The group attempted to assess the situation, determine what had happened, and see if the empress had arrived yet, but they never had the chance.

    Sheruai heard the mutterings in the crowd and looked up to see if the bastard who killed his love had really shown up. The moment he saw Conor, the God of Close Combat, dropped his wife to the ground and surged forward.

    "You scum-sucking bastard!" He roared, venom dripping from his fangs.

 Section Twenty-six: assassinations and accusations.

    This scenario was in no way what Conor had expected to happen today. When he rolled out of bed this morning to Eivaleys tantalizingly nude form standing near the window, letting the breeze waft across her scales, he thought today would be brimming with bliss.

    The day was supposed to be spent relaxing in the gardens with him, Eivaley, Mulaney, and Burlai until the sun began to wane. They would snack, read books, laugh, and tease one another without a care in the world.

    The palace was supposed to be a sanctuary, shielding the sisters from the constant death of royals. It was sacred ground¡ªa place for the sisters to meet without fear of daggers in the shadows or guns in the halls.

    Conor could easily understand why Sheruai wanted to kill him; granted, understanding did not mean condoning. The man had been misled by someone to believe that Conor had not only broken a truth that stood for nearly a thousand years but that he had also killed the woman he loved.

    Seeing the man rapidly closing the fifty-meter distance, Conor sighed. He would deal with the complexities of what was happening under the surface later. All that mattered right now was facing the threat and eliminating it.

    At this exact instance, misguided or not, Sheruai was an enemy and not one that Conor could be careless about.

    Sheruai was as tall as the Human, weighed about the same, and had years of combat training. The man was referred to as the God of Close Combat for a damn good reason.

    Conor had watched thousands of videos documenting Sheruai''s rise in the arena. To date, he was undefeated, an impressive figure when you realize most of his bouts were to the death and stretched back nearly ten years.

    But none of that mattered; Conor would end this. He popped into a shooting stance and reached for his pistol, preparing to draw it and end this matter before it really began.

    Conor was no idiot; he knew how strong the man was, and fighting him on equal terms was moronic. All it would take was a quick presentation to the target and a kilogram trigger pull.

    Would killing someone with all these witnesses be good for his image or aid him in clearing his name? It wasn''t likely, but Conor would rather be judged by twelve than carried by six.

    ¡°Please don¡¯t kill him,¡± Eivaley yelled from behind him as Conor pulled back the hammer on the magnum and started to draw.

    Those words shot through his soul, piercing every fiber of who and what Conor was. Her angelic words coiled around his hand, lashing the weapon in place.

    Why? He had done this millions of times. This would just be another body. But something seemed odd. It was like a little shadow whispering in his ear, demanding he listen to his woman''s desires.

    Conor''s brain went on overdrive, trying to piece it all together. Why did Eivalys''s words feel like a command and not a request?

    He had defied her plenty of times today alone. But those were instances where she was being playful or did not genuinely care about the outcome. This was different. Eivaley truly wanted Conor not to kill.

    While he could not consciously understand it, the beast in his heart that lived for the kill did. Conor''s id understood that it had been tamed right under his nose.

    Eivaley had leashed the Wolf of Heavalun.

    Consciously, A hollow pit grew in Conor¡¯s chest. The thought of defying her wasn¡¯t just painful¡ªit was unbearable, as though his heart was being torn out.

    With assured conviction, Conor let go of the pistol. Eivaley asked him not to kill the man so he would do his utmost to oblige her desires. Was it stupid? Yes. But if she wanted him to survive this encounter, he would.

    Conor unclipped his gun belt, letting it fall into the sands as he rushed to meet the fight with the mantra, never shall I fail screaming in his heart. This act confused most of the onlookers.

    They had all assumed Conor would have lived up to his reputation as the Lord of War. In their minds, Conor would have drawn his pistol, shot a single time, and vacated all that Sheruai was, spreading his hopes, dreams, and memories across the cooling corpse of his dead wife.

    A few months ago, they would have been correct. The brawl would have already been over, with the God of Close Combat having been made mortal by a single shot from a magnum pistol older than the Kurlatra empire itself.

    That the Human had not done that was beyond all they could understand. Was the Human suicidal? Sure, they all knew he could fight, but that was the God of Close Combat he was running toward. Cybernetics or not, they all expected the Human to be envenomed and torn to shreds. None of them expected what came next.

    With ease, Conor lunged forward, locking onto Sheruai¡¯s wrists despite the claws tearing into his unaugmented palms. Blood dripped steadily, but Conor¡¯s grip was unrelenting, his will of equal caliber, as the two locked in a stalemate of unrelenting force.

    Their feet sunk into the sands, engulfing boot and three-toed claws alike, anchoring them in place.

    ¡°Dude, you have to stop,¡± Conor barked. ¡°I don''t want to kill you.¡±

    ¡°That makes one of us,¡± Sheruai snapped back, spitting venom into Conor''s eyes.

    The caustic venom burned like lava, making Conor''s eyes water. Dozens of warnings appeared in his HUD. Flashing warnings alerted him that the passive nanites in his body were reacting, preventing the venom from causing permanent damage to his eyes.

    His eyes were filled with just as many wires as the rest of his body, so there was no risk of blindness, just a reduction in natural vision until the nanites entirely repaired any lasting damage.

    He had no idea how long it would take for the microscopic robots to reconnect nerve endings, rebuild complex proteins, and reconstruct the intraocular lenses. That problem and question were neither here nor now. A far larger problem was real right now.

    Fully believing that the Human was now blind and not still entirely capable of seeing him through using non-natural spectrums of vision, thermal, infrared, and even a motion tracker that worked before Conor¡¯s optical nerve had a signal run across it, Sheruai attempted to strike.

    Like lightning, the Kurlatra shot his head forward and attempted to drive his fangs deep into Conor''s collarbone. The move was simple but effective. With the Human''s feet restrained by the shifting sands, he should not have been able to counter.

    Sheruai had come to this conclusion because this strike always brought results when he fought in the arena. But those were young buck challengers, filled with piss and vinegar out to prove they could claim the title of God of Close Combat.

    It was too bad that in his rage-filled shortsightedness, he did not account for Conor''s far more experience in battle. Unlike those young, bold men, the Human did not have to think about fighting; it was as natural as breathing.

    Attempting to bite him while they were locked up and trying to topple the other was an obvious course of action that Conor had seen coming from a lightyear away. By Urla, Sheruai might as well have screamed his attack''s name like in a cheap holo-flick made by the lowest bidder.

    All those factors astronomically tipped the scales in Conor''s favor. That was before you considered the wiring running through the Humans body.

    Conor was no mear man. There was no non-augmented sapient this side of the Milky Way that could go toe-to-toe with him, in raw physical strength at least.

    If you were considering other factors: intelligence, tact, knowledge of the universe, and willingness to tolerate others'' shit, he was nowhere near the pinnacle of Humanity. He likely was one of the worst examples of those factors. It was good that this was a brawl, not a debate stage because those faltering traits held no weight here.

    Just as Sheruai opened his maw and his two dagger-like fangs deployed, he felt every fiber of his being scream in agony. A wave of force traveled up through his torso from his groin and crashed into his brain.

    Every male in the audience sympathetically felt the pain as Conor''s quick, lightspeed knee crushed Sheruai¡¯s balls. They could hear the dull pop as his two royal grapes popped like snapping fingers. The last thing they had expected was the Lord of War to execute a no-knock neutering on an undefeated champion of life-and-death fights.

    Sure, it was not honorable, and in the arena, you would be considered uncouth and disqualified, but this was not the arena. This was a real fight that, as far as Conor saw it, should be to the death.

    Sheruai certainly was out for Conor''s head, but because of Eivaley''s wishes, the Human was going to show him the mercy he did not deserve; showing him mercy did not mean the Human did not plan on brutally maiming the man. Literally busting his balls was just the start.

    Before Sheruai had recovered, Conor flowed around to the man''s side, outstretched the arm he retained control of. With practiced precision, Conor pulled his fist back, ready to bring it down.

    ¡°Are you done?¡± Conor snarled, tightening his grip on Sheruais wrist enough to nearly dislocate the hand.

    Sheruai pathetically looked up at Conor and groaned in agony, the coursing eclectic pain still affecting every fiber of his being. For a moment, the Human almost thought that the God of Close Combat understood that he was outmatched. But be it through hubris or sheer uncontrollable rage, the man did not stop.

    Conor spotted the flash of movement as Sheruai attempted to use his thick tree trunk tail to swipe his feet out from under him. Not allowing that attempt to continue, Conor slammed his foot into the tail, stopping it like the Kurlatra had struck a wall of duracrete. You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

    There it was, in that singular moment, Conor saw the mouthwatering pang of understanding in his opponent''s eyes. Sheruai understood the vast berth between their abilities.

    Even if Sheruai had a hundred lifetimes and millions of battles under his belt, he could not approach Conor. Conor, simply having lived through battles since being only as tall as a knee, made him the antithesis of Sheruia.

    Sheruai might be a formidable fighter in the Kurlatra empire, but his lack of experience in genuine battle and his overly inflated ego made him unworthy of facing Conor.

    The Human loomed over him like a predator, ready to do what predators do to prey¡ªkill. The look was one Sheruai had never experienced. It was bestial and primal and came from the soul of a man who never wanted to taste defeat again.

    Sheruai might be the God of Close Combat, but Conor was something else entirely¡ªa warrior forged by countless battles and hand-chosen as Champion by the Kurlatra empire¡¯s most resolute princess.

    Unlike Sheruai, a sledgehammer solution, Conor was a dagger through the ribs, a bullet fired from the distant horizon. He was a man who, while not specialized in one form of battle, could hold his own in any space. He would never fail again, not after letting Brakul and stitch down.

    Conor forced his fist through the back of Sheruai¡¯s elbow in a strike so fast the observers could not follow the motion. In an eyeblink, the Human had split the Champion''s arm in two.

    The sheer force of the blow did not just break a bone; it was a far more devastating strike that crushed Sheruais'' imposing build and all the rumors of his grandiose, unreproachable abilities.

    A crunch reverberated through the area, and the beatific sound of muscles tearing, tendons snapping, bone being turned to dust, and scale-covered skin giving way filled the air.

    It was a sound none of the nobles or servants could comprehend. Even Eivaley and Mulaney struggled not to gag. But to Conor, it was the sound he fell asleep to for years.

    Many of the nobles had seen the aftermath of violence in their lives¡ªit was just what happened when you were around nobility¡ªbut this was the vast majority''s first time seeing it in person.

    The pulsing crimson shower across the sands and seeing a man most believed to be undefeatable brought to his knees were inconceivable. How was there so much blood in someone''s body? How could it just pour out like a waterfall? These were some things they could not comprehend, but over everything else, they could not fathom the sight of a man born in violence and a professional in it working.

    Conor¡¯s movements were cold and calculated, each step measured with practiced precision. He wasn¡¯t angry¡ªhe was something far worse: calm. The venomous stare in the Humans'' eyes only told a story of pity. Sheruai never had a chance of winning; even the nobles and servants understood that now.

    Sheruai screamed with such volume and in a tone so bestial it would haunt their dreams until death. Despite the Kurlatra clearly being defeated, having been ripped from his rage by the feeling of being overpowered, Conor was not done.

    ¡°I tried to give you a chance,¡± the Lord of War growled, taking hold of the dangling limb with both hands. "but you spit in my face. I''m taking this as payment."

    Dozens of the onlookers vomited and fainted as they were reintroduced to the vile sound of ripping scales and a sadistic chuckle as Conor literally disarmed the threat.

    Conor pressed Sheruai¡¯s head into the sand with a boot and pulled on his broken arm. With as much effort as one would put into raising their arms, Conor ripped Sheurais lower arm off, tossing it off into the crowd.

    Through the force anointed to him by the dozens of servos in his body, ripping the forearm and hand off was easy. Fuck, it was childsplay. Conor could have torn the arm off without breaking it first.

    ¡°That is enough!¡± a commanding yet caring voice boomed through the crowd.

    Conor was well aware of who it was by her voice alone. The crowd''s murmurings only made the empress''s presence more apparent. Eyurali and Vuraley had arrived at last and could hopefully prevent more bloodshed.

    They did not take time to address the bowing crowd. Instead, they rushed forward to within feet of the fight, and the soldiers with them could handle the crowd.

    Eyurali rested a hand on Conor''s shoulder, completely trusting the Human would not harm her. She believed this solely because Eivaley did. The young princess''s words held much weight in the mother''s mind. She wanted to believe in her daughter, and the empress''s having seen Conor defend the fifth princess also aided the situation.

    As she understood the man, Conor was level-headed, capable, and did not fight unless needed. But when a fight broke out, the Human would not hold back against the threat¡ªsomething she was not.

    ¡°Conor, can you please stop crushing his head?¡± Eyurali asked. ¡°Nothing will come from killing him.¡±

    The Human looked up at her and the entourage he heard approaching from her rear. Vuraley and a dozen guards were armed to the teeth. Their weapons were still lowered, but they had their rifles off safe and were entirely ready to dust Conor if he lashed out.

    It was good for them that he had no plans of doing so; that and Vuraley was there. Conor wholeheartedly believed he could kill the soldiers in close combat with little issue. But Vuraley, not so much.

    If their sparring matches were anything to go by, the high Champion would send Conor''s head rolling long before the Human could so much as raise a hand to harm the empress.

    ¡°Fine,¡± Conor said, dropping the wounded man and stepping back.

    Like flowing water, the soldiers with the empress flowed forward and began to tend to the wounded man. They quickly bandaged the stump where his arm used to be, and one even retrieved the removed appendage and rushed off to the royal doctor, hoping to save the limb.

    At the same time, several of the soldiers pulled out a stretcher and carried the princess''s body off, following the man to the doctor. They could not save her.

    There was no force in the universe that could. Dead was dead. Conor knew that Vuraley and Burlai did as well, but the attempt had to be made.

    They understood that you might stave off the reaper for some time with technology, but her brain was spread out on the ground. Even a layman could tell she was already gone; even the troopers toting her corpse knew she could not be saved, but they would not look like they did not care.

    One of the medics approached Conor and asked about his condition, easily able to see his inflamed eyes.

    ¡°Are you alright, sir?¡± the medic sheepishly asked, seeing Conor soaked in blood.

    ¡°I,¡± Conor started but was cut off by Eivaley.

    ¡°He is not; please see to his eyes,¡± She insisted, grabbing Conor''s hand. ¡°Conor, please sit.¡±

    Conor looked at her using the motion tracker in his vision; his standard color vision was wholly lost. Even his thermal vision was beginning to fade from the vemons potency.

    He knew he was in no danger of losing sight, the hud alerting him that the venom had been neutralized and the nanites were starting to repair damages.

    He wanted to argue with her, but why she stepped in was obvious to him. Eivaley knew he would tough it out and deal with the pain, so she had taken the choice away from him.

    ¡°Fine,¡± Conor replied, sitting in the sand and not letting go of Eivaley.

    It only took the medic a few moments to have a saline flush pressed against Conor''s eyes and begin clearing away any venom remaining around his eyes. The experience was in no way pleasant. It did not hurt, but having water rushing over your eyes while the medic constantly reminded you to keep them open was not fun.

    As the medic worked, the empress and Vuraley approached, asking for a brief explanation of what had just happened.

    Conor was frankly not in any mood to talk right now; between pain and just having to deal with the endless chatter of the onlookers, he was ready to snap and tell the pair to fuck off.

    He could deal with combat, fighting, and death, but social issues¡ªnever. That entire idea could go pound sand. Conor would rather eat hot ten millimeter than try to chat about what happened.

    Oh yeah, your son-in-law tried to kill me because he thought I killed your daughter. At this point, that explanation would be filled with more expletives than the empress knew. So, to save face and not have to struggle with that, Conor did something he had learned from Vuraley. Conor delegated the issue.

    Well, delegated was not right. Conor pressed the issue to a man he knew could explain clearly and not miss a detail, Burlai.

    ¡°Ask Burlai; he can explain,¡± Conor said, pointing to where he last knew the spook was. His point was off by a wide margin, Burlai and Mulaney having moved since he lost his vision. Despite the fight and motion of the crowd, he knew where they had been a minute ago.

    Burlai was entirely prepared for this, not because he wanted to but because of who he was. Burlai had a near-photographic memory and could recall events like a movie. Explaining an at most twenty-second ordeal was natural to him, especially after he had to do the same, covering months of operations when he was a true blue spy.

    The empress and Vuraley looked at Burlai. They had known the man for decades¡ªwell, at least Vuraley did.

    The High Champion met Burlai when he was a young soldier just learning how to be a man, whereas the empress did not until well after Burlai became a man and had already fallen in love with her oldest daughter. Either way, both had expectations of the man that were as vast as the galaxy¡ªan expectation Burlai faced like a stalwart guardian designed from birth to face.

    ¡°So what happened was¡ª¡±

    Thus began the relatively short recounting of the fight''s events and what led up to the event. The empress and High Champion, of course, had follow-up questions to get a full scope of the events. Naturally, they wanted to know who called Conor here and why.

    Burlai could easily answer that Conor was called her by Sheruai but could not explain why the man attributed the death of the woman to the Human. He could and did provide an alibi for Conor, assuring the empress that the Human was with him when the shot rang out; Mulaney parroted the statement.

    They could not account for what led up to the call out and could not describe how the empress''s daughter was killed. Thankfully, another servant and Sheruai could.

    They explained that Sheruai and Kurelay were walking from a guest room to the throne room to visit with her mother when a shot rang out. The single slug thrower shot had killed Kurelay instantly. At that point, Sheruai went into a rage, looking around the area for a shooter; having found no one, he grasped at a choice.

    Sheruai, being a simple man, had seemingly jumped to the conclusion that Conor, the unknown factor in the palace, must have killed his wife. It was the only explanation that made any sense to him.

    The man still wholeheartedly believed that the Human was the only one who could do such a thing. Killing a potential empress in the palace was beyond taboo. Even thinking of doing it would have you killed.

    It did not matter that both the guards and Conor used slug throwers as primary weapons, and anyone could have wielded the weapon. The man seemed obsessed that Conor must have been the perpetrator, but the empress did not care.

    All the evidence was happenstance. As of now, there was no proof that Conor could have killed her. It was the word of several against one man who desperately needed closure for who killed his love.

    The empress''s choice was obvious: She would involve investigators. They could collect evidence and come to a conclusion that, hopefully, would exonerate Conor from suspicion and put Sheruai¡¯s aching heart to rest.

    To most, that was the end of the matter. The empress had spoken and decided to have the matter looked into by professionals. To Sheruai, the empress was showing favor to the Human.

    She had to favor the Human because Eivaley was involved with him. There was no other explanation that made sense. The Human was Eivaley''s assigned Champion, so the empress must have been protecting her favorite daughter by shielding him from his crimes.

    Sheruai could not accept that. He had just watched his wife die, was thrashed by a fighter because of a cheap shot, and could not allow anyone to believe he was weak.

    There was one thing he could do. He possessed a right that Conor could not deny. Because Sheruai was an actual Champion and Conor was merely assigned, he could challenge the Human for the right to be Eivaleys.

    It had not been used in hundreds of years and was hardly ever considered by people because it was rare for a Champion to live while their Lady had died. That and there had to be an assigned champion within their bloodline to be challenged.

    ¡°Empress,¡± Sheruai groaned, pushing the medic away.

    The empress looked down at the man clutching his wounds on the ground, waiting to hear what he had to say, assuming he likely must have recalled additional details about what happened. But what the man said shook all of kurlatra society.

    He requested what had only been chatted about in political science classes for their entire lives. No one even considered the next few words out of his mouth.

    ¡°I challenge the Human for the right to be Eivaleys Champion.¡±

 Section Twenty-Seven: God No More

    ¡°He what?¡± Conor asked, pushing the medic away and wiping the saline off his face.

    Conor was not that knowledgeable about every intricate detail of Kurlatra royal proceedings, but he did not need to be to understand roughly what was just asked. The right to be Eivaley''s Champion was a cut-and-dry statement.

    Sheruai was trying to use some obtuse law buried deep in Kurlatra history, all to take Eivaley away from him. What kind of no-good, Zlit-rat taint-sucking fuck would do that?

    Why in all the universe would he want to take Eivaley from him? Kurelay had only died mere minutes ago; does he not need to grieve? Remorse, or even give a single fuck about his wife?

    Until then, Conor had thought relatively highly of Sheruai, believing him to be philanthropic, stalwart, and loving. Was it all an act? Something to disarm Conor and make Eivaley vulnerable?

    Even if it was all a lie, Conor knew he could count on the empress. There was no way she would actually consider humoring the man; he was just grasping at straws in desperation since his woman was dead, and Conor was not.

    The empress knew how Eivaley felt about Conor, and he did her. It was unimaginable that she would do anything to rip them apart, old tradition or not. Euuurali was a mother first and the empress second; at least, Conor thought of the wise woman that way.

    Euyurali turned around and cast a judgmental glare at Sheruai while slowly approaching the man. Her fists clenched as her venomous stare tore into the defeated warrior.

    The look of pure contempt she cast was one that no one other than Vuraley had seen, and that was only behind closed doors.

    The last time he had seen his dear wife look like that was a decade ago, when one of her daughters killed another in broad daylight and right in front of her.

    She could still remember Rouyi crying and clutching at her while choking to death on her own blood. The worst part of that memory was Y¡¯yulan and her Champion Oyin, celebrating their success nearby.

    If the rules and laws of the crown were not a pair of golden shackles holding her in place, Euyurali likely would have had the pair killed then and there. But just like now, her hands were tied.

    With what looked like almost agony, she glanced up at Conor and then Eivaley. A silent twinkle in her eyes almost begged them for forgiveness for what she had to do.

    ¡°What did you just say?¡± Euyurali asked, looking back at Sheruai. Her royal demeanor was restored, yet a fleck of her loathing was evident in the question. It was like she was almost begging Sheruai not to repeat himself.

    ¡°Empress, I challenge the Human for the right to be Eivaley''s Champion,¡± Sheruai knelt, repeating his foolish, headstrong resolve.

    ¡°Despite him besting you already?¡± the empress sighed.

    ¡°Yes, empress,¡± Sheruia acknowledged, ¡°that was merely a fluke. Besides, it should be a Kurlatra with the princess, not that---thing.¡±

    ¡°Very well. It is your funeral,¡± The empress shrugged before walking toward Conor.

    At the same time, Sheruai scrambled to his feet, dragged a medic along with him by one hand, and rushed to Vuraley.

    From where Conor was, he could see that Vuraley quickly told the man off and directed him to another noble. The look on Vuraleys face was one of abject disgust.

    Although the empress addressed Conor and stole his attention, the Human was able to make out a few words from their conversation before that occurred.

    He heard Vuraley tell Sheruai he should not have done that, and when Conor kills him, he will deserve it. Not that the headstrong warrior headed the advice. Instead, Sheruai went to another noble, seeking advice on how to slay the abomination in their court.

    ¡°Now, Conor,¡± the empress sighed, clearly thinking about how to explain the situation to the Human. However, there was no need to struggle; Conor had picked up enough details to understand precisely what would happen.

    Their fight was not over, and now it was no longer Conor just subduing a rabid dog. He fully understood and was preparing himself to kill a man that he had broken bread with many times over the last few months.

    Before Conor could respond, Eivaley ran up, grabbed his waist, and tried to stand between Conor and Euyurali as if she could protect her man from what was happening.

    His little ruby tightly wrapped her tail around him, her claws digging into the ground, and in an act, he and the empress never expected from the Eivaley, she hissed at her mother. Now, it was not a regal warning that one would expect from one of her stations; no, it was more akin to the way Conor and Jurintik growled.

    Without words, Eivaley expressed the bestial thought she had ever had. In that one primal hiss, she told the whole world, and especially the onlookers, that Conor was hers and that she would not lose him.

    Seeing his little ruby act so threatening warmed Conor''s artificial heart. It seemed a little bit of that training he preached to her about taking a stand when in a fight was taken to heart. Granted, hissing like a savage at your mother was not his intent, but hey, he would take what he could get.

    Euyurali was taken abak. She could never imagine her timid little girl acting like that to anyone, especially her.

    She could still remember Eivaley crying when Mulaney hissed at her when she was little. This development was virtually inconceivable.

    A strange combination of pride and amazement filled her chest, flooding her mind with questions about how much her little girl had grown. At this point, Eivaley was her own woman, which was clearly on display as she bared open claws against her mother''s role.

    ¡°It¡¯s alright,¡± Conor gently whispered into Eivaleys ear, resting a hand on her shoulder.

    ¡°No, it¡¯s not,¡± Eivaley snapped and looked up at Conor. ¡°He is trying to take me away from you. and she is---¡±

    ¡°I know, my little ruby,¡± Conor leaned down and nuzzled against her. ¡°Please, trust me.¡±

    She looked up at him, a look of defiance in her eyes. Without words, she effortlessly argued that she had been doing that, and it had gotten them here. She had put in the work because she wanted him; he was worth it. But her defiance gradually faded, eased to comfort by Conor''s impassioned stare as she once again placed her trust firmly in his care.

    Conor smiled, seeing the strength and bratty defiance he loved so much in her. She was his ruby; they both knew it. Now, it was time for Conor to put his money where his mouth was.

    ¡°So, I take it''s to the death?¡± Conor asked, looking back up at Euyurali.

    The empress, clearly still surprised by her daughter, took a moment to compose herself by coughing to relieve tension, but she did confirm that the duel was to the death and explained the entire situation.

    Former champions had the right to challenge so long as the assigned champion was in the same bloodline. She did mention it was a rare circumstance, but the right was well documented throughout Kurlatra history.

    ¡°So, is there any way out of it?¡± Conor asked.

    ¡°Not unless you surrender your ability to be with Eivaley and go into exile," the empress admitted sheepishly, having never expected to have to explain this.

    After Conor''s actions at the Gala, she assumed that the Human would have taken the final steps with her daughter and become a full Champion by now, but he just kept dragging his feet. Now, the choice was taken away from him.

    She had wondered what had kept him, but whenever the topic was brought up to Eivaley, her daughter would gush about how it would be any day now, that Conor was just adjusting. So she trusted the young couple to work it out.

    Eyurali prayed her inaction would not cause them to be ripped apart; she could never forgive herself if their love was not allowed to blossom. Especially after all the reposts of them sneaking around the palace the last two months. The pair might have thought they were slick and acting under the table. But she and Vuraley were well aware of almost everything they had done, what went on in Conor''s bedroom withstanding.

    Did they not realize how many cameras were in the palace or that every staff member would tell the empress what they saw? One would have assumed they were both smart enough to, but love blinds and all that.

    All the empress could do now was look back on how she could have pushed them together and assured that Conor stayed with Eivaley.

    She knew the Human was best for her daughter; now, the most significant light in her daughter''s life could be snuffed out.

    ¡°Not going to happen,¡± Conor replied, pulling Eivaley tighter like the thought alone would take her away.

    ¡°I figured,¡± Eyurali replied. ¡°Then let me explain the rules¨Cor the lack thereof.¡±

    ¡ª-

    Conor stood ten meters away from Sheruia. Both were sizing the other up. Conor had his arms crossed and stared at Sheruia with contempt. At the same time, Sheruai smirked like he was looking at a wounded animal, ready to be killed.

    Both had stripped down to nothing but their skivvies, as tradition dictated in such a duel. This was a matter of honor and the gods'' favor, so they would face one another man to man, with as little assistance as possible.

    Sheruai understood Conor was wired up; it was plain to see. The man had an artificial arm and eyes that shifted color. But Conor needed those to live, so Sheruai accepted them as parts of Conor''s base state.

    They were still in the same courtyard, but most of the onlookers had been sent away. This duel was considered a royal affair and, therefore, could only be watched by those of regal bloodlines.

    The two dozen or so remaining observers muttered to one another about how they expected this to go. It was unsurprising that they all assumed Conor would win, much to Sheruia¡¯s anger.

    He was the God of Close Combat; how could they think one brawl where he was emotional would determine the duel''s outcome? All he had to do was fight like he had always had, and it was assured. He would rip Conor apart. If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    The lesser nobles'' opinions were painful to his pride, to be sure, but the part that really twisted the knife was hearing Eivaley and Mulaney. How could the First Princess speak about him like that?

    Mulaney talked about Sheruia like he was a dead man walking. She repeatedly told everyone that he was nothing and that Conor would rip his other arm off.

    If Sheruai did not have to stay focused, he would tell the upity bitch right where she could shove her opinions.

    Eivaley was at least staying quiet and keeping her opinions to herself; all she did was repeatedly look at Conor while holding her tail like a safety blanket.

    That was something Sheruai always liked about the fifth princess. She was timid and reserved and never stood up to any royals. She would be an acceptable replacement for Kurelay.

    Would he miss Kurelay? Of course, he had spent years with her and undoubtedly cared for her. But one thing that mattered more than care was power, and having that little ruby to manipulate and control would surely bring him that.

    Sheruai suffered to become the God of Close Combat for power and married Kuraley for the same reason. She was his way of gaining influence and a fast track to an easy life.

    Would Eivaley ever look at him with the same longing that she did the Human? It was not likely, but he could live with that if it meant he would not lose his station and save face.

    The only thing in his way from keeping his cushy life was some wire-up cyborg with eyes that unsettled him. Even now, the Human stared calmly at him.

    Conor''s eyes seemed to bore through his soul, judging him. The look that conveyed a million ways to kill him for fun ate at him, but he had to focus and remain calm.

    Despite consciously understanding he could not become prey in that predator''s eyes, he could not help but hear a whisper of how small he was boiling up from his subconscious.

    That the Human seemed so unbothered was eating at him like a pack of ravenous hounds. It was not natural. It was as if Conor did not understand that he would be dead in a few minutes.

    Just as Vuraley started to move to the center of the sand between the two combatants, the final sister still at the palace arrived, Thuraley. She took her place next to Eivaley and was hugged by her sister.

    When Therulay scanned the scene, her reaction was strange. Despite having just arrived, she did not seem shocked by anything going on. If anything, the only flittering glimpse of surprise was cast his way; she likely could not believe the God of Close Combat had lost an arm to that Human freak.

    Well, her judgment did not matter for now. Sheruai was about to prove to all the royals that his title was still his. No sapient could take it from him. Especially some mutt from a backwater shithole who got lucky.

    ¡°Everyone, it is with great honor that I can arbitrate this duel,¡± Vuraley started, his golden armor shimmering in the midday sun''s bright light.

    The area fell silent at his booming voice, everyone keying in on what the High Champion would say.

    That Vuraley was disappointed in Sheruai was a shock to him. He was the  High Champion; if anyone should have been glad to be rid of the Human, it should have been him. But when Sheruai went to him for advice on how to beat the Human, he was told to fuck off.

    Vuralay said he could not be partial to anyone in the matter. It was his duty to oversee the fight; the moment Sheruai declared the challenge to claim Eivaley, any familial care or advice was locked away and was until the battle was decided.

    It was the same for Conor; he was offered no advice. But unlike Sheruai, he had not even asked. Conor simply stood where he was told and kept glaring at Sheruai; even when Sheruai was not looking at him, he could feel the pressure of the man''s indignance.

    ¡°The two warriors have been instructed on the rules and the stakes for this, but for those who do not know, they are simple. Both combatants will fight until the other expires; there is no time limit, and no outside interference will be tolerated.¡± Vuraley boomed, scanning everyone present, waiting for nods.

    The crowd did not need to be told the rules; they were noble and knew them by heart, but Vuraley was thorough and ensured there would be no lapses in judgment for something so vital.

    ¡°You two are both clear on everything?¡± Vuraley questioned, looking at the two for a response.

    ¡°Of course!¡± Sheruia shouted.

    Conor nodded, not even bothering to uncross his arms. He looked languidly at Eivaley and smiled softly, causing the princess to wag her tail.

    That was the most emotion Conor had shown since the fight was declared about twenty minutes earlier. A fact everyone noted; they especially noticed Eivaley''s reaction to his smile.

    ¡°Very well. Empress, please declare the start,¡± Vuraley said, stepping back to the empress''s side.

    ¡°I wish the two of you the best of luck. May the best man win,¡± Euyurali commanded, her motherly tone holding more weight than even the Vuraley booming voice.

    She raised her hand into the air, her bracelets chiming like the bells of heaven. She paused, looked over the hushed crowd, and took a deep breath. The world was silent as a feather falling to earth. A pin-drop would have boomed like thunder in the tension.

    ¡°Begin!¡± Euyurali yelled, dropping her hand.

    Sheruai raised his one good hand and assumed a fighting position, reading himself for the human approach. ¡°Alright, let¡¯s¡ª¡±

    The Human''s unaugmented fist collided with Sheruai¡¯s jaw, cutting off the bolstering he was about to do and causing him to stumble back nearly a meter.

    How is he so fast? Was the only thought that Sheruai rattled managed to conjure up before he felt a heavy strike to his chest, crushing several of his ribs and collapsing a lung.

    That hit beyond shook the mans resolve. It fractured his bravado and felt more akin to being hit by a car than a fist.

    ¡°Shut up and fight!¡± Conor demanded, pressing his attack.

    The Human began to pummel him in a flurry of blows that Sheruai could not keep track of while on the backfoot.

    Each punch, kick, and knee brought new pains and broken bones. For each strike Sheruai attempted to block, three more found their mark. If Sheruai did not know better, he could have sworn he was being jumped in a back alley by a gang.

    In desperation the God of war backed up feebily kicking at the Human.

    he managed to claw at Conor''s thigh, but the slash barely was even a flesh wound.

    The pitiable attack bought him half a meter of distance, but that meant nothing. He tried to retaliate, but Conor was already upon him once again.

    Before the beating resumed, all he managed to do was toss a punch that Conor did not even bother to avoid. Conor''s momentum carried him into the attack, magnifying the recoil.

    Sheruai¡¯s knuckles shattered like glass when he punched Conor''s chest. It felt like he had just attacked a tank. Sure, Sheruai understood that the Human had metal covering half of his chest, but that was not the whole story.

    Conor''s bones and muscles were also replaced with sturdy materials that caused the attack to do more damage to himself than the target.

    Looking at his exposed finger bones, Sheruai could not help but frantically wonder; where did this speed and ferocity come from? When they had fought a few minutes earlier, Sheruai could keep track of the Human.

    He was not this quick. At the time, the Human seemed to be only as speedy as any other warrior; now, Sheruai could not even see where the attacks were coming from.

    With more broken bones than he could count and more being made every second, Shuruai attempted to envenom Conor once again. It would be a sure victory once his toxins flowed through the Human.

    All he would have to do at that point is keep his distance and wait for the Human to die from his venom.

    The Human''s demise would be slow and painful. It would be a fitting end to such a detestable freak. His death would also serve as a reminder to the entire Kurlatra empire of what happens when you reach above your station.

    With all the might he could mu, Sheruainged lunged forward, roaring, his fangs proudly displayed. This would assuredly be his salvation. The stupid animal he was fighting would finally be put in its place.

    His roar was cut short, and all the dreams of greatness beyond what he had were shut down in one move he had never seen coming.

    It took Shurais brain a moment to comprehend why both he and the Human had stopped moving. It was as if he had suddenly run into a wall that prevented him from moving forward.

    ¡°Since you wanna bite me, I figured I should make it easy,¡± Conor sneered.

    It was only then that Sheruai realized the reason he was not tasting succulent blood; instead, the cold metal of the Humans augmented forearm molested his pallet.

    In one swift motion, the Human had shoved his arm down Sheruais throat. His hand was already clasping at the back of his tongue, grabbing it like a slick rope and holding the God of Close Combat in place.

    "You are all mine," Conor said.

    Sheruai vomited in reflex, adding to the frantic choking. He groped at the Humans arm, pushing away like a fish attempting to spit out a hook, but he was caught completely.

    The God of Close Combats'' mind went nearly blank. Any semblance of higher thought retreated, leaving only a basal, animalistic need to survive. All of his years of training and fighting meant nothing. The Human had truly driven him into a corner, and there was no escape.

    The Kurlatra man trashed wildly against the Human, savagely clawing and kicking as the Human remained calm and let his will be done.

    Gradually, Sheruai''s fight began to fade. His attacks became weak, and his mind went blank. His vision collapsed to near pinpricks; all he could see was the cold, unyielding eyes of a man truly better than him.

    Moments before Sheruais consciousness entirely left him, Conor grabbed hold of Sheruais upper jaw and began to pull. Too weak and too close to unconsciousness, all Shurai could do was listen to the dull popping and ripping as the top of his jaw and upper head were torn away.

    The last vestiges of Sheruai''s thought were filled with the taste of his own blood pooling in his mouth.

    ¡ª-

    Not a single observer made a sound. They were not watching a duel or a beatdown; this was a predator toying with prey it knew could not survive.

    They had at least expected some sort of fight, but there was none.

    The moment the duel began, Conor took the initiative, covering the ten meters in less than a second. From there, it was a nonstop barrage of gunshot-like strikes.

    The observers felt every impact, heard each bone snap, and heard every pitiful yelp.

    They thought Sheruai might have made a comeback when he punched Conor, but that was quickly dismissed upon seeing his mangled hand.

    The ending to the so-called duel would haunt their minds and ring in the annals of Kurlatra history forever. It was a duel that would be remembered as a pitiful example of what pride will get you. Teachers would refer to its whisperings to teach their students humility.

    Conor grabbed hold of Sheruais jaw and pulled. The Human made no sound or even reactions as his opponent thrashed wildly or when he dislocated his jaw. Most thought that was the end of it because Sheruai had gone limp.

    Oh, how wrong they were.

    The Human kept pulling, and they watched in shocked horror as Sheruais cheeks ripped open, followed quickly by a dull crunch. Sheruais head was halfways ripped off, his head crown rested against his back as blood poured over the two combatants.

    Like he was throwing away a cigarette butt, Conor threw Sheruai away. The corpse tumbled and landed lifeless in the reddening sands several meters away.

    No one spoke as the Human began to move toward the body. Conor was calm and only did what he was instructed to do: fight until the empress concluded the duel. Only Vuraley and Burlai knew what the Human was about to do.

    They could see the essence of the mantra, never shall I fail oozing out of Conor. He was going to keep fighting and bludgeon the corpse until Euyuali managed to compose herself and declare him the winner.

    Thankfully, Vuraley was able to advise her about stopping the event before more members of the crowd were scarred by the day''s events.

    ¡°Stop!¡± Euyuraly yelled.

    Like he was about to step on a landmine, Conor froze midstep. The fight was over, and he had come out on top.

    Conor stood upright and took a deep breath before looking over at Euyurali. He rolled his shoulders as if that were little more than a warmup. To him it was. He was built for combat; By Urla, sparring Vuraley took more effort.

    That Sheruai was spoken of so highly yet could only survive that long against Conor was pathetic. If anything, Conor felt pity. He might as well have fought an infant.

    The empress shuddered, seeing the Human sopped in blood and looking at her like the last fifteen seconds had not occurred.

    Vuraley thought differently of the man. Sure, he and Conor had trained with weapons, but now even Vuraley could recognize a vital detail about those sparring matches. Conor had been holding back from day one.

    During all those countless hours, Conor was training and knew the point of it. He was there to learn, not to win. If Conor and Vuraley fought no holds bar, even the High Champion wondered if he could win without being maimed.

    ¡°I declare this duel concluded. Conor, the Lord of War, God of Close Combat, and the Wolf of Heavalun, shall continue to be Eivaleys assigned champion. You all are witness. Now, please return to your homes,¡± Eyurali said.

    Conor nodded at her and Therulay before turning to see Eivaley approaching him. She looked as beautiful as ever, but he could not help but glimpse the faintest fleck of worry in her eyes, and she reached for his hand.

    ¡°Are you alright?¡± Eivaley asked.

    ¡°I am,¡± Conor smiled, holding her hand tight.

    That same look he had given her over the last few months shone brightly through the blood and gore.

    ¡°Let''s go get cleaned up,¡± Conor replied.

 Section Twenty-Eight: Yours, Mine, Each Others

    Eivaley lounged on the edge of Conor''s bed as she contemplated everything that had happened that day. To call the events notable would be an understating of the facts by several magnitudes.

    In all honesty, Eivaley was unsure how to feel about all that had happened.

    Conor had ripped the head off Sheruai, a man Eivaley had known most of her life. While She was not close to the warrior, she felt almost guilty about him dying in her name.

    Was it needed? Likely. Did she enjoy seeing it happen? Not a chance; hell, the images of Sheruai dying so brutally would never leave her. She would still be able to imagine it clearly on her deathbed.

    Yet, through her teachings and conversations with her parents, she could see Conor''s reasoning for needing to kill the man.

    She understood that if the Sheruai had not perished, Conor would have taken his place in the gods'' judgments and been taken from her for eternity. That simply was not something she could accept. A feeling Conor shared.

    Conor was hers; she was his. In the eyes of Kurlatra culture, it did not matter that they had yet to finalize their claims. She yearned for Conor, hungered for his embrace, and accepted that she had to wait for him to be ready.

    Understanding that deaths like that were just part and parcel of being a noble did nothing to ease her anguish for witnessing another pointless death. Eivaley wished for everyone to get along and for the endless string of deaths to come to an abrupt conclusion, but that was just a pipe dream for her.

    Following the fight, Conor told Burlai to look into something before dragging her off. The exact details of what they needed to know were something she could not hear and something Conor did not wish to inform her of.

    From what she overheard, Burlai needed to look into something about her sister''s death. She did not question what it was. If it mattered to Conor, odds were it would to her.

    Sure, she knew they, like the royal guard, would investigate why Conor was accused, but she could not guess at their plan hatched in that brief chat.

    For all she knew, they were going to go room to room and interview everyone, but that was unlikely; they were just two men¡ªoutstanding ones, but they could only do so much.

    All she could do was wait until more learned individuals informed her of the happenings.

    The only other thing of note between Eivaley lounging in Conor''s room and the fight was their brief conversation with her parents.

    They simply assured Eivaley and Conor they were of sound mind after the day''s events.

    They hugged Eivaley and apologized for her sister''s death, explaining that it would be looked into and that her burial would be planned for later this week, while Sheruai¡¯s corpse would be shipped off the badlands and buried in his homeland.

    It was something that Sheruai had arranged with the empress long ago. He might have been an asshole at the end of his life, but until then, he had behaved honorably and conducted his actions as a noble without question. So his wishes would be honored.

    But that was neither here nor there; butterflies danced in Eivaleys chest, as she recalled Conor making his intentions clear before he went into the shower to clean the blood off him.

    He had picked up Eivaley and laid her on the bed, similar to how he had done back on Heavalun. ¡°Wait for me here, my little ruby,¡± Conor growled in her ear while grabbing her hips and pressing his weight against her.

    Eivaleys breath had left her at that moment, and it had yet to return even though it had been nearly twenty minutes. Had she just sat here flushed with anticipation since Conor entered the abode? Of course not; there was a proper way to prepare for these types of things.

    She had called for a servant and had them rush to her room to retrieve lingerie, wine, and glasses.

    She had already changed into the pink silken garment and filled both glasses. Eivaley might have also emptied her drink once or twice¡ªokay, it was three times. She already had a solid buzz. But she was nervous, scared, and excited all at once; a little liquid courage would not hurt.

    What was about to happen was one of the most significant events in Kurlatra women''s lives. She was about to claim a champion and have him give his soul to her.

    She adjusted her bust, ensuring her cleavage was deep and tantalizing. The lingerie was perfect. It was little more than a silken robe that showed off her curves. Its draping curtain was nearly see-through, showing off hints of her hard nipples.

    She knew Conor would like it. The mere thought of him slowly unwrapping her from it already made her body ache with anticipation. His strong grip, intense stare, and unyielding presence would cement their relationship, finally becoming more in the eyes of the gods and in one another. All she had to do now was wait¡ªthankfully, the shower had just shut off; it would not be long now.

    ¡ª

    Conor stepped out into his room and paused dead in his tracks at the sight of his woman. Eivaley playfully flicked her tail back and forth, sipping wine and looking like a delectable treat herself.

    The wan light of the setting sun flowed in through the window and danced off her scales. The soft breeze carried the scent of sweet roses and tart wine to him. The sights, smells, and gentle smile she cast his way made Conor''s heart melt.

    This was right; it was precisely what he wanted his life to be. Being here with her had shown the Human that there was so much more to life than violence and money. He still did not have much he could give her beyond being a violent man in her peaceful world, but so long as his actions were to protect her, being out of place was fine.

    Besides, after tonight, he would have the rest of his life to figure out what he would do; all that mattered was he was with her and showing her the support she needed.

    ¡°Got room for one more?¡± Conor said while walking next to Eivaley and taking the glass she languidly offered him.

    As he approached, Eivaley''s eyes might as well have been eating him alive. It was alook Conor noticed. Her look was beyond her usual lust; it screamed at him to take her and never let go.

    The idea of picking her up and railing her against a wall was tempting, but they both knew what would happen, so they were in no rush. So Conor interpreted the look as her sampling the full-course meal she would savor throughout the night.

    ¡°For you? Never,¡± Eivaley teased, having adopted a bit of Conor''s snarky, dry sense of humor.

    ¡°Well, that¡¯s horrible; whatever will I do? ¡± Conor chuckled, slipping down into the bowl-like bed. "I thought I would have company tonight."

    "Well, I supposed I might be able to make a bit of room," Eivaley smirked, pushing the blanket away, letting Conor settle and soak in the sight a bit more.

    Once he was down in the bed and had his eyeful of her nearly nude form, Eivaley quickly moved into her place next to him, pressing her body against his.

    His warmth flowed into her comparatively cool body; the chill she reciprocated did not make her presence less enjoyable for the Human. Eivaley''s plush chest molded around Conor''s muscular frame as he put his arm over the shoulder and let her relax entirely in his protective embrace.

    They sat in silence for nearly twenty minutes, looking up at the wall of weapons in Conor''s room. His tools of protection and defiance against the will and desires of the Kurlatra empire hung proudly over them.

    Conor''s weapons came from across the galaxy, their manufacturing dates as vast as their shapes and functions; the untold stories festooned in their steel, plastic, and aluminum parts were uncountable. He had only known them for a brief time of their existence, but they shielded him from harm and allowed his will to be done in this cold universe.

    Similarly, Eivaley had only known Conor briefly, and he did much the same. He was her will-given flesh, her shield encased in steel and an undying will.

    The looming arsenal certainly was not what Eivaley had pictured as the background for her first time; she had imagined a beach, her bed, or an impassioned car ride, but this would do; all that mattered was the company the other provided.

    ¡°Conor,¡± Eivaley started as her paramour sipped at his wine.

    ¡°Hmm?¡± He raised a brow and looked down at her, using the hand over her shoulder to cup her chin and look down at the beauty within his reach.

    ¡°Thank you for¡ªstaying,¡± Eivaley said, leaning her head into his touch.

    ¡°I always will be here with you,¡± Conor kissed the top of her head. ¡°No matter what happens.¡±

    Eivaley smiled, but Conor could see the slightest flicker of doubt in her eyes. After all the waiting he had made her do, and the massive weight of her potential future, her questioning of his words of undying support was expected.

    Conor gently took the empty glass from her hand and placed it next to his own on the floor nearby. Afterward, he picked Eivaley up and shifted her so she was straddling his waist, the heat betwixt them as their bodies mingled so closely.

    ¡°I mean it,¡± Conor insisted, running a hand down her back and beginning to flow his exploratory digits toward her tail tip.

    ¡°Even if I become empress?¡± Eivaley breathed, draping her arms over his broad shoulder.

    ¡°Of course,¡± The Human assured, kissing the small horns on her snout as he gently rubbed the tip of her tail.

    Each stroke of his hand sent a drifting breeze of euphotic bliss up her tail; each gust battered against her soul like the tides, eroding her questioning of his intentions.

    ¡°What if I do not want to be the empress? Would you still be mine if we could not be royals?¡± Eivaley asked, struggling to not moan as he played with her erogenous appendage.

    ¡°I would want to be with you even if we were back on Heavalun and scraping by,¡± Conor replied.

    Conor could recall the hundreds of times that Eivaley had expressed her lack of desire to be the empress¡ªwell, lack of desire did not encompass his little rubies'' hatred of the idea in the slightest.

    They had chatted dozens if not hundreds of times about how much they do not want to live the life Vuraley and Eyurali were many times.

    If they could avoid being chained to the throne, they would. But as of now, they had no way for that to be possible. Conor had even said he would give up his life if it meant she would be free, but Eivaley only admonished him for that.

    She claimed that she would not want that freedom if he was not there. Conor thought she was just being poetic---the first time at least, now he trully understood she meant it.

    They hoped that by the time there were only two princesses left, they could find some way to prevent the inevitable. However, as of now, none of the other potential empresses would allow Eivaley and Conor to bow out of the race and live a life of obscurity far away from politics and the destiny Eivaley was born to face.

    Well, save for Mulaney, she just might.

    The first princess had seen enough of her sisters die in the name of the throne; Mulaney likely would even given them support.

    For her, letting them go would still have some political gain.

    If Conor and Eivaley were gone, the right to rule would be hers¡ªessentially, paying them off to leave and never return would be one of the most effective ways to get rid of them.

    Hopefully, the question of whether she would see that option was many years away. And when that day came, Conor and Burlai would not have to try to kill the others woman. None of them wished for that ending.

    ¡°No matter what you want. I will help you,¡± Conor smiled.

    ¡°And that¡¯s why I love you,¡± Eivaley licked Conor''s neck and scooted herself up on his lap. ¡°Now, let''s enjoy our night, I think I have waited long enough.¡±

    Eivaley gently removed her tail from Conor''s hand. She snaked it along his body before using it to pull his throbbing cock out of his shorts.

    ¡°Did you get this augmented too?¡± Eivaley purred, looking down at his cock, slowly coiling the tip of her tail around Conor''s shaft. Stolen novel; please report.

    ¡°I don''t think so,¡± Conor joked, using his augmented hand to massage her tits.

    The cold metal was just rough enough that she arched her back to press into his touch. She moaned and felt pleasure coursing through her. Both the warmth of Conor''s cock twitching as she gave him a tail job and his hands exploring every scale on her body were to die for.

    The feeling of bliss growing in her chest only increased, and Conor showed no sign of slowing down. One of his hands slowly glided across her quivering abs, his target already known, and if his memory was right tasted like honey¡ªbut the night was young, and he would get another sample soon enough.

    ¡°Fuuu,¡± Eivaley gasped as Conor rubbed his fingers on her pussy.

    She clung to him for dear life; with deft movements, he manipulated her most sensitive area like he did weapons'' small parts. All those hours on end of finagling components no larger than a human hair gave him lascivious dexterity.

    By Urla, Conor was glad that his whole body was not augmented; he could not imagine what it would be like not to be able to enjoy this moment with her. Because most of Conor was still Human he feel her chest heaving, claws digging inot his skin, her breath dancing on his neck, and the soft wetness of her pussy grow.

    Eivaley slowly began to gyrate her hips against Conor''s deft fingers, only making him double his efforts to drive her wild. His force not only increased, but he also moved in and out of her folds with ease.

    Each dance across her yearning flower was a new sensation she could never predict; it was as if his fingers were the key unlocking gates of bliss she had never known possible.

    The sickly sweet scent of the weep dampening his palm filled the air with the aroma of her love. The mere odor of what Conor''s animalistic brain recognized as both a good thing and something painfully addictive made Conor''s entire being desire more of the drug of a woman.

    The aroma danced with Conors tart swet, and Eivaleys floral perfumes. Before either realized it, Eivaley''s gentle moans had snowballed into a crescendo. This was all too much. Conor was attacking her from every angle: her tail, pussy, nipple, and even started nibbling on her neck.

    With little warning, Eivaley''s entire body clenched around Conor like a bear trap; she roared her pleasure out as she climaxed; if not for Conor having built-in hearing protection, his ears would be ringing like a grenade went off in the room.

    Where did that level of volume come from? Eivaley never yelled before. The most noise she made that he could recall was crying, but apparently, she had a set of pipes on her that even she did not know about.

    Her claws dug into his back, while her three-toe claws carved deep gouges in the beds, spreading down across the bed. However, the thing that truly drew Conor''s attention was her tail.

    Like a coiling viper, Eivaleys tail nearly snapped Conor''s dick in half. He froze and stopped rubbing her pussy. While normally Conor would consider himself a fairly generous lover, risking the safety of the man downstairs was reason enough to slow down.

    It was a good thing Conor did because Eivaley''s moans did not slacken for the next three minutes, nor did her tight hold on him; if anything, both grew as she rode out her first of many finishes that night.

    By Urla, Conor thought he was doing a decent job of ensuring Eivaley was enjoying their first real-time together, but he must be doing a far better job than he guessed.

    ¡°By the gods,¡± Eivaley breathed, sitting on Conor''s lap, her plump asscheeks halfway encapsulating his member. ¡°That is one way to start the night.¡±

    ¡°I suppose,¡± Conor agreed, glad his cock was no longer being threatened with unintentional strangulation.

    ¡°Oh, was my tail not soft enough? You seemed to be enjoying a tail job,¡± Eivaley asked, knowing she had unprecedented control over the prehensile appendage and that Conor thought her scales to be as smooth as silk.

    ¡°You almost ripped my cock off toward the end there,¡± Conor smirked, not realizing Eivaley was attempting to be coy.

    ¡°Oh,¡± Eivaley averted her eyes, looking like she was horribly embarrassed. ¡°I did not¡ª¡±

    Eivaley looked like she wanted to say something to justify what had happened but could not come up with anything.

    As far as she thought, Conor was invincible; she could not harm him. That she had unintentionally even come close boggled her mind.

    She looked back at him repeatedly, then away yet again. Eivaley grabbed her tail and began to twiddle the tip nervously, unsure how this night could possibly be recovered.

    She had already ruined it.

    Conor, seeing her dismay, moved to assure her everything was alright and that he was ready for everything else being with her meant.

    Sure, it was briefly painful, but it was not a big deal; if anything, her visceral reaction was a testament to her joy. Her tail was no more painful than when he and Fae had fun times. And that woman fractured his pelvis more than once, whereas Eivaley had not even hurt him.

    Conor rolled her onto her back and positioned himself between her legs. He sat up and scanned Eivaleys luscious form, taking a few moments to appreciate every scale on her.

    Each little horn shined like a gem, and the way she used her tail and arms to cover her chest in embarrassment was just perfect. The sight of her shielding herself from him made his predatory brain yearn even more.

    The sight set off a near cuteness aggression instinct in him. He wanted nothing more than to hold tight to her all night.

    He would rip apart her desires, flesh and spiritual alike. Even her reluctance now made his mouth water like a wolf looking at a trapped baby bunny. All he wanted to do was tear into her and make her scream his name.

    ¡°It''s all right, my little ruby,¡± he said, grabbing a firm hold of her hips. You did not hurt me.¡±

    ¡°But¡ª¡± Eivaley was about to begin to argue, but Conor cut her off.

    ¡°No buts. I¡¯m not waiting anymore,¡± Conor growled, digging his fingers into her soft skin and making her moan involuntarily.

    His assurance and burning passion destroyed all her thoughts of argument. She would have stated how they should delay the finalization of their relationship further, how she hurt him, and how the night was already ruined.

    They could stop now, and nothing more would come of it. They could snuggle like they had for weeks, and nothing would be lost.

    But as always, Conor acted as a man of his word. He had said he was not going to wait anymore, and by the gods, did he mean it. Without missing a beat, Conor lifted her hips and loomed over her; the predatory desire in his eyes made her feel unbelievably small and vulnerable.

    The intensity of his stare made her feel oddly lesser, but at the same time, it protected her. Conor was looking at her like a prize to be coveted, something he would die to keep in his hoard.

    Conor scanned every fiber of her being, picking apart each twitch, breath, and heartbeat. He plotted her downfall in moments. She was his; she would know it by the time this was over.

    The domineering man rubbed his cock against her slick folds. Eivaleys wet love seeped out faster with each stroke, mixing with the pre-cum dripping onto her.

    ¡°Do you really want to stop?¡± Conor mockingly challenged.

    He was starving for her desire, which he had denied for far too long. With how their lives had been, he might as well have been a man in the Sahara kicking glasses of water out of the hand that offered them. Now that he wanted the water, he was going to take it.

    ¡°No,¡± Eivaley breathed, wrapping her tail around Conor''s neck and squeezing. ¡°I want you to be mine.¡±

    Conor pressed the tip of his cock against her yearning enterance, and stopped moving his hip. He slowly leaned over her, grabbing Eivaley''s neck firmly and taking her breath away. ¡°I am yours, and you are mine. Right?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Eivaley blissfully murmured, as Conor smiled hearing her confirmation.

    Conor slowly pushed forward as if those final words were all her man needed to hear as final permission to take her entirely. His girth beginning to fill her in a way she had never knew possible.

    It did not necessarily hurt when he stretched her boy to fit; she was undoubtedly turned on enough to make it not excruciatingly horrible, but Conor''s girth was frankly a lot.

    She had expected it to be painful for her first time, but it was not. A dull throb of pain mixed with unbridled rightness as each millimeter went deeper.

    Her muscles clenched and relaxed, bidding Conor welcome as her body reformed to match him precisely.

    ¡°By the Gods,¡± was all Eivaley managed to mutter as Conor finally reached her furthest depths.

    Each heartbeat on the journey to penetrate her felt like years. It was as if the short thrust took them light years. The equilibrium they reached once he was entirely inside her ingrained in her mind, as a formative event she could not covet.

    Conor paused at the hilt, watching Eivaley squirm as she adjusted to the sensation of having him inside her. He did this not only for her but himself because, frankly, she was as tight as a vice, and the chilly sensation on his cock made it feel like his dick had just smoked a menthol.

    By Urla, the cold sensation and the feeling of all of her muscles writhing to fit him inside her was to die for. With the work she had already done of him with that tail job, Conor knew he would have to focus to nut bust a nut inside her after a few strokes.

    A sentiment he only believed in more once Eivaley and caught most of her breath. She grabbed the hand he had on her throat and squeezed it with a taunting look in her eyes.

    A bit of that royal attitude she knows he loves shined through as her powerful glance challenged him, but her words drove home a bestial desire to dominate her.

    ¡°Come on, ravage me, you beast,¡± Eivaley purred, echoing the first night they were together nearly half a year earlier.

    Conor chuckled slightly, not having expected her to say that yet again. He was not laughing at her; thinking back to that time was just surreal at this point.

    After these many months in the palace, Heavalun was a distant and fading memory. He could not even picture returning to that kind of life, nor did he want to. He would rather do everything he could possibly do to make Eivaley''s life a blissful heaven.

    Sure, ensuring her joy would be challenging at times. But he would give his all to her then, and he would now. Now, his task was simple, and she made it easy for him to understand.

    Conor would ravage her all night, leaving her limping tomorrow¡ªif she could even walk at all. Just the way he wanted his women to end up the morning after.

    ¡°Your wish is my command,¡± Conor teased, starting to move.

    Her tight tunnel felt like it was trying its damdest to keep him inside as he began to thrust. Her muscles flexed and rolled with each stroke, naturally attempting to bring pleasure to him, just as he was her.

    But that was not enough. Despite Eivaley''s inexperience, she understood that she could not just lay here like a dead body¡ªthat would be no fun for either of them.

    Her attempts were weak at first; Eivaley merely perched her toes on the bed and raised her hips to let Conor slide deeper and change focus to her G-spot with no effort.

    She must have done something right because even Conor started to involuntarily moan as she tried desperately to imagine she was milking his cock with her flexing velutinous insides.

    From what her older sister had told her to do, Eivaley knew that was a good start, but it was just the beginning.

    Eivaley grabbed Conor''s shoulder with one hand, her claws scratching the metal deeply. At the same time, she wrapped her legs around his muscular waist, holding her in suspension for him.

    The pangs of pleasure arching through her like lightning, coupled with her trembling body, made it difficult to keep herself there, but Conor understood her intentions and supported her.

    Her man lowered himself more, letting her plush ass rest against his thighs while he increased his tempo further.

    ¡°That''s it,¡± Conor smiled, watching waves roll through her body.

    Each time his hips met hers, an explosion of bliss shot through her. Her abs would quiver, and her tits would bounce. Each wave of unrelenting lust would collide with her mind, forcing her to yell his name in praise.

    ¡°Conor---nev--ve--never stop, never,¡± She wailed as her walls collapsed on his member, coating his groin in slick love; at the same time, her tail clenched around his tree-trunk thick neck.

    Without thinking, Conor began to squeeze her neck tighter, causing her to wheeze in shuddering ecstasy, to Eivaleys shock that only made her more turned on.

    She was drowning in his presence and domination. Every thought filling her mind was controlled by the rising heat, filling her with every thrust.

    She could feel her body melting against his burning heat. Were all Humans this warm? This unrelenting? This perfect? She had no idea and frankly did not care because her Human was.

    Eivaleys world started to go blank as black overtook her vision. Her tongue lolled out of her mouth as she desperately tried to breathe to alleviate the overheating sensation filling her body.

    The wet heat dancing between their writhing bodies made sucking in the air even more difficult. The room filled with their mixed scents and the sounds of them claiming one another.

    From one side of the palace to the other, all sapients were accosted by the pair''s moans.

    Unlike many of the other royals in the palace, whose romantic romps could be heard in the hallways, every sapient on the royal''s grounds that night swore two beasts of primal existence were brawling in that room.

    Their cries of claim could be heard from here to the badlands. Conor and Eivaley were so loud that even the priestess awoke that night and said a prayer.

    She prayed for their union and sent out tiny wishes for their survival. Never in all her years had she heard such raw desire echo through the world.

    Thousands of meters and her assurances of celibacy did not prevent her mind from imagining the lewd scene. She could not help but wish to understand the kind of man who brought such a declarable level of love to anyone.

    By the Gods, even she felt the slightest pang of jelousy for the pair.

    Just as Eivaleys vision reached pinpricks, and all she could see was Conor''s eyes, he released her neck and firmly grabbed her hips.

    She gasped for air. The fresh, steaming breath cast away the darkness, letting her see Conor entirely as he smiled with guardian care and gave all he was to her.

    With one final push of dominance and laying his claim, he pushed deep inside her as he climaxed.  Eivaleys legs sqeezed tighter with each throb and thick rope he released inside her body.

    A torrent of scalding hot cum poured into Eivaley. As if his warmth was a blazing inferno, it spread from her core, setting every fiber of her being on fire.

    She locked her legs entirely around him around him, swearing he could never leave her wanting ever again. It was something she did not have to worry about, but her mind instinctively did so after months of waiting.

    As if Conor could read her mind, he slid his hands up her back until he held her tightly, chest to chest. He rolled back, leaving his throbbing cock inside her.

    He slackened his grip once they stopped, and she was atop his broad chest. Make no mistake, her Human still held her like she would fade away if he let go.

    Conor knew his fear of her vanishing was not justified, but he feared beyond all rationality that this life was too good to be true. Even if this turned out to be a dream, he would cherish these last few moments forever¡ªthank Urla, it was real.

    The pair lay on the bed, catching their breaths. That was just the first of many romps that would keep many palace inhabitants awake that night, but they still needed occasional rests.

    Through their silent recovery, all they focused on was the other; their heartbeat, breathing, and touch. They ingrained them in memory, never wanting this moment to end.

    Sure, they would have more over the many years, but their first time was beyond perfect. The only thing that could make the night more blissful was them being told the race to be empress was over and would never threaten to break their still-growing bond.

    Eivaley slid up on Conor''s chest, moaning as his softening member slipped out of her. Now that his cock was not inside her, warming her existence physically and metaphorically, she feared she would be cold. But no, his claim still heated her insides like a blazing inferno that could never be doused.

    Once she was up to his face, Eivaley nuzzled against him while he held her head. ¡°That was wonderful,¡± Eivaley whispered. ¡°Right?¡±

    ¡°It was perfect,¡± Conor replied, nuzzling her back.

    Conor looked into his love''s eyes, smiling softly. Never in his life did he picture this being where he would be. But seeing her atop him, looking at him like a precious gem, solidified how real it all was.

    Half a year earlier, he could have never pictured this as his life. He had money, influence, reputation, and a woman who he would give everything to just see her smile.

    Conor kissed Eivaleys snout before leaning back and resting a bit more. The night was young, and he knew all his might and effort would be needed long before dawn graced them.

    Conor had been warned enough times by Vuraley that Kurlatra mating lasted all night. He might need a breather now, but he would never let Eivaley down¡ªeven if he might need a dose of stims if she was as intense as she just was.

    Never shall I fail, and whatnot.

 Section Twenty-Nine: Life Coils

    Eivaley squirmed and groaned as she attempted to crush Conor''s hand. Thankfully, because his was metal, this did not hurt in the slightest; if anything, it was causing her more pain.

    If he was a mere man, his little ruby certainly would have dislocated his thumb at a bare minimum, but he lived up to the expectations she set for him, that he could handle anything.

    ¡°It¡¯s too much,¡± Eivaley struggled to say, her breath hitching tightly as a constant dull throbbing rolled through her neck.

    ¡°You are fine,¡± Conor assured, looking over as one of the priestesses pushed an ancient fang against Eivaleys neck.

    Conor considered the tool strange because of what it was made of and the implications of those materials existing. It was more storied than all of the Kurlatra empire and was the tooth of an Inyme-drake.

    It was as thick as a soda can and thrice as long. Its dull grey surface was coated in millions of intricate runes, which painstakingly detailed the story of the first empress.

    Until this point, Conor believed all forms of what the Kurlatra called drakes to be fictitious, little more than legends of old that still existed within popular culture. Conor had seen plenty of drakes depicted on the mosaics around the city, enough that he had jokingly wondered if the creatures and the mosaics grew from the ground.

    The specific one Conor had heard of in the past was the Gurilian Drake. It was a creature Ecallar Herela had just conjured up to make himself seem more capable and noteworthy---at least, Conor thought that was the case. Now, he was not as sure.

    If Ecallar had killed anything that had teeth that large, perhaps the stuck-up bastard was actually far more capable than Conor had imagined. Even Conor doubted he could take on a creature the size of a bus and might as well be a walking tank in a straight-up fight.

    Conor would need to pull out all the stops. Antitank mines, heat-seeking missiles, a few rockets, and a massive antimaterial rifle. Sure, the scales might be depicted as stronger than steel, but they had a fatal flaw. It was the same flaw all creatures did; they were made of material. Why would his massive sniper rifle not work? Conor could not think of any reason why using that weapon would not be a solution to killing such a beast.

    Conor doubted Herela had fought the beast toe-to-toe; there was no way that coward would. The noble likely sat hundreds of kilometers away in a plush command chair and slung rail gun rounds at it from orbit.

    Either that or his kill was actually the work of dozens, if not hundreds, of soldiers standing before him while he shouted about his greatness from the rear lines.

    According to the priestess, who was currently scaring Eivaley and Conor''s necks, the acidic substance in the fang was also natural to the creature.

    The young couple had been lying on a dais for hours within the largest temple in Livayie. Overhead, the statues of the first empress, the First Champion, and the brood mother watched as the priestesses gave each of them their life coil.

    Their stoney visages judged the couple''s worth and assured them their will be done. Their will being done applied to both the couple and the priestesses.

    The priestesses had bestowed the scared coils hundreds, if not thousands, of times throughout their tenure. However, this particular instance was strange, to say the least.

    Unlike the other times they bound a couple, this one was, frankly, disgusting. Why was this Human being allowed to be bonded with the fifth princess? Why did the princess insist on having the human hand imposed on her scales?

    It was all just so wrong. Not only was the Human unscaled, but it also bled like a stuck pig with each application of the acid. With each stroke of the fang, Conor''s skin would boil as steam wafted away; the smell was horrible, enough so that all the onlookers to the ceremony had departed after only a few minutes.

    That was especially odd because many locals would usually attend and pray for the new pair. There was still that amount at the beginning, but only a dedicated few remained once the smell filled the air. They likely supported Eivaley''s ascension to empress or believed in the mythical statements surrounding the Human. But the priestess did not know for sure.

    Despite the smell and increasing unrelenting pain, the Human did not move. He did occasionally flinch, but that was rare.

    Most of the time over the last few hours, all he did was assure the princess it would all be alright, compliment her, and occasionally chuckle when she yelped.

    How was this Human so calm? His skin was being melted away; if anything, the princess should be freaking out and worried for his safety. This particular type of acid was not harmful to Kurlatra; all it did was stain their scales.

    Sure, you did not want to get it in your eyes, but even that would just need a quick rinse. It was not that powerful for them, but for a Human, it was unknown.

    Conor''s skin was taking the blacking color it should be, but how it was doing so was all wrong. The Human''s coil was a form of scarification. The acid would burn his skin, create heat, and then his nanites would rapidly heal the dermal damage, sealing in the soot.

    It was a miracle that this worked at all. Runala, the priestess who was imprinting the princess''s tail patterns on his neck, was afraid the main would die because the acid would eat straight through his neck.

    Thank the brood mother, it did not¡ªtheir lives depended on them doing their duty, regardless of their apprehensions and fears.

    The grant overseer arrived earlier that morning and explained what would happen today. Their leader even assured the empress that he would have them killed if they did not honor Kurlatra tradition; he emphasized that if it was for some petty reason, such as the Humans race, they would all be killed.

    Them for their pettiness, and him for having must have corrupted their teachings.

    With no other options, they simply performed as they were expected. They would refill the fangs as normal and apply them to the couples'' necks as usual¡ªat least they were almost done.

    ¡°It still hurts,¡± Eivaley groaned.

    The priestess rolled her eyes. This should not be that painful. All that the princess should be feeling was the warmth of the empress smiling at her choices¡ªor at least that is the religious explanation. In modern times, the empire was well aware that warmth was caused by chemical reactions.The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

    ¡°Worry not, princess, it is almost done,¡± the priestess assured, tracing the last few lines on the royal neck.

    ¡°OK,¡± she squirmed, her tail slapping angrily against the dais.

    From that point, the priestesses finished in about half an hour at most, including cleaning up the dais and double-checking their work; neither wanted the couple to do their tour around the city with errors in the life coils.

    ¡°Thanks for everything,¡± the Human said as he activated some kind of flexible black armor from the attachment on his wrist.

    It let out a light purplish shimmer as it crawled up his body and encapsulated his chest. The priestess had seen him deactivate that same equipment earlier, but that made its usage no less fascinating.

    Compared to the other royals'' power armor, the Humans'' Nanoflex seemed rather simple. It was not boisterous, nor did it really show off the man''s status. Other nobles would wear their armor outside their clothing, wanting the common folk to see their prosperity and power.

    Conor, on the other hand, wore his armor as if it meant nothing. He simply tossed on the armor and then his clothes over it, making the thin material look like an undershirt.

    Why? He had killed the former God of Close Combat; he was the Lord of War. The man could go around with hundreds of fully armed soldiers anywhere in the empire, and no one would question it. Behaviors and shows of force like that were almost expected of him. Perhaps that reserved attitude was something the princess saw in the man.

    Whatever the reason, the man was an enigma. He seemed like a contradiction of existence when compared to the nobles of equal and lesser rank.

    The Human''s enigmatic nature was emphasized when the man picked up Eivaley and carried her out of the temple. It was not like he supported her; no, he picked her up in both arms, let her wrap her tail around his neck, and smiled before departing.

    They barely acknowledged the locals, showering them with praise as they left. They did not ignore them; the locals just had to battle with their pairs, and they stared at one another.

    ¡°Hey, look,¡± the other priestess said, picking up a credit stick left on the table where the now-official Fifth Champion had been lying.

    The pair looked at each other for a moment, neither really wanting to interact with the odd man yet again. But since one of them picked it up, the other just kept cleaning and left her sister to deal with it.

    The credit stick-wielding priestess sighed and looked at her sister, flabbergasted for a moment. She hissed at her sister, making her disappointment known, but still ran after the pair.

    ¡°Fifth Champion, you left this,¡± the priestess shouted, chasing after them, hoping they had not reached the bottom of the stairs.

    ¡ª--

    ¡°You left this!¡± Conor heard just as he was about to round the bottom of the stairs.

    Looking back and past the rows of swaying trees and following locals, he could see one of the two priestesses gasping for air at the midpoint of the nearly kilometer-long staircase.

    She was nearly buckled over, holding herself up against the side of the railing, but in one hand, she held the credit stick he had left for them as a tip.

    Conor did understand this was a religious event. He had even recited the prayer to the brood mother for Eivaley''s sake, but it was still a tattoo session. It was only right that you gave your tattoo artist a heavy tip.

    The only tattoo he had ever gotten was lost long ago. It was a skull motif on his long-since-replaced hand. But even then, he still understood that it was a massive task to give anyone ink.

    He considered the one Silvara had given him all those years ago an excellent piece and had given her a gun for the trouble. Urla knew finding good artists in Heavalun was challenging, so she had been given good pay¡ªjust like he had tried to with the priestesses.

    The priestesses were also great, so they deserved it, especially after the hours they struggled to complete the job. Fuck, Conor doubted there were many artists with as steady a hand and as steadfast a dedication as the two religious women.

    They painstakingly recreated Eivaley''s scales on his neck and his augmented hand on hers. They had not missed a singular detail in either. Each scratch, ding, dent, and screw on his hand were flawlessly imposed on Eivaley.

    As for his own neck, Eivaley had already wrapped her tail around his neck and compared the ink to the real deal. She squealed so loudly that he knew it must have been perfect, even if he would have to wait to see it.

    They could have given up because his physiology was so different. But out of their dedication to their craft and the royal family, they persisted and pushed through, giving him a scarification piece.

    ¡°I know,¡± Conor bellowed, ¡°It¡¯s your tip.¡±

    The priestess looked confused between Conor and the credit stick before her brain caught up to the out-of-the-blue comment.

    ¡°I can¡¯t take this. It is my duty to give life coils.¡± She argued, starting down the stairs to give it back.

    Conor looked down at Eivaley, who rolled her eyes, having expected this. She had repeatedly warned Conor that the church members were pious and did not accept payment for the services.

    ¡°Any idea?¡± Conor asked.

    ¡°Maybe tell her it is a gift?¡± Eivaley suggested, understanding that the clergy are fully capable of accepting gifts no matter the degree.

    Conor nodded and agreed.

    ¡°Just keep it. It is a gift,¡± Conor yelled out.

    The Human did not even give the priestess a chance to respond. He simply turned around and rushed off to the palace. Conor did not even wait to see how the priestess reacted to her generous gift.

    If he had, Conor would have been treated to the young lady fainting upon seeing the astronomical number of zeros at the end of the credit stick balance.

    The young priestess, although having already understood there was a canyon-wide difference between her meager life and those of nobility, had never seen it quantified.

    That this strange alien, who had somehow stolen the heart of one of their princesses no more than a year earlier, could flippantly leave enough money to raise a small army behind was a true shock¡ªat least to her.

    Conversely, Conor had far more pressing matters than barely a drop in the bucket for his financial pull.

    His focus was solely elsewhere. Namely, the beautiful woman cradled in his arms, giggling as he started to jog back to the palace.

    Conor disregarded the tour around town that they were supposed to take. In Kurlatra tradition, a newly married couple would typically travel around their home city, showing off their life coils for all to see.

    As they did, the locals would bestow small trinkets and teats on the newly made Lady. At the same time, the Champions and non-bonded men would congratulate the newly crafted Champion and give him good wishes for his future journey and any weapon they believed would be of assistance.

    The Kurlatra empire could forgive his lack of decorum one more time. They could go on their walk another time. Conor had plans for the day, and their culture would not stop him. Beyond all other things, he wanted to recreate this morning''s events.

    They had slept for at most four hours. Conor was eager, willing, and beyond, ready to restate his claim on his Eivaley as soon as they had woken up.

    She was tired, jelly-legged, and in a delighted mental haze, her brain still struggling to sort out all the pleasures and pains Conor had imposed on her the previous night¡ªshe had yet to even restfully.

    But all the rest she believed she was entitled to meant nothing. Her man had hoisted her from bed, dragged her to the shower, and positioned her to feed his desire to corrupt her.

    Conor slowly tasted upon the succulent sweet weep dribbling off Eivaleys quivering thighs. Her addictive taste filled his mind more than any drug this side of the Milky Way.

    Once his addiction was sated, Conor showed her how much more he wanted. Eivaley was slid off his shoulder and allowed to fall into a wet heap at her man''s feat.

    She looked up and saw his towering figure as he pressed on and traced her lips with the tip of his scalding hot shaft, the salty remnants of his precum teasing her lips.

    Conor grabbed her head with both hands and pushed his cocks tip against her lips. He, with unbound lust, demanded with no words the action she needed to take¡ª ¡®suck it.¡¯

    Conor could remember the sounds of his beloved choking and desperate for breath while his cock stuffed her throat full.

    For the Human, those sounds, those feelings, and their hours of aftercare were exactly what he was ready to recreate. All he had to do was get back to the palace.

    The only thing that happened that day that was not part of his plan was Burlai reaching out to let him know they needed to talk. But Conor would deal with that later.

 Section Thirty: Investigations Results

    Being as silent as a church mouse, Conor slipped out from the embrace of his love and quickly dressed himself. Would he rather stay snuggled up in the bed with her? Of course. But he had to go meet with Burlai and Vuraley.

    The three men were meeting for one reason: to discuss the investigation''s findings. Only a day had transpired since the assassination and the duel, but through Burlai''s efforts and whatever strings he could pull, he had an answer the Human and the High Champion needed to know.

    As Conor slipped his pistol into his waistband, he took a moment to cast another glance at Eivaley. The dim moonlight highlighted her near-ethereal beauty. The light danced off her scales and showed her gentle smile as clear as day.

    That someone like him, lowborn, abrasive, and with a pension for violence, has her was unbelievable. But he would do all he could to keep her in his life. Even if it meant taking another job from Burlai and Vuraley to tie up whatever loose end was uncovered.

    It would not be the first time Conor had dusted someone as a political hit, nor would it be the first time he killed someone in the name of retribution. However, this likely would be the first time he genuinely believed in the reason. He already had a solid idea that Thuraley was to blame, so he was going into this meeting with his mind made up.

    He closed the door and turned down the hall with a reminder of why he was fighting in his heart.

    It did not take him long to reach Vuraley''s study. It was just another walk through the grand halls, much like any other day, although something was different now: the servants'' behavior.

    They still looked at him with fear, acting like he could snap at any moment and rip their head off. But they would pause, see his life coil, and bow deeply.

    Each one of them no longer referred to him as just Conor, nor did they use the generic sir moniker. They all referred to him as Fifth Champion, Champion, The Wolf of Eivaley, and even, oddly enough, God Slayer.

    It was all surreal. Nothing had really changed. Sure, he and Eivaley had made the last leap and cast their existences to fate. But still, he was Conor¡ªnothing more. That they insisted he was now something far greater was annoying.

    Just one day earlier, they would at least look him in the eye and talk to him like a relative equal. He did not understand why these people cared so much about titles, expectations, and the role Conor was now filling.

    Sure, he could quantify it based on his understanding of the Kurlatra. They literally believe him to be closer to divinity than they would ever reach.

    In their eyes, he might as well be a demi-god. But his understanding of that did not make it any less of a pain. Thankfully, Eivaley still treated him like a person.

    Inside the study, Conor found precisely what he had expected. Burlai and Vuraley stood beside the holographic sand table, fully armed and armored, ready for a fight. However, unlike the other times when the table depicted random locals, this time, it clearly represented the palace and city as a whole.

    Multitudes of screens, likely the feed from cameras, danced over its surface, showing various areas around the grounds.

    That the local area was being projected confirmed what Conor believed; they knew who had killed Kurelay, had a location, and were planning a hit. At least, that was the reason he prayed to Urla to please be true.

    Conor wanted nothing more than to dust the zlit-rat who had framed him.

    The two seasoned veterans looked toward Conor with eyes overflowing with concern. The air weighed heavy, as Vuraley clearly was challenged by what had to be said. He sighed seeing the Human.

    Burlai, however, was the antithesis of the older Kurlara. He was cold and heatless and looked like he was simply ordering a meal from the royal cooks. His eyes did not betray any underlying emotions; to Burlai, finding an assassin was just another day at the office.

    ¡°So what''s going on?¡± Conor asked while taking his place at the open side of the table. He did not want to play games or waste time; they had a target.

    Burlai and Vuraley shared a glance as if, for a moment, they questioned telling Conor the whole truth. But that did not last long, as Burlai moved his hand to open files on the table.

    ¡°Well, let''s start at the beginning,¡± Burlai began, opening a video file on the display.

    The video was not just one; no, it was hundreds of hours of relevant data spliced to tell a clear tale and make the information understandable.

    Conor watched with trepidation, eager to know who to dust. Who he saw was no shock, Therulay. That little bitch.

    The video covered both audio and video of Therulay conspiring and bankrolling Kurelay''s death. It began with her meeting with several royal guard members, giving them credits for staying silent and being a bit sluggish while reacting to the event that day.

    The next thing that was genuinely damning was a video of a man, a particular green-scaled Kurlatra, being escorted into the palace by her less than an hour before the shooting;

    Conor was impressed by Burlai. In less than a day, he had combed through months of footage and compiled a report that even had videos of the Kurlatra assassin.

    The assassin was incredibly plain-looking. He wore simple clothes, had green scales, and did not draw any attention to himself. The only thing out of place was the small hard case he carried; that likely was where he had a carbine hidden or some kind of precision rifle that could be broken down for ease of transport.

    Conor did notice something about how he moved through the palace grounds. He was confident and moved like he owned the area, which was evident in how he slowly scanned it. The man looked like a true predator stalking through his hunting grounds. It was as if everywhere he could see was his sacred battleground.

    It was an act Conor and Burlai had seen plenty of times; hell, they had been that guy multiple times in their lives. This assassin was too clean and precise to just be some amateur. He was a long-seasoned pro. One who likely was pulled out of free space or the COS.The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

    The GU just did not produce many of that kind of fighter, an idea that Burlai brought credence to by assuring that from this video, he could not get a positive ID on the man.

    The three men tracked the assassin through dozens of camera recordings. He walked with Therulay through the halls, chatting casually about what was around the area.

    Burlai noted that her talks were feeding the man intel while not wholly overt. Unless you had their perspective, the chat would just appear as her giving a tour.

    This continued for a half hour until they reached the far end of the grounds, where they separated. Therulay returned to her room while he clambered onto the rooftops via a fire escape, where they lost track of him.

    They could easily deduce what had happened that day. He must have crossed the roofs and laid in wait until his target entered the ambush location.

    They then rewatched the events in the courtyard, where they saw Kurelay get shot and the late God of Close Combat die at Conor''s hands. None of that shocked any of the men there; they had watched it all happen in person, and they were jaded enough that watching a recording was not impactful.

    Well, save for Vuraley, he clawed angrily at his arms when half of Kurelays head was blown off. No one mentioned the sheer fury in his eyes; there was no need.

    He had already buried almost thirty daughters, a few sons, and more soldiers and lesser nobles than could be fathomed. His anger was justifiable, but like a true warrior, he held his tongue and knew how to control that emotion until it was appropriate to let it all out.

    While giving a briefing was certainly not an appropriate time.

    The last thing they did for a recap of the unfolding events was watch as the assassin slipped out while Conor was still killing Sheruai. He simply walked out of the palace long before the guards hard mobilized and sealed everyone in.

    Conor had to give it to the man; he was effective. Theruley likely had fed him information on how the guards operated and deployed, that and she clearly had sections of them under her thumb.

    With near precognition, the assassin knew where to turn and when to pause to avoid their patrols.

    They lost sight of him once he was off the grounds; if they wanted more information about him, they would need to expand their search beyond the palace''s resources.

    They would need to contact the local police and space stations so they could flush that bastard out.

    ¡°I¡¯ve already reached out to my contacts to find him,¡± Burlai said.

    ¡°Will that do us any good?¡± Conor asked, still not understanding the full scope of everyone that Burlai could make bend the knee for intel.

    ¡°My guys will find him; that is just a matter of time,¡± Burlai assured, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a casing.

    ¡°I went up to his likely shooting position and found this,¡± Burlai said, placing the casing on the table. ¡°He intentionally left this likely to frame you.¡±

    Conor did not even need to examine the casing in detail to know what it was. It was a 12.7 mm Logelyan magnum. It was the same bullet that once Brakuls, now Conor''s magnum, was chambered in.

    That little bitch thought of everything. If Conor had died in that brawl with Sheruai, that little piece of brass would have damned any argument that was made about him being innocent. Sure, would the camera footage show Conor and Burlai in the garden at the time? Yes, but the royal family, to save face, would have thrown him under the bus.

    Conor was not mad about that being reality; he had grown to understand how much the perception of commoners meant to the nobles. If word ever came out that they could not stop an assassin from walking into the palace, killing someone, and then walking out, their image would never recover.

    ¡°So, High Champion, what do you want to do,¡± Burlai asked Vuraley. ¡°I''m ready to go and kill her, and I am certain Conor here is game. But she has an unknown amount of the guards on her payroll.¡±

    Vuraley sighed and hung his head before placing both palms on the table and leaning forward. He opened his mouth like he was going to speak, closed it, and then shook his head.

    Each choice he thought u,p he knew was the wrong call. This was a situation Vuraley had never expected.

    They could kill Therulay, but that would not solve much beyond keeping his other daughters safe; but does he have the stomach to tell these two young men to go kill his youngest? It was doubtful.

    They could exile her; that would remove the problem, but knowing her and Kurlatra society, that would just be kicking the can down the road. Someday, she would return to claim the throne, and she surely would kill more.

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure how this should end,¡± Vuraley growled. ¡°But we can¡¯t just kill her.¡±

    ¡°Why the fuck not?¡± Conor asked.

    ¡°Because she is a princess and on neutral grounds,¡± Burlai replied before looking back to Vuraley. ¡° We could if she was not in the palace, but she hardly ever leaves. Right?¡±

    Vuraley nodded, knowing his agreement was not just because of the rule, but he could not condemn her to death, even if it likely was justified. Therulay was his daughter; he doubted any father could make that call.

    ¡°That a load of shit,¡± Conor growled. ¡°That bitch already killed¡ª¡±

    ¡°I know dammit!¡± Vuraley yelled, letting his fangs flare. ¡°Gods dammit, I fucking know.¡±

    Vuraley clawed into the table, deep gouges carving into the screen, shutting off the holographic projection. ¡°I can¡¯t decide her fate, and we can¡¯t just kill her. If you did, you would be in the same situation she is in, where I have to decide how to handle you next.¡±

    The man took a deep breath and retracted his claws before standing up and looking at Conor. ¡°I know you likely resent her, but for Eivaley''s sake, just trust me here. Do not put me in a position I cannot handwave away.¡±

    Conor wanted to argue, but the life coil on his neck throbbed, reminding him of the duty he swore to uphold. That and Vuraley was right. Conor would have just killed Theruley without a second thought. By doing so, he would have abandoned Eivaley.

    ¡°OK,¡± Conor agreed. ¡°What do you want us to do then?"

    ¡°We will go and arrest her. Then the empress can decide her fate,¡± Vuraley commanded. "Once we do that, we will have to find those guards she bribed, and Burlai can persuade them to give up their coconspirators."

    "I can do that," Burlai sneered, showing the first amount of emotion since the briefing began.

    "Conor?" Vuraley asked, seeing the Human pondering the idea.

    ¡°Alright. Let''s do that, but until we decide who we can trust and who we cannot, we have to assume the guards are on her side,¡± Conor added.

    "Naturally," Burlai nodded.

    ¡°Well, let¡¯s do this,¡± Conor said, drawing his pistol and turning toward the door.

    The others followed closely behind. Vuraley drew his sword, and Burlai pulled out a small pistol Conor had never seen; it looked similar to the JKL he had given to Eivaley. It had a small suppressor, red dot sight, and flashlight.

    That pistol was undoubtably a working tool that Burlai had built to meet his exact operational needs. In this case, it was silent, allowed him to illuminate his target, and demanded precision.

    It was the tool of assassins and spooks. Compared to Conor''s hand cannon, it was a pea shooter. But in the right hands, it was the only tool you would need ninety percent of the time.

    Before they had reached the door, a dull thoom shook the entire building, sending the three men stumbling and thousands of books clattering to the floor.

    ¡°What the fuck was that?¡± Burlai groaned while regaining his feet''s purchase.

    ¡°An explosion,¡± Conor replied, knowing that sound and the feeling of a shockwave. ¡°That bitch is making her move.¡±

    ¡°How do you know it''s Therulay?¡± Vuraley argued, his fatherly instincts still wanting to defend his little girl.

    Before Conor could reply that it was just a gut feeling, the doors to the library swung open. Conor aimed his pistol in that direction and activated his combat tracker, waiting to see an attacker pieing the doorframe with a rifle in hand.

    That never happened; instead, what did was far worse.

    ¡°Get down!¡± Conor screamed as a small grenade was chucked in from the dim hallway.

 Section Thirty-One: React to Contact

    The small grenade flew through the air and landed just atop the table. As it did, Conor and Burlai dove behind bookcases, shielding themselves from the impending blast.

    Vuraley, on the other hand, stood tall, grabbed his sword, and faced the threat head-on.

    "You rats cannot kill me like this; I am the High Champion!" Vuraley roared, using his prehensile tail to toss the grenade back toward the door.

    When the device was only a meter away from him, it exploded; fragmentation and dust erupted from every surface of the room, a heavy haze filling the area.

    Vuraley raised his arms to shield his eyes from the blast. The shimmering light of his power armor absorbed the rest of the explosion. Taking a grenade blast head-on like that was a dangerous maneuver; as a fight went on and your power armor energy wore down, attempting so was a gamble.

    But at the start of a fight, Vuraley was wholly safe. Unless that grenade was loaded with radiation or was explicitly designed to counter power armor. It wasn''t, but Vuraley could tell the explosive was nothing that specialized before it landed.

    The blast ate away almost half of his armor''s available power, but that was of no concern; after a few minutes of not having to deflect any energy, the power would be restored, and he would be fully protected again.

    He raised his blade and readied himself to face any enemies who breached the door. Through the flittering dust, Vuraley could barely see the shifting shadows of the rebel forces entering the room.

    Five shots echoed before Vuraley stepped forward to meet the specters in close combat.  Conor''s pistol roared in defiance as he erupted to his feat and pressed the fight forward. Each trigger pull was timed with flashes as bright as the sun.

    Like a true Lord of War, each of his rounds found its mark, splattering blood across the door frame and hallway. The bodies pilled up in the doorframe, causing the last two fighters to stumble over their dead and dying allies.

    The pistols slide locked to the rear with a dull metallic thunk; the picosecond it did, he peeled off, sought cover, and shouted out, ¡°Reloading!¡±

    Without further prompting, Burlai immediately took his place in the counterattack. In moments like this, violence of action was the only way one would win against your enemy.

    They attacked first and took the initiative of the battle. At that point, all one could do was be more violent and capable.

    Burlai shot four times, each evenly spaced like a well-timed metronome. Each round cracked with a dull thump and found its mark in each of the remaining fighters'' chests, sending them to the ground.

    Once they had fallen, Burlai flowed closer and shot through the back of their heads, ensuring their deaths. The act was cold and calculated. It was not like this was the first time he had done that before; granted, most of the time, the people he shot in the back of the head were either in handcuffs or never knew he was there.

    Burlai shifted his aim back to the door, waiting to see if anyone else arrived. As he did that, Conor sent his slide home and returned his focus on the upcoming battle.

    ¡°What''s the plan?¡± Burlai questioned while Conor grabbed the dead bodies and slid most of them deeper into the room.

    ¡°Close the door,¡± he replied, kicking the last corpse into the hallway. "We need to rally."

    Burlai followed the instructions and kept his weapon ready, but he backed up and took cover behind one of the bookshelves. Would it protect him from gunfire? It was unlikely, but it would conceal him long enough to hopefully get the jump on any additional fighters.

    ¡°Vuraley, are you alright?¡± Conor asked as he began performing a time-honored combat tradition: looting. He separated each one from their rifles and anything else of active use.

    They all had the typical M45 pattern slug thrower used by the royal guard on them. There was also a healthy assortment of ammunition and grenades, and one of them even had a grenade launcher.

    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± Vuraley assured, dusting off his armor.

    ¡°That¡¯s good; I was afraid that grenade was going to have dusted you,¡± Conor replied, laying out the supplies.

    It did not take very long for them to have everything they could use inventoried and displayed. Conor started by distributing gear before they approached making a plan. Any they could conjure would need to be adjusted once they were armed. He stated with Vuraley, holding out an M45 and chest rig for the man.

    ¡°I don''t need that; I am plenty well-armed,¡± Vuraley gestured at his sword. ¡±

    ¡°Alright,¡± Conor shrugged, not willing to argue the point with Vuraley.

    The man''s love for his two-handed sword ran as deep as his adoration for his wife, daughters, and country. That the old man could also likely bisect Conor before the Human drew his pistol had nothing to do with his healthy respect for the man''s wishes.

    Instead of forcing the man to take it, Conor tossed the rifle over to Vuraley, who was already strapping on a chest rig one of the invaders had on. It was somewhat impressive that he was able to catch the weapons with his tail while also securing his newly tactically acquired rig.

    Seeing that almost made Conor wonder if he could get an augment that could work like that. But finding out if the royal doctor would be up for some experimental surgery would have to wait until later; they all had far more critical things to focus on than Conor pondering installing a tail.

    ¡°Plan A?¡± Conor asked Burlai while he ensured he had a combat loadout and then some.

    And then some was just one way to put it; Conor had a chest rig stuffed like a Thanksgiving turkey. Weighting down the nylon were fourteen forty-round magazines, four hand grenades, a dozen under-barrel 50mm grenade launcher rounds, and the three remaining magazines in his magnum.

    With this amount of armament, he could take down hundreds of enemies before running low was a concern. Even then, as long as they kept running into traitor guards, he could just top off using their supplies.

    While he did not like the M45, which was long, heavy, and unwieldy compared to his own weapons, he would make due, primarily because of the dozen rounds of high explosive he could bring to bear with the 50mm under-barrel.

    ¡°No, shit.¡± Conor chuckled, standing up, ready to get his kill on. ¡°You taking point?¡±

    As soon as Conor saw Burlais''s kit, he smirked. Their gear philosophies could not be any different.

    Burlai carried only ten magazines for the M45 and a few grenades. He focused heavily on being slick, lightweight, and not weighed down. The kit made sense, considering Burlai was not a wired-up freak like Conor and had to put much more thought into stamina usage and natural weight capacity.

    Conor had taunted him enough times in training about his unwillingness to carry more. But that was just playful jibbing. Burlai could easily kill as many men as he had bullets, so the lack of ammo was no cause for concern.

    ¡°Yea¨C¡± Burali started to reply but was interrupted by the High Champion.

    ¡°Could you fill me in on what that plan entails? I am clearly missing some context,¡± Vuraley added. The disappointment in his voice was evident, along with him crossing his arms and glaring at the duo.

    That these two warriors had seemingly completely forgotten about him was not only annoying but dangerous. By ignoring one-third of their manpower, they were setting their little impromptu fire team up for failure.

    His disappointment in his two sons was beyond measure. They were both seasoned pros who had trained alongside him and the royal guard for hundreds of hours. Vuraley would have been able to operate alongside them with little issue, but still, knowing what they planned to do would assuredly increase everyone''s chances of survival.

    ¡°Conor, watch the door,¡± Burlai said, pulling out a datapad and going over to brief Vuraley on the first stage of their plans whenever something like this happened.

    ¡ª

    The trio moved slowly and methodically through the palace''s halls, checking each door they passed and clearing each room. Because of their boundless experience, they were the most silent thing within the halls, save for the hundreds of cooling corpses littering each step on their journey.

    The sounds of open battle echoed off each surface of the palace grounds. The harmonic chimes of machinegun fire kept a steady rhythm while the snappy cracks of rifle fire overwhelmed the breaks. It was as if thousands of small orchestras were competing to be the dominant sound in the endless symphony of war.

    It took a keen ear to pick up the subtle changes as one individual performer''s ticket was punched. If the trio knew who was on their side and who should be dusted on the spot, they could likely tell how the battle was being conducted. Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    Without that information, they could only continue toward their goals and pray that the loyalist forces were staging a valiant defense.

    Their short, tactical pause in the library was beneficial. It allowed the group to modify Burlai and Conor''s main plan. Their plan was mainly identical to the previous one, but now, once they had gathered Eivaley and Mulaney, they would go to the throne room.

    The throne room not only had the empress''s direct guards but also one of the several entrances to the bunkers under the palace.

    Vuraley was sure the direct guard would still be loyal despite Conor and Burlai both questioning it. Whether they were faithful or not really did not matter; that fact changed nothing about their plans.

    If they could reach the throne room, they would be safe. Hunkering down and calling the cavalry would be the most effective choice. Even Burlai mentioned that once they were there, he could call in some favors and have critical support here in less than an hour.

    The bunker had everything they would need to survive for months without aid: food, ammo, weapons, medicine, and communication tools.

    Vuraley and the empress could quickly deploy and organize the Kurlatra military from there to eliminate any rebels who might remain in the palace.

    It would also allow Mulaney and Eivaley to be protected from whatever the little pink bitch had planned. It was undoubtedly the most sensible option for them- all that stood between them was an unknown number of enemies they could not discern easily from loyalists.

    What could possibly go wrong with this plan? Conor and Burlai both chuckled at their odds of mission completion, realizing that the chances of success were astronomically low, but Vuraley had none of that.

    The High Champion clearly expressed that Conor and Burlai could do this---even without his help. They did not linger on that comment''s weight at the time and instead moved on, needing to be quick.

    The trio were lucky so far; all they had come across were the signs of needless slaughter and no armed contacts. Hundreds of killed soldiers and servants littered the halls, staining the floors red. The butchering was so extensive that even Conor was nearly gagging from the smell of viscera.

    Whatever Thuraleys end game was, they could not tell. What would justify the wonton slaughter of every sapient within the palace grounds?

    Not even Vuraley, who had seen his fair share of coup attempts, could come up with a reason for their deaths. That seeing his people torn to shreds was bothering him was easy to see.

    With each corpse, Vuraley lagged a bit more, and the violence in his eyes started to fade. Conor had seen that look before. Vuraley was tired, beaten down, and had lived so long away from the fight that the reality of being back weighed on him like iron shackles.

    After nearly twenty minutes of bounding through the once sacred ground, their luck ran out, and they, at long last, spotted a group performing this horrendous slaughter.

    The trio silently agreed they were going to kill these soldiers, an understanding that was solidified when Conor and Burlai aimed and Vuraley bounded forward at a speed no unaugmented creature had any right to be capable of.

    Only twenty paces away, a squad of Kurlatra clad in equipment different from the royal guard typically wore were dragging a pair of maids out of a room by their tails. The women thrashed and screamed for help, something that only resulted in the captors kicking their heads.

    The impact was hard enough that they all could hear the woman''s jaw shatter like glass, something that was only emphasized by the two women''s screams twisting to bloody gurgles.

    ¡°Hey man, what the fuck? We had not even got to have fun with them ye¡ª,¡± One of the monsters began, but his comments about their debauchery were cut short by his words shifting into a bloody gurgle as blood poured out of the meter-long sword sticking out of his neck.

    ¡°You scum-sucking bastards,¡± Vuraley roared, overpowering all sounds of war.

    In one swift motion, he heaved his blade and ripped it up and through the soldier''s head, splitting it in two. Blood erupted from the man''s canyoned neck, showering the soldiers, maids, and Vuraley in crimson ichor.

    None of the other soldiers even had a chance to comprehend that their comrade was dead before Vuraley pressed his attack; twisting his blade around, in one swift motion, his sword whizzed through the air, lopping off two more of the soldier''s heads.

    In the meantime, Burlai and Conor shot the other two. Conor simply fired a quick Mozambique drill into his target, two rounds splattering his heart on the ground while one spread his hopes and dreams on the marble floors.

    Initially, Conor planned on just dumping a 50mm into the group to solve the problem in one shot, but Vuraley had moved at a speed Conor''s systems could barely track. So he had to change plans instantly so the High Champion would not end up as red mist along with the soldiers and the maids.

    Burlai, on the other hand, knew exactly what he would do from the first sight of the soldiers. He only fired his rifle three times because that was all he needed.

    Three shots, all ripped through his target''s T-box. Despite the man falling like a puppet with his strings cut after the first shot, he tracked the dead man and put two more through his brain before he had even settled on the ground.

    Burlai was thoroughly a man who knew how to operate and kill. He had never explicitly told Conor all of his abilities because he was cautious of the man, but shooting at this level was nothing to him.

    If Conor ever showed signs of wanting to kill Mulaney, Burlai already had a plan to dust the Human. Burlai had mastered sniping long ago and was one of the most experienced and trained in the universe. He had in the past made fist shot hits at nearly five kilometers. If Conor needed to be removed, his augmented advantage did not matter when your death came from distances most could not fathom.

    Once the less than a second fight was over, the two shooters moved forward to support their melee god. Before Conor and Burlai reached Vuraley and the maids, the High Champion was already comforting one of the maids. She looked up at him pitifully, her eyes overflowing with tears while she gargled words through her blood.

    ¡°Shhhh. Don¡¯t try to speak,¡± Vuraley said, holding the woman''s hand. ¡°I will keep you safe.¡±

    She meekly nodded and clung to the Vuraley, the sound of her jaw crunching audibly. That she did not scream showed a sure sign of how hearty this woman was. Most would have at least tried despite her injuries.

    Vuraley looked over at Burlai, who had taken a defensive position to guard him in one direction while Conor had done so, facing the other.

    ¡°Burlai, grab the other. Let''s get them back inside the room,¡± Vuraley ordered while he picked up the wounded maid and started toward the door.

    ¡°Rodger,¡± Burlai said, picking the woman up and taking her inside.

    They dragged the two wounded into the room and left the bodies outside. Once inside, Vuraley took several minutes to calm the two women, ensuring they would not be harmed.

    As Vuraley softly spoke to the two wounded women and worked quickly to treat their injuries, the sounds of battle only escalated. Joining the constant roar of death and destruction were the distant booms of artillery and the howling wails of jets overhead.

    None of them knew it then, but the sounds of those weapons of war were the beginning of the end of the Kurlatra empire as they knew it.  After tonight, nothing would ever be the same; it was considered so pivotal that the day would be entombed in fame as ''the last sunset.''

    This day was the dawn of a new age for the empire and its people. The three men in the small room of the palace did not see the hands of fate moving, nor would they truly come to terms with their effects¡ªat least those who survived.

    Theraley was not just attempting to overthrow her own family; she aimed to clear the scoreboard, wipe the map, and be the only one left standing.

    She would ensure that all the nobles on the planet would be dead by the end of the night, leaving her alone to stand at the pinnacle of divinity. She alone would steer the empire to the future.

    ¡°Alright, they have both passed,¡± Vuraley whispered, kneeling beside Conor. ¡°But I am not sure what will happen to them now.¡±

    ¡°So, let¡¯s leave them,¡± Conor said. ¡°We have to get to Mulaney and Eivaley.¡±

    ¡°And the empress,¡± Burlai reminded Conor of the change in their typical plans.

    ¡°Yeah and her,¡± Conor rolled his eyes. It was not that Conor would disregard the empress; he just had his priorities and would act in his best interest. Luckily enough for him, that was precisely the same mindset that Vuraley had.

    ¡°No, you two go save my daughters,¡± Vuraley surrendered. ¡°I cannot go with you two, so we will part ways here.¡±

    ¡°Are you sure we can''t just leave them?¡± Conor asked, pointing to the two passed-out maids. "It¡¯s not like they are going anywhere.¡±

    Vuraley sighed and shook his head before patting Conor on the shoulder.

    He knew Conor would make this argument. While Vuraley believed that Conor was a good man who would do right by his daughter, he was still impulsive. That impulsivity came from his still not understanding the entire scope of what his role entails.

    Sure, if his actions revolved around Eivaley, he was just as good as any other noble. But otherwise, his treatment of most people was lacking. He still treated most of the Kurlatra who were not directly related to him as disposable, at least as someone whose survival did not worry him.

    That habit of Conors is something that Vuraley would have to work with the man on once this coup attempt was all said and done. If Conor ever became the High Champion, he would have to constantly consider the optics of how he treated the commoners. Vuraley would prefer that Conor genuinely would care about them, but getting the Human to understand that the people mattered just as much if not more than the average noble.

    ¡°No, I won¡¯t leave them here to die. I will get them to the royal doctor, then meet you two in the throne room,¡± Vuraley explained. ¡°While I¡¯m doing that, you two need to save my daughters.¡±

    ¡°Are you sure?¡± Conor asked.

    ¡°Yes, I am,¡± Vuraley said, his words as calm as his demeanor. Vuraley knew his path and lived by his choices. While he was the High Champion and needed to protect Euyurali, he also had to safeguard the life of all Kurlatra.

    He was also well-seasoned and knew when to delegate responsibility, and this fight was their moment. The two young men before him were the future of the empire. They would lead it to places he could never fathom.

    ¡°Come on, Conor. The High Champion has made up his mind, and we are burning time by arguing,¡± Burlai said, standing up and working his way toward the door.

    Conor momentarily looked between Burlai and Vuraley, a strange feeling boiling in his stomach. This was not the right call. All of his instincts screamed at him to try to convince Vuraley to just abandon the women and come with him.

    For some reason, the feeling in his gut was the same one he felt when remembering Brakul''s death. But Conor could not let that stop him now.

    Vuraley was capable and could defend himself; hell, he likely would have rallied dozens of soldiers when he arrived at the throne room. This feeling just had to be Conor being paranoid once again. The High Champion would survive no matter what came his way.

    The Human swallowed his feelings and followed Burlai; they were the only two who would save their women, so they had to go. Just as Conor rounded the doorframe and returned to the hall, he peeked back and saw Vuraley smile, seeing them go.

    The High Champion looked upon Burlai and Conor with pride. It was the same look a father would give to his sons when they made a good choice on their path in life. Despite how reassuring that look was, Conor could not shake the pins and needles in his mind telling him that would be the last time he saw the High Champion alive.

 Section Thirty-Two: Becoming Nikitals

    Conor and Burlai had the worst luck once they left Vuraley behind with the two wounded maids. Apparently, Urla must have thought it would be absolutely hilarious to hand all the get-out-of-jail-free cards to the High Champion. Hopefully, he was going to put them to good use.

    They had barely made it two hundred meters before the battle was shoved back into their laps. Or, more accurately put, a platoon of soldiers decided it was time to cut down some nobles.

    They came under immediate fire as they turned into the last set of hallways where Mulaney and Burlai¡¯s room was. It was like this group of soldiers was lying in wait, which, to be fair, they likely were.

    Therulay knew where they slept and likely took steps to ensure their deaths along with the girls. Thankfully, Conor spotted their formation on his target tracker and reacted before the enemies could get off a full burst of fire.

    Bullets snapped like whips, mere millimeters from their heads, as Conor raised his rifle, emptied a magazine into the ambushers, and ducked back into cover. He saw that he caught at least two of the soldier''s heads with his suppressing fire, but most of his shots bounced off a glimmering energy shield that protected the rest of the formation.

    ¡°It never can be easy, eh?¡± Conor chuckled, dropping his empty magazine and looking over at Burlai to see if he had been hit.

    Burlai took a moment to check himself for injuries, and thankfully, all his insides were still where they belonged. Thank fuck they both managed to weasel out of the attack opening unscathed.

    Burlai peeked around the corner and fired off a few short bursts, suppressing the enemy''s position. From his short peak around the corner, he could quickly see what Conor was talking about.

    There were not just a few soldiers down the hall; no, there was an entire platoon. They had taken their time to set up and lock down the hall. Sandbags stood nearly chest high, and that damned machine gun team was on point. Even as Burlai''s rounds struck the sandbags and ricocheted off the power armor shields, the soldiers remained calm and returned fire.

    Ironically, one of the lights shining in the darkness for them was that energy shield generator. Both of them recognized the type: a directional shield that only protected the soldiers from the front, leaving them exposed on all other sides. Not only were the enemy left in the open, but so were the shield generator and its pitifully easy-to-damage case. A case that just so happens to be filled with energy packs that, if one caused a massive enough explosive force to be applied to them, had a tendency to explode.

    ¡°It never can be, but could you please use some of those grenades?¡± Burlai asked, ducking back into cover.

    ¡°You don''t have to tell me twice,¡± Conor replied, peeking around the corner and launching his assault.

    Conor and Burlai had already discussed how they would handle most forms of contact they could come into while moving through the palace. They were just two men and could not handle a head-to-head fight most of the time.

    They were outstanding warriors, but the numbers were not on their side; while their abilities might tip the balance of battle in their favor, it would not shift the odds enough for them to emerge unscathed.

    The only thing they had that would genuinely give them control of the tides of battle was their few force multiplication tools. Conor''s augments and ability to see in dozens of spectrums beyond visible light were one, their small footprint as only two people was another, but in this case, high explosives were king.

    Bloop!

    The under-barrel grenade launcher echoed through the dim hallway. The deadly egg arced through the air and slammed into the ceiling above the barricades, sending hot shrapnel raining down on the soldiers.

    The thousands of scalding metal bearings ripped through the defending troopers'' bodies, armor, and weapons alike. Not only were the enemy affected, but the attackers were as well. Hundreds of the small speeding balls of death ricocheted past Conor and Burlai despite them being nearly thirty meters away. A few of the flaming bits of frag even dinged off Conor''s augmented arm.

    Conor doubted one round would be enough to disable any power armor, so instead of pausing to check, he got to work, using all the gear he had appropriated earlier.

    He canted the slide of the grenade launcher and allowed the spent cartridge to fall; before the smoking brass had even bounced off the ground, he had sent another grenade into the tube, closed the breach, and fired again.

    With each shot, the number of screaming troopers on the other side of the cover grew until Conor''s unrelenting barrage had done enough damage, and the area began to fall into deathly silence. Even the periodic staccato of the machine gun had died when Conor released his final launcher round.

    Conor dropped the eighth empty cartridge, which clattered lightly against its brothers on the ground as he peaked around the corner. Seeing his handiwork, he whistled before stepping entirely out, knowing he was perfectly safe.

    ¡°You think that was overkill?¡± Burlai asked, sweeping forward with the Human, the massacre coming into focus as the heavy haze began to fade.

    ¡°There is no such thing,¡± Conor cruelly laughed, kicking down the tattered sandbags.

    Strewn across the hallway were the bodies of dozens of soldiers, or at least what was left of them. Most of them were missing limbs, while others were simply turned to bloody Swiss cheese from the uncountable ball bearings that had ripped through them.

    Blue bolts of energy arced off dozens of corpses. The remnant energy of their damaged shock grenades and ruptured power cells crawled up the walls.

    Conor took a moment to ensure that the gun crew was dead. He had not seen the two using a power shield over the barricade while approaching, but getting eyes on them was still a good idea.

    The gunner and his assistant were both dead, their bodies already cooling. While they were less damaged than the others, it was clear they likely hadn''t survived the attack.

    Their skin boiled as the energy of the power pack coursed through them. All their gear was burning, filling the area with acrid black smoke. Conor could not even tell what color their scales were originally; there was just too much soot.

    Not taking any chances of them somehow having survived and getting back up, Conor kicked away their nearly destroyed machine gun. As soon as the heavy general-purpose weapon clattered against another corpse, he loomed over their bodies, raised his foot, and stomped.

    He brought his foot down on their heads repeatedly until they were little more than red paste. It likely was overkill, and he might be enjoying the crunch and squelch of their corpses a bit too much, but Burlai was no better.

    Like a machine, he was already shooting the other soldiers in the head. So they agreed that you could not be too careful. Sure, Conor was more brutal, but he did not need to shoot cooling corpses when two quick stomps were just as good.

    Once the machine gun team''s hopes and dreams were wet-paste, Conor stepped into the center of their battle formation. He smelled deeply, the profound scent of fresh blood filling his nostrils. He groaned in pleasure, having memories of his thousands of battles filling his mind. Being back on the battlefield was euphoric.

    Smelling the fresh blood, burning skin, and fresh gunpowder relaxed his body. The battlefield was his true home. After months of peace and politics, being amidst the smoldering corpses of his enemies felt like a return to nature..

    He might have been demoted from a truly wild animal to a tamed dog after Eivaley got her claws into him, but this was still his home. He belonged in the fight, was destined to live, and would likely die here.

    Burlai turned back to Conor after having shot the last soldier''s head and paused. What in all the universe was Conor doing? The man had closed his eyes, taking in the horrible smells around him.

    It almost looked like the Human was basking in the sun on a summer day. Sure, Burlai knew Conor was built for fighting, quite literally, but seeing him bathing the aftermath and ignoring the blue streaks of energy arcing off power packs that crawled up his legs was surreal.

    ¡°You good on ammo?¡± Burlai questioned, trying to push past the odd sight.

    Conor slowly exhaled, glanced at Burlai, and locked back in. All the remnants of him relaxing left his eyes, and the gaze of raw, primal violence surged back into his presence.

    As Burlai shuddered from the intensity of Conor''s stare, the Human looked down and recounted his ammunition. He still had four shots for the grenade launcher but could use more; other than that, he was green on ammo.

    Conor was nowhere near running out of ammo, but in the hectic dynamics, the last thing you wanted was to be down to harsh words and bare fists. Topping off ammo while they had a moment would not be a terrible idea. Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

    ¡°Any of them have grenades?¡± Conor asked, scanning the smoldering bodies.

    ¡ª-

    They had set off from that battle site no more than five minutes later. They could not afford to linger any longer than possible. After Conor had replaced his one spent magazine and topped off his grenades, they set off and went up a set of stairs, moving to avoid another fight.

    It was not that they did not believe they could take on the next group of soldiers; it was just not their prerogative to fight everyone they spotted. That could wait until they got Eivaley and Mulaney to safety.

    Rounding the corner at the top of the set of stairs, Burlai took point. This was the floor Mulaney should be on. Sure, Conor knew the room the eldest princess should be in, but having Burlai upfront would be better.

    Conor and Mulaney did not hate one another, but that did not mean they got along.

    She was still cautious of the Human and was still under the impression that someday he would try to kill her. He had no plans of doing so unless she decided to start something; if that was the case, Conor had no qualms about ripping her scales off one at a time while drinking beer from Burlais''s skull. Thankfully that was not their reality at the moment. Still, Conor let Burlai lead the way.

    They flowed through the hall, staying silent until they reached Mulaney''s room. Once there, their Burlai paused and cracked the door.

    ¡°Gorgalni?¡± Burlai whispered into the room.

    It was some kind of challenge and passcode in the old Kurlatra language. Conor did not understand what the word was and frankly did not care. Learning what might as well be a dead language would have been a fruitless effort. Conor would rather spend that time having Eivaley read stories to him.

    Burlai repeated the challenge several times, his voice becoming more desperate with each repetition, but no response ever came.

    With a look of pain, Burlai tapped his head three times, signaling Conor he was ready to breach. The Human moved and positioned himself to enter. Conor nodded at his friend, then kicked open the door, sending the door flying into the room.

    The pair flowed in with no words needed. They covered each other''s blindspots and bounded off each other''s sectors until they claimed the entire room. They owned this battlespace, even though no one contested it.

    ¡°Where is she?¡± Conor asked, sweeping the last bit of dead space with his muzzle.

    ¡°I don''t know,¡± Burlai sighed, returning from the cleared bathroom.

    Burlai leaned on a table, looking at a picture of Mulaney and himself in a frame, and thought about everything going on. Mulaney might have gone to Eivaley; the older sister was intensely protective of Eivaley, so that was possible, but they had no way of knowing; all wireless communication had been jammed since the attack began.

    Burlai hissed at the picture, frustrated that something was no longer in his control. He always had an answer; that he did not was out of the norm for him.

    Burlai could always see a path forward, whether in the military, his youth playing sports, or even working as an imperial spy. He could not understand why this situation was different.

    Burlai had been in plenty of battles. Sure, he was never directly involved like Conor specialized, but still, this should not be this hectic.

    Conor could see the troubled look on his friend''s face. This was the first time he had ever seen Burlai genuinely worried about anything. Seeing the stoic man express anything other than calm control seemed wrong.

    ¡°Hey man, it¡¯s alright. We will find her,¡± Conor tried to assure the man, resting a hand on his shoulder.

    Burlai turned and looked like he was about to yell at Conor but bit his tongue. While more emotional than he typically would be, Burlai was still himself. He could not lose control; that would only cause more problems.

    ¡°Yeah, we will,¡± Burlai sighed, picking back up his rifle. ¡°Come on.¡±

    Without even waiting for Conor, Burlai slipped back out into the hall. His midnight mission was more important than his own feelings.

    To tame his struggling mind, Burlai had done something he had trained to the point of it being an instinct. He had shoved all his emotions into a subconscious box to stay on task. It was a coping mechanism he had built over the years. He was so efficient at doing so that it would take a therapist decades of work to pull everything out if they even dared to unravel the mess of facades, fake identities, and lies upon lies in his mind.

    Some might call him mad for suppressing himself, but he was better like this. If he was not able to do this, his demons would have torn him apart years ago.

    The shades in his soul were spawned from the thousands of bodies, faces of horror, bleeding kids, begging women, and countless deaths he had created.

    In a way, he envied Conor. The Human truly was a warrior, not just a spy who could just so happen to be able to brawl for a while. Conor would use the most efficient ways to kill his enemies and not blink twice.

    Burlai had pondered what made Conor tick for months. After witnessing tonight''s events, his conclusion was still the same one he devised when he met Conor at the gala nearly half a year ago: The Human was genuinely built to fight.

    In Conor''s mind, his enemies were truly less than him. He treated each person who threatened him as little more than an insect that would be crushed. Burlai was not like that. He was not born for this; no, he learned to scrape by in this life.

    That difference was only emphasized when they reached the stairwell down and spotted the city crowned in the devastation of Armageddon.

    Burlais''s heart twisted when he saw the city of his birth in flames. The skyline flickered brightly, and each section of the massive metropolis was filled with tracer fire and explosions. Jets streaked across the horizon, barely avoiding anti-aircraft fire, missiles, and flack alike.

    His home, no, all he had ever known, was burning down and crumbling. Every faction of the city saw the attack on the palace as an opportunity to fight for the princess they backed, and they were taking it.

    Sisters were killing one another in droves, neighbors were slaughtering one another, and thousands of bright upstarts were attempting to overthrow their betters.

    Burlai knew what he witnessed was only the start; if this was not quelled by dawn, the entire empire would begin to smolder as the flames of change engulfed the world.

    For the first time in Burlais''s life, a feeling overwhelmed him and cracked the facade he had built. In an instant, all the bravado, mystique, and reverence he had festooned himself in fell away, leaving behind only the scared lesser noble who nearly pissed himself when a drill instructor screamed at him.

    He was not Conor, not the Vuraley, and he certainly was not Nikitals. He was nothing when compared to them.

    A frigid feeling crawled across his body and made him freeze in place. Genuine sorrow overwhelmed the man. He squeezed the railing like an anchor to reality and watched as the world he knew was crashing down.

    Did all of the souls he had been the reaper of mean nothing? Were the years of his life he gave to the empire meaningless? Was all he had lived for for naught?

    From where he was standing, it certainly seemed that way. His belief was only emphasized when one of the jets streaked across the sky, dropped a bomb that leveled a city block, and then was shot down by a MANPAD.

    The fighter burst into flames and slammed into the ground. The pilot and the building that became his tomb were both vaporized on impact.

    This was bedlam on a scale that Burlai could never fathom. A challenge that Burlai was not built for nor could face. But the man who could take this war head-on and win watched as Burlai froze up.

    ¡°Burlai, let''s go. We can''t do anything for them,¡± Conor said, jostling the spook.

    ¡°But¡ª¡± Burlai said, wanting to express his feelings, but was stopped by Conor spotting another group of soldiers down the stairs and engaging them.

    ¡°Listen, man, we have to move,¡± Conor yelled as he effortlessly cut down two enemies with rifle fire before dropping a grenade launcher round down there and forcing Burlai to cover.

    Burlai, still frozen, could only watch as several rounds slammed into Conor''s armor. The Human did not react to the damage. Instead, he just aimed the rifle with one hand and shot two more soldiers, ending that engagement.

    Conor held his position for several seconds, ensuring no one else would appear. Once he was certain they were alone, he turned to Burlai with a look of pity¡ªthe same look he had once given Sheruai..

    For the first time since they had known each other, Conor knew he could not trust Burlai fully. When the metal met meat, Burlai was found wanting, at least in Conor''s eyes.

    Conor wanted to pick Burlai up by the vest like he was lifting a child and scream at him that the fight was still not over and that he should not give up. But that was not what his friend needed right now. Vuraley''s lessons had truly rubbed off on the Human and dampened his anger.

    Six months ago, he would have left Burlai there and let him fall into despair, uncaring of his state of mind. Conor would have continued and finished the mission without him, but Conor was more wise than that now. Sure, he still was bloodthirsty, but he needed backup, and one of his only friends needed him.

    ¡°Take a breath and focus,¡± Conor growled, kneeling beside Burlai. "I know this is a lot. There are enemies everywhere, and this situation looks bleak, but I need you. For fucks sake, think about Mulaney. She needs you right now. If you don¡¯t fight, who will protect her?"

    Conor paused for a moment and scanned the area for enemies again. The middle of a stairwell was not the place for a pep talk, but it was what they had at the moment, so he needed to stay vigilant.

    "Brother, there is so much going on right now, even I am having trouble with it. But all we can do is roll with the punches and keep fighting," Conor continued, still watching for threats. He did not know if Burlai was even listening, but he had to get through to the man. "I really do want to keep going on with you, but if you cannot suck it the fuck up and fight like you are brawling for the last drops of water in the desert, I will leave you here. But if you can get your shit together, think of Mulaney and keep it together, then pick back up your rifle and follow me."

    Was it the best speech? Urla, no, but it was all Conor could manage. He was in no way eloquent. That was Eivaley''s and Vuraley''s shtick. He was meant to be the big stick they swung around to solve problems, not debate the theology of battle.

    He was not meant to be some leader, some grand warrior. He was just Conor, and he would do what he could, even if it was alone. At least in his eyes, that was what he was, but in that bullet-riddled stairwell, he was alone in those thoughts.

    Ever since he arrived, Conor had been a nonstop barrage of surprises, and this instance was no different. Burlai basked in the Human''s dedication, assurance, and confidence. The Human had a presence about him that people focused on and could cling to.

    The only other man Burlai knew who came close was the High Champion. This was just the first time Burlai had seen Conor in a similar light. Similar, but not the same.

    Conor, unlike the High Champion, seemed divine. Vuraley might be a fantastic leader, a man everyone should aspire to be, but Conor was truly above the chaff. The Human might as well have had a halo around himself, declaring that he would save them all¡ªBurlai included.

    For that brief moment, Burlai finally understood what Evialey had seen that night in the nightclub. Conor was a knight in shining armor. He would stand stalwart against the dark and cast it away with his destined divinity.

    ¡°I can do this,¡± Burlai said, reaching out and taking Conor''s hand, something the Human had never retracted since taking a defensive position.

    Burlai had fallen in line without even having consciously thought about it. He had submitted to the Human, become subservient, and was willing to follow him into the deepest hell just because he knew Conor would go first.

    The Human smiled, seeing that Burlai would at least try. "Glad you can. We have a long night ahead of us."

    Once again, Conor failed to notice how his very existence mirrored Nikitals. The Human was forging a similar path, and after tonight, he would assume his rightful place¡ªnot as the same kind of ruler as the First Champion, but as something altogether different.

 Section Thirty-Three: No Damsels In Distress

    When Conor slipped out earlier, he thought Eivaley was asleep. At the time, his movement out of the bed caused the chilly air to rouse her from her slumber. She wondered where he was going but assumed it likely had to do with the recent assassination.

    Conor was certainly not taking that event lying down. No, he had been slighted by someone in the palace and seemed fully prepared to raise hell to uncover the puppeteer behind the scenes.

    He had even stepped up his desire to shield Eivaley by adding additional security locks to their door and replacing the windows with bulletproof shielding.The thick-layered shielding, while less beautiful than the intricate latticework of the original stained glass, made him feel more secure. Eivaley didn¡¯t argue with the change¡ªfor now. Once this issue assassination had blown over, she would have the window returned to its artistic glory.

    Ever since Conor had departed, Eivaley shimmied into a comfortable position and waited for her dear Champion to return to hopefully renew the loving statements of his claim to her again.

    The anticipation of the surprised look in his eyes when she pounced on him was titillating. She could already imagine his firm yet loving grip making her feel pleasures she had never known. That had been how each romp in the hay had been for them.

    Somehow, her Champion kept bringing in new ideas, positions, and even a few toys he had sourced from god knows nowhere. Considering she was left jelly-legged and tired each time, she would not question the tools'' origin.

    It was a shame they did not go on a vacation after getting their life coils, but with the business of the assassination still fresh on their minds, it was inadvisable. Even the Empress and High Champion recommended they put that idea on the back burner for now. That upset Eivaley, but as recompense, she got to see the looks of jealousy and fear in the eyes of the other women in the palace.

    She knew they could hear her and Conor¡¯s nightly marathons; even the priestesses who had given them their life coils had heard from kilometers away.

    If she can''t have her vacation, they can suffer through listening to their love be declared.

    After nearly an hour of waiting, the door opened nearly silently. Eivaley rolled over and tossed off the blankets, revealing her lissom curves. ¡°I have been waiting for you¡ª Mulaney?¡±

    Eivaley scrambled to cover herself as her sister snickered and closed the door behind her. ¡°I¡¯m afraid so. Though I can certainly see why you and Conor have been so busy.¡± She gestured widely at her sister and the room.

    She took in the claw marks gouged into the stone near their bedding and the overflowing piles of stims and energy drinks in the trashcan. The young couple had indeed been busy over the last few days.

    If Mulaney did not know Humans and Kurlatra could not naturally breed, she would swear her sister was trying to get knocked up. That only made her chuckle more; the image of what a Human and Kurlatra hybrid would be was just too surreal to not find amusing.

    ¡°What are you doing here?¡± Eivaley asked, pulling her clothes under the covers.

    Mulaney settled her giggling and then explained why she was there while Eivaley got dressed.

    At that moment, she felt like she was sinking into a tar pit; something about the night seemed off. The air had been almost electric all day, as if a lightning charge had been building all day and was at long last going to be released.

    She had seen fires in the distance and heard soldiers moving frantically around the palace.

    Mulaney came here because she could not find Burlai. He had left for a meeting with the High Champion and Conor almost an hour ago. Because of the plans their men had decided on for months, this was the best course of action Mulaney could devise. The plan was to get the girls and rally here as it was, so her moving here before anything was a smart call.

    Only now that she was here and explaining her idea did Mulaney realize she had forgotten an essential step in changing the plan of her waiting in her and Burlai''s room. She never told Burlai where she was going. If she had left a note in their room explaining where she was going, finding her would have been easier for him.

    ¡°Do you think there was another assassination attempt?¡± Eivaley asked, now fully clothed.

    ¡°I do not know,¡± Mulaney sighed, sitting on the chair looking at the door.

    Mulaney paused and sighed. She tapped a long claw atop her thigh, pondering all she had seen and heard while sneaking through the palace. It was all so horribly familiar to her. ¡°But¡ªI hope not.¡±

    Eivaley stood and approached her sister, noticing the haunted glint in Mulaney¡¯s eyes. While Eivaley had seen her fair share of her sisters die, Mulaney was on an entirely different level.

    The dozen clutches separating their births made Mulaney nearly twenty years Eivaleys senior. With that seniority came the brutal reality that Mulaney had seen ten times the amount of death Eivaley had.

    Mulaney was condemned from birth to trudge through an existence of being the last of your immediate siblings left and having witnessed hundreds of your younger siblings die in assassinations and war.

    The cruelest part about her damned existence was that all the while, the world you lived in supported their deaths and praised you for having the tenacity to survive and lead on.

    ¡°It¡¯s alright,¡± Eivaley assured, hugging her older sister.

    There was nothing else Eivaley could think of to do for Mulaney. She could not understand what Mulaney had been through, but, like the rest of her life, she could only give others the support they needed in the limited manner she knew how.

    Mulaney twisted slightly in the chair and returned the hug, holding tightly to her little sister. They stayed like that for a few minutes; neither needed to comment on their feelings or what was going through their minds.

    There was nothing they really could say. Eivaley had no way of expressing her support, and Mulaney had never allowed herself to ponder how to paint others a picture of her feelings.

    If they had unlimited time, it was inevitable that Mulaney would try to talk with Eivaley, but life had other plans.

    The two shot out of their seats as banging erupted from the door. The heavy hits reverberated through the door, sending shivers up their spines. The menace pouring out of each hit was a good enough hint that whoever was on the other side had no good intentions for them.

    ¡°Oi, you two little princesses should come on out,¡± a deep, bellowing voice crawled under the doorframe. ¡°I know you are in there. We saw that old hag go inside.¡±

    It took Eivaley a moment, but she recognized that voice. It only took listening to the man speak a few more times. She had not heard it many times, but from the many hours she lingered around the training grounds with Conor, she knew who that was. She could never forget a man whose voice instantly caused her blood to run cold.

    ¡°Sergeant Kilashar?¡± Eivaley questioned, not directing the words toward whoever was on the other side of the door.

    The moment she spoke, the hammering on the door stopped. The air became heavy, and only the two princesses'' pounding hearts could be heard in the pregnant pause.

    ¡°Wow, I never thought the high and mighty Lady of The People would remember lowly old me,¡± the man chuckled cruelly, laughing for an unnerving amount of time. ¡°I will tell you what, I will make sure you die quickly; my boys can just have fun with your bitch of a sister."

    ¡°Are you mad? Our mother would never allow you to get away with this,¡± Mulaney hissed, instinctively stepping between the door and her younger sister.

    ¡°Oh, sweetie, I am well aware,¡± the man full belly laughed before addressing a group of soldiers outside with him. ¡°Hear that, lads? The Empress will not let us get away with this.¡±

    A Chorus of venomous laughs erupted. Pattered amidst the barbed sniggers was a cavalcade of insults and devilish exclamations of what they would do to the princesses.

    They referred to Mulaney as an uppity bitch who always looked down on the people. Someone that was so above reproach she would sooner spit on a servant than thank them. One comment that stood out was one soldier called Mulaney, the eldest bitch of a dead bloodline.

    Eivaley was also called a myriad of insults, mostly centering around her relationship with Conor and how she was a traitor. She had abandoned her people, slept with a monster, and was overall a hypocrite. Many of the soldiers were of the mind that if Eivaley indeed was ¡°The Princess of the People,¡± why did she not wish to take the throne and make a genuine difference? As they saw it, she was little more than a little girl, ignorant of the world, playing pretend with her abomination of a guard.

    ¡°Well, none of that really matters,¡± Kilashar mocked. ¡°It¡¯s not like you two will be around to make a fuss. Your precious Champions are dead, and you will be soon. Grab the ram!¡±

    The slamming on the door resumed before Mulaney or Vuraley could comment or even fully process the implications of that comment. Unlike last time, when it was heavy, it was apocalyptically loud this time.

    The doors shuddered under the force. Each strike cracked the wall and doorframe alike. The girls initially hoped to wait inside the room for Conor and Burlai to arrive, but now, they were on their own if what Kilashar said was true.

    If they had no help coming, they had to prepare to fight. If the soldiers thought rushing into Conor''s fortified room would be a simple task, they were mistaken. Not only would it wake them several minutes to break through a door reinforced more heartily than most bank vaults, but what would be waiting for them were not two damsels in distress.

    Sure, Eivaley and Mulaney were not warriors by any means, but they were armed and knew how to use the weapons Conor had left in the room. Both Burlai and Conor emphasized that weapons are tools to level the fight in their favor. Sure, it was not an assured win, but so long as you use your tools to their best ability, they would stack your deck. Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!

    ¡°Get to cover,¡± Mulaney told Eivaley, grabbing a gun and moving behind some cover herself. She trained the automatic rifle straight at the door.

    The M45 she had fished off Conor''s weapon rack was the weapon she had the most experience with. She understood that it was fully automatic and could lay waste to anyone who entered the door. All she would have to do was pull the trigger, ride the lightning, and pray that it functioned correctly. She would fumble if she had a misfire in the middle of this situation; fixing that under pressure was something beyond her training.

    Conor had told both Eivaley and her that learning weapons was just a last resort for their safety. He said this for two reasons. First, when under pressure, an amateur could be just as dangerous to themselves as others; additionally, he hammered into their minds the mantra he had lived by: you will not rise to the occasion; you will fall to the highest amount of training you have mastered.

    When the brutish Human told Mulaney that she tried to argue, she was shut down by Burlai, who agreed that the nugget of wisdom was insightful to how war and battles often were decided.

    Eivaley fished out the JKL pistol Conor had taught her to use and moved over to the wall, using it to conceal herself slightly. Like Mulaney, she used the weapon''s innate traits to her advantage. The JKL was suppressed, so taking a position in this darkened corner would benefit her. Now, if only her hands would stop trembling, she could shoot straight.

    The door slintered fully, its heavy frame slamming against the wall. The wall crumbled and scattered debris before the soldiers as they flowed into the room. They did not even spot Mulaney lying prone before she opened up on them.

    The M45 barked like a viscous animal. Each snarl of defiance sent hot lead ripping through the soldiers. The first took one through the chest while the other three, surprised by the sudden counterattack, tried to raise their rifles but were stitched through the heads as Mulaney struggled to control the automatic fire.

    To call what she was doing difficult was an understatement. Taming the M45 felt like she was trying to wrestle with a slick eel. Thankfully, she knew how to control the fire but forgot to while under pressure. She leaned into the weapon and saw as her impact trailed down into another trooper''s chest.

    At the same time, Eivaley methodically squeezed off a magazine just like Conor had taught her to do. Slow was smooth, and smooth was fast; she took her time, knowing rushing would only ruin her aim.

    Most of her accuracy was lost in the frantic hell of a genuine fight.  Conor had told her this would happen, but she did not understand the gravity of the effect until now.

    In training, she could reliably hit a center-mass shot at nearly twenty meters with the JKL; now, not so much. Her rounds went wide and eviscerated the soldiers evenly like she was flipping a coin with each trigger pull.

    Still, there were moments when everything fell into place. Her red dot landed on the head of one of the trailing troopers; she breathed out and squeezed the trigger with impeccable control.

    Thump, the pistol would jump back slightly, and milliseconds later, the soldier had fallen limp into the growing pile of corpses.

    Both princesses leaned on one of the ways that Conor had told them to fight. Keep it simple, stupid. The basics will win fights more often than any holo flick fast-shooting bullshit.  Because these basic actions were all they had, they would keep it simple.

    An odd vein of thought infected their minds now that they were neck-deep in a battle for their lives. Why did shooting these men not make them feel much of anything? Sure, they consciously understood that they were killing people, but at least for the time being, they did not feel guilt, shame, pride, or amazement. No, it was just an act that they were told, trained, and instructed to do; it affected them as much as changing their clothes.

    While they did not feel guilty at the moment, that would not last forever. What came next would be a sound they could never forget, no matter how much they wanted to.

    The devil always demanded his due, and killing others was a price few could pay without giving up a piece of their souls. They had already made a debt and were adding to it with each trigger pull. For the rest of the days, the demons of war would take from them every time they closed their eyes for sleep or ended up in a location that was a bit too quiet.

    The moment Mulaney''s M45 had run dry and the bolt locked back with a dull thud, the haunting sounds of the dying soldiers stabbed through their ringing ears.

    The pile of bleeding men screamed for their mothers, exclaimed about their wounds, and begged for the gods to forgive their transgressions. They clawed at their wounds, desperate to close them and save their lives. Blood pooled around the soldiers, staining the carpet red.

    For the first time in their lives, the princesses could truly hear the call of war in all of its visceral damnd. It was a call that was chaotic and the embodiment of evil itself. The very existence of such a damnable sound was a testament to the princesses that they never knew the depth of wickedness within the souls of mortals.

    They now understood why Conor had been so insistent that they did all they could to never kill. This was unholy, something that all sapients should avoid.

    The shrill and desperate cries clawed at their souls, laying the seeds of the repugnant garden demons would tend and harvest with glee.

    That the soldier''s nightmare was close to being over gave them no solace. The only thing about this malignant experience was what the malefic Sergeant decided to do next.

    ¡°Well, aren''t you lot useless,¡± he growled at the dying men as he and the remaining soldiers outside tossed in half a dozen fragmentation grenades.

    The grenades arched through the air, bounced off the walls, and settled throughout the room. Several were in the pile of bleeding-out men; one rested behind Eivaley, and one smacked Mulaney in the face.

    The next three seconds were an absolute mad scramble for the sake of their lives; they could see their deaths rolling on the ground and had to move with more haste than they had ever known.

    After kicking the grenade toward the hall corner, Eivaley tossed herself into the far corner and did all she could to shrink.

    Mulaney, on the other hand, fumbled the grenade hard. She groped for the cold metal object and tried to toss it away, but she fumbled several times, each attempt only increasing her fervor and desperation.

    Once she triumphantly held the ball of uncaring death, She threw it toward the door with all the strength she could muster, but even that was not enough to keep her safe. After having failed to clasp the bouncing ball of death several times, she did not have enough time for the grenade to reach a safe distance. When the frag was about a meter away, it exploded, along with all the others the squad had liberally used.

    The world was engulfed in black as Mulaney was blown away and thrown into the wall. Burning fragmentation seared muscle and bone as she was torn apart by the blast.

    Eivaley choked on her own blood as the overwhelming pressure caused her nose to bleed and her eardrums to halfway rupture. She was pressed hard into the wall, her head slamming into the cold duracrete, rattling her bell.

    Through fading vision, Eivaley looked through the mists of blood and dust. The room was utterly destroyed by the grenades. The chandelier fell to the ground and shattered into a million glinting crystal flecks. They spread amidst the debris like an ocean of stars.

    Conor''s menagerie of weapons from throughout time was scattered on the ground. Many of the once pristinely cared-for tools were in pieces, the scalding hot frag having ripped them apart.

    Eivaley coughed and felt all of her body pang in agony. It felt like every fiber of her being had been hit by a truck. Each twitch felt like she was being stabbed, whereas that cough set her existence on fire.

    As her battered mind gradually managed to focus, the actual state of her sister came into view. Mulaney lay in the corner. Her body was torn to shreds. A massive gash over her missing eye poured blood across her body. Where the eye was once, only a gaping hole remained. Bits of nerve and pinkish fluid dribbled out of the vanta black void in Mulaneys skull.

    A dozen holes pattered across her torso. Eivaley could tell Mulaney was still alive because half of those holes bubbled and wheezed as her eldest sister struggled to breathe.

    The worst part of what Eivaley witnessed was the results of the grenade that Mulaney had tried to throw away. Her right arm from the elbow down was just gone. The blast had turned her limb to vapor in an instant. The grotesque sight of her bone sticking out from a stump of ground meat would usually make Eivaley gag violently, but another sight drew her attention.

    The soldiers flowed in, stomping through the corpses of their comrades, uncaring of their deaths; the soldiers had other problems on their minds. Bothering with honoring a warrior''s death meant nothing to these repugnant monsters in Kurlatra''s skin.

    The two soldiers had their weapons raised and were already turning their attention to Mulaney, readying to put anchor shots into her to ensure she died.

    Eivaley gripped the JKL and began to raise the weapon. It was as if time had slowed to a crawl, yet she was unaffected by it. Before the soldiers had even taken a single step from when she had spotted them, her weapon was trained on the front man.

    The red dot eclipsed the man''s eyes; she held the weapon as steady as any soldier raised to fight their entire life.

    Crack

    The bullet canyoned the man''s head, sending him to the floor in a violent death spasm. She tried to shift her aim to Sergeant Kilashar, but whatever blessing the gods had given her to shoot was no longer there.

    The malefic man moved just as quickly as she did. He pivoted in place and trained his M45 on Eivaley while her aim was still far from being on him.

    It was over. There was no way she could win this. The odds just were not in her favor. Sure, she and Mulaney applied everything Conor¡¯s odd combat calculus had taught them so they could win, but they still came up short.

    But Eivaley did not give up; she would live and die as the strong, stubborn woman that Conor had grown to love. She just hoped that her man had survived and that Kilashar was just talking out of his ass when he said that her Champion was dead.

    If he did, Conor would find her here, long dead and becoming cold. She could imagine the hulking man crying over her corpse. The thought was not pleasant, but the idea of, at long last, seeing her man vulnerable like that for her was something she wished could have come to fruition in life.

    The only solace she had was that they would reunite when she was done with her walk on the lonesome Jordan Road. Would she likely have to walk that road alone for many decades? Yes, but that was just because Conor was Conor and had to still be alive. She could not enter the oasis in the endless deserts of the gods until he was by her side again.

    Snap! Snap! Snap!

    Three quick shots rang out, reigniting the chaos of the battle and sending Sergeant Kilashar to his knees as blood poured from the three fresh holes in his chest. Before Kilashar even had a chance to look back at who had killed him, his eyes rolled back, and he collapsed.

    Through the door stepped the one man Eivaley knew would always come for her, arriving not a moment too late. Like all those months ago when he saved her from the Voodal, he was again her knight in shining armor.

    However, unlike back then, Eivaley no longer saw him as just the idea of a knight in armor. Back then, Conor had embodied strength, honor, and care in the abstract, but now he was so much more¡ªa genuine man.

    Eivaley had glimpsed the life that, at that time, she would have demanded of Conor and hated the idea she ever idolized what being a traditional Champion was.

    She had smelled the gunsmoke, felt the blood splatter, and listened intently to the ravenous demons of war baying for blood. If she could, Eivaley would do all she could to remove Conor from this life¡ªeven if it meant ripping down the empire she had known. But that was, at this point, not a conscious idea; all that this night so far had done was water the seeds that had been planted over her life of violence. Those seeds would one day blossom into a mighty tree that would cast shade for the Kurlatra species to thrive beneath. Whether or not she got to bask in that shade did not matter. She would change the world only once she accepted her role in the dance of death her little sister had set into motion.

    Just like how Conor was walking a path that was a curious mimicry of Nikitals, Eivaley was walking her own. But hers was one that rhymed with the first empress. The effects of tonight would change her path forever. Now, at long last, she shed her idealism and would strive to change everything for the betterment of the empire and its people¡ªjust like Eyalta a thousand years ago.

    Conor cleared the room with Burlai as if they would have any other time. Conor did spare both Eivaley and Mulaney a glance, but he was on a mission and would not get sloppy now.

    Once the room was cleared, Conor immediately turned his attention to Eivaley. He walked slowly toward her his eyes filled with the love and protective care he had shown her over the last few months.

    ¡°Are you alright?¡± Conor nearly yelled, his hearing almost blown out, just like Eivaley¡¯s.

    She did not even think about it, but tears rolled down her cheeks as she burst forward and hugged Conor tight. ¡°I am now, thanks to you.¡±

 Section Thirty-Four: For The Common Man

    Conor stood watch at the door while Burlai frantically treated Mulaney''s wounds. He hurriedly applied bandages, hemostatic gel, and light combat stims to stabilize her. Although he wasn¡¯t a combat medic or a doctor, he could provide basic life-saving first aid, which Mulaney desperately needed.

    At the same time, Eivaley took on an essential role in emergency medical treatment, keeping her sister talking and focused on anything other than the fact she was bleeding to death.

    ¡°Once we are done with this, we will go on vacation to that beach you like,¡± Eivaley assured her sister, holding tightly onto her remaining hand.

    "It was Youglin Beach," Mulaney muttered. Even in her nearly destroyed state, she could never forget that beach. Its pristine azure waters and white shores were where she and Burlai had their vacation after getting their life coils.

    ¡°Alright, this is going to hurt,¡± Burlia said while moving Mulaney''s head so she could look toward him.

    Mulaney erupted with a string of curses so creative that even Eivaley chuckled despite the tension as Burlai syringed hemostatic gell into the hole where her glistening eye used to be.

    Whatever she said in old Kurlatra must have been out of character because Eivaley raspily commented that she did not know Mulaney knew what that was. Even Burlai was taken aback by his wife and stopped injecting the gel.

    That pause only lasted for a moment; when the princess screamed an insult at Burlai and reminded him what he was doing, he got back to work.

    Having half of your orbit in the open dusty air was rather painful for Mulaney; the burning feeling of the gel did not help at all. By the gods, it felt as if the life-saving medical tool had been designed to torture the patient.

    Burlai returned to applying the gel while Eivaley simply chuckled at the comment.

    When they arrived, she was out cold, but after a quick adrenaline stim, she was awake and screaming her lungs out¡ªa trend that continued nearly ten minutes later.

    For several reasons, Conor could not judge her for screaming, as if it was the end of days. One, it was from the view of most of the empire and its citizenry. Additionally, very few people could bite their tongue and suck it the fuck up after being wounded to the degree she had.

    That she was still conscious was a testament to how hardy the eldest princess was. Until Conor watched her nearly claw Burlais eyes out with her one remaining arm while screaming that he wouldn''t touch her sister, Conor had just chalked her up to be a typical noble.

    With that much fight in her, those wounds alone weren¡¯t going to take her down. Conor was not worried about her. By Urla, Conor would not put it past the newly christened warrioress to kill someone on their way to the bunker.

    It certainly would be a sight to behold to watch Mulaney blow the head off an enemy soldier while Burlai princess carried her through the halls. Sadly, that would not come to fruition. It was a cruel twist of fate for Conor¡¯s entertainment that as soon as she had been stabilized enough to move, and Burlai told her so, she nearly passed out again; she had fallen into a state Conor had seen plenty of times while in combat.

    Mulaney was essentially in a state of waking sleep. Most of her body had simply shut down, so whatever amount of her body and mind was still alive could focus on assuring she did not die. He did not know exactly what being in a state like that was called, but he knew it was better than her falling into shock. If she had, she would be dead long before they reached the bunker.

    ¡°You two ready?¡± Conor asked, glancing back.

    Burlai nodded and turned around, holding Mulaney in his arms. His rifle slung over his back. She looked pitiful. The once proud princess, now muttered incoherently, covered in bloody bandages. She seemed so fragile in Burlai''s arms as if one wrong move would shatter her.

    ¡°We are,¡± Eivaley said, picking up her pistol and walking to Conor.

    Now that they were not stabilizing her older sister, Conor finally got a good look at his paramour. She looked like she had been run ragged for the last three days and then forced to drag herself face-first through pools of blood.

    Her eyes were tired, filled with the same horrific apathy anyone who had to kill did. The typical spring in her step had been replaced by a pained limp. Along with that, her ruby scales and golden robes were stained nearly black with blood.

    Seeing her like that stabbed Conor in the heart. This was precisely what he hoped to have prevented, but the moment he was away from Eivaley, she was attacked. He was not there despite having promised her he would never let anything happen.

    He had failed his little ruby so shortly after swearing his soul to her. It was a mark on his soul he would wear forever, just as she would wear the wounds of having crossed the line no sapient, much less her, should ever be forced to.

    Conor understood that Therulay likely had someone watching the cameras around the palace or just keeping tabs on him the old-fashioned way. This meant that the attack in his absence was the plan, but that still did not help soothe his battered pride.

    ¡°Good,¡± Conor said, picking up Eivaley.

    What are you doing?¡± Eivaley yelped, startled as Conor hoisted her over his shoulder like a sack of grain.

    ¡°Carrying you. It will be faster that way,¡± Conor said, moving his assault rifle to the other hand to support her with his organic half.

    Carrying her like this gave him better control of the M45 while shooting one-handed. Sure, his organic arm still had augments in it, but that was nothing compared to his artificial arm. That side had a mainline connection straight to the targeting computer in his eyes and brain; shooting straight was not even a thought when he used just that side; it was a pure, deadly reflex.

    Eivaley huffed for a moment, finding the idea of her being carried like this ridiculous. But Conor was right; even weighed down by her, he was faster than she could ever dream of being. Because Burlai could not fight while carrying her sister, this would be a dead sprint, with no time to get stuck in; Mulaney would die shortly if they were not swift-footed.

    Conor peered out in the hallway, carefully surveying the area with every visual spectrum he had. Once he was certain no one was out there, they burst out and rushed down the body-filled halls.

    ¡ª-

    Their trip was as uneventful as they could have hoped for when taking a jaunt through a warzone. Conor shot a few soldiers while mid-run, with nothing else interrupting them. The poor sods never even had a chance to see what was happening. Conor aimed the rifle as naturally as breathing, using his target tracker and ballistic calculator. He fired ten quick shots, working his way from near to far. Each round blasted through skulls and splattered brain matter across the one about to be shot.

    Blood splattered across them as they sprinted through the carnage, shadows weaving through the chaos. The five soldiers died long before they collapsed into spreading pools of blood.

    Eivaley wanted to argue with Conor about not even knowing if those soldiers were their enemies, but she held her tongue. Whether they were enemies or not did not matter at the moment; Conor simply had to treat everyone like a threat. Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

    He had to be the beast she had kept him from being back on Heavalun; without him genuinely going all out, the empire would fall.

    That unrelenting violence first, questions later attituded even extended to the soldier who opened the bunker. As soon as the door split, Conor shoved his M45''s muzzle into his mouth, slammed him into the wall, and ripped away the man''s weapon.

    If Vitul and Cur¡¯sh hadn¡¯t intervened at the bunker entrance by assuring Conor that Frakunal was not an enemy, that random soldier would have met his end then and there.

    Once Conor had let the man go, he returned his weapon and, to everyone''s shock, apologized for the treatment.

    Conor took his time explaining why he had done what he did; the man understood the reasoning, even joking with Conor that if he had to protect his wife like Conor was, he would have treated people the same way. That did not mean that Frakunal enjoyed being manhandled by the Human, but saw why it had happened as justifiable, especially once the guard saw the state Eivaley and Mulaney were in.

    With the doors closed and sealed, Mulaney and Burlai were hurried deeper into the bunker system, heading for the medical facilities within. They had completed their part in that horrible night. Sure, Conor could order Burlai to stay and keep fighting, but he would not. Burlai had done enough for the time being. His aiding Conor throughout the rest of the night would have been helpful, but it was not needed, especially now that Conor had his two favorite bodyguards to work alongside.

    Burlai staying by his woman''s side in what might be her last moments was better for him in the long run. If she did die and Conor made him come with neither Burlai nor Conor would forgive the act.

    At the same time, Conor and Eivaley, the highest-ranking nobles present, were briefed as they worked through the winding halls toward the nexus of royal command.

    The number of civilians scattered throughout the rooms they passed reassured Eivaley that not all was lost. She thought nearly everyone in the palace was still stuck in the battle, but the true number seemed far less than she had assumed.

    Hundreds of palace workers, maids, and guards were in various states of intactness. Some were wounded and were being seen by soldiers or those who were uninjured. Others were far luckier and only had to battle with the crushing reality of all they had ever known falling to pieces.

    Eivaley even spotted the maid who was assigned to her after returning from Heavalun. Alanii was sitting with several other maids. They stopped chatting and watched as Eivaley and her entourage flowed past them. They watched the procession as if they were watching ghosts. From the look in their eyes, Eivaley could tell they did not genuinely believe that Eivaley and Conor were there.

    Eivaley waved and smiled at her, glad the young lady was safe. She did not return the gesture. Eivaley did not know why and would never know. This was the last time she would see the young woman. After this battle, Alanii would leave the palace and most of her life behind.

    According to Vitul and Cur¡¯sh, they arrived at the bunker only a few minutes after the battle began. They had been doing their absolute best to organize the defenses but were having difficulty.

    Colonel Blakek died on his way here, having been caught by a group of Therulays soldiers. His second in command had also been cut down in that ambush, leaving them with no direct military command. Until Conor arrived, the highest-ranking warrior on site was Vitul, a lesser noble and sergeant in the guard.

    The empress and Vuraley were both still missing in action. The High Champion was seen on camera after he had left Conor and Burlai, but that was an hour ago. They tried to use the surveillance gear to locate them, but all cameras that were still serviceable could not find either of them.

    To top off this shit sandwich, the soldiers they did have eyes on were, hunkering down and defending themselves from Therulays forces but otherwise were stagnant.

    You did not have to be an expert strategist to see that it was a losing fight. The soldiers had allowed Therulays¡¯ forces to take control of the battle and dictate how each brawl unfolded. It would only be a matter of time before they were all overrun and killed.

    ¡°Well, this is just going fucking great,¡± Conor growled, scanning the digital map of the city and the dozens of screens showing the palace grounds. ¡°Do we still have the means to contact the loyalist army? Or is that shot as well?¡±

    ¡°We do¡ªbut,¡± Cur¡¯sh gestured at a radio several soldiers were calmly speaking into.

    ¡°But what?¡± Eivaley replied.

    As Cur¡¯sh was about to comment, the room shook violently, causing dust to fall from the ceiling. One of the many anti-aircraft batteries had shot down another jet, causing it to crash directly into the palace overhead.

    ¡°We don¡¯t have the challenge and response codes. We had managed to reach the army and air force commands, along with someone called Rokoyu. The two commands won''t follow our orders until a noble with high enough clearance contacts them. Rokoyu said he and his troopers were moving to assist Eivaley, but we don''t even know if we can trust some random guy who somehow is on our frequencies,¡± Cur¡¯sh explained after they recovered from the sudden jolt.

    ¡°Where is he going,¡± Conor asked.

    ¡°He is nearly at the main gate. Why?¡± Cur¡¯sh raised a brow.

    ¡°I know that guy; he was one of the veterans from the center Eivaley runs,¡± Conor assured. ¡°Keep coordinating with him and get the loyalist troopers moving to lay out the red carpet for him. He might be our only large force that is nearby.¡±

    Conor recalled Rokoyu¡¯s words from several months ago. At the time, the man had assured him they would side with Eivaley if anything ever happened. He had assumed that the man was just being poetic, not that the veterans and the Lost Ladies would quite literally come and fight for them.

    ¡°Now, let''s deal with high command,¡± Conor continued. Eivaley, you know the passcodes, right?¡±

    All eyes in the room instantly turned to Eivaley. Even the trooper communicating with Rokoyu stopped to see if what Conor had assumed to be true was true. For her part, Eivaley nearly shrunk under the pressure of all the men waiting for her answer.

    ¡°I do,¡± Eivaley admitted sheepishly. ¡°All of the princesses have their own emergency codes,¡±

    That did mean that Therulay also had a code to take control of the military, but because she likely lacked a secure net to contact them, countering them quickly was not on the table. She was more concerned with the symbology of control, so she would be hunkered down in the throne room while her lackeys cleared the board of enemies.

    ¡°Perfect. Then, while you get on the radio and start coordinating the army, the rest of us can keep pressing the fight with Rokoyu,¡± Conor instructed.

    ¡°But, I¡¯m not the empress,¡± Eivaley argued, attempting to not have to step up into the role she had been avoiding her entire life.

    She was willing to fight alongside Conor for survival, but assuming control felt like a betrayal of everything she had sworn to avoid. Eivaley would usurp her mother through and through and take the throne for this war. She would assume her place as the center of the seat of power for the Kurlatra empire.

    It did not matter that it was likely only a temporary means of ending this mindless slaughter. She had sworn never to take power. She did not want it; all she wanted was to live with Conor, be happy, and help people live better lives.

    Conor stepped over to Eivaley and hugged her. He knew what he was asking of her and how badly she never wanted to be in charge, but she was their only hope. As it stood now, they were in a mad scramble for power. Having her take charge would give their fight an air of legitimacy, making it so they were not just another group scooping up control.

    ¡°I can¡¯t. I just want to go away. We can still get out of here and never have to fight again,¡± Eivaley argued, clawing at Conor''s back while hugging him. ¡°You can get us out of the palace; we can just run.¡±

    For the next few moments, Conor took a page out of Vuraley''s book and keyed his response into exactly what she needed to hear. For those few moments, he legitimately acted like the Lord of War the Kurlatra believed him to be. Conor leaned back, looked, and gestured at all the men in the room.

    ¡°I know you don¡¯t want to, but you have to do this. All these men do not want to be here either, but out of loyalty to your mother, father, the empire, and you, they stayed,¡± Conor began.

    Eivaley looked at all the men, remembering their names by heart and remembering their families, whom she had made great efforts to meet. She had eaten with them all and played games with their kids.

    ¡°They all want to return home, see their wives, hold their kids. But they need you to give them the chance to do that,¡± Conor continued. ¡°Do you not want them to return to the peace they¡ªno you want?¡±

    What Conor was saying might have been considered underhanded and cruel by many, but he knew Eivaley. She was sweet and gentle and cared more about the common man than anyone else. He was using that against her and hated seeing the guilt growing in her eyes. But he was being truthful. He had to put the stakes in terms that meant a lot to her, even if it hurt her for now.

    Eivaley clutched her chest as guilt welled up inside her. This was not about her wants or needs. No, this was about these men, their families, their lives, and the fate of all Kurlatra. They needed her to be strong and become the woman who would guide them out of this hell and into a prosperous tomorrow.

    She knew that taking control of this would be her playing into the game of the Kurltatra, but she had to do this. If she did not take charge, trillions would die as the throne was left unoccupied. If she did, millions would still die, but overall, the toll would be far more acceptable. Even if accepting that fact made her feel like she was swallowing glass.

    ¡°I don¡¯t want them to suffer,¡± Eivaley sighed, giving into destiny and accepting the horrible reality she found herself in.

    Just as Conor had stepped up and filled the role, the empire needed a Champion. Eivaley had just taken her own steps to, at long last, be the ruler her people needed. Her voice over the radio would herald a turning point for the empire, or at least what would be left of it once the dust had settled.

    ¡°That¡¯s my little ruby,¡± Conor kissed her head before they began to organize defenses and shift the tides of battle.

 Section Thirty-Five: Promise?

    Through her years of practice as a diplomat and experience navigating the fickle politics of the Kurlatra empire, Eivaley did not just excel; no, she shined with the sun''s radiance.

    Like her mother, she exuded a radiant presence everyone in the room could feel. It was warm, violent, yet controlled. She might not have believed herself to be the empress, but everyone within the bunker did¡ªwell, save for one.

    From Conor''s point of view, he saw a woman of reverence. Eivaley was everything he saw in her and then some. She was flawless even after being covered in blood, tired, and beaten down by the witty battle of words with high command.

    Nothing in the universe could compare to her perfection. Conor could have all the credits in the universe, and he would give it all away just to hold her close once. He could not help but smile, knowing she was his and he was hers.

    It took Eivaley only a few minutes to have the Kurlatra army and airforce under her control. They followed her will to the letter.

    The army would quickly move to cordon off the capital and suppress uprisings across the planet. She did make it explicitly known they were to do their absolute best to attempt to have rioters and dissidents surrender. Eivelay still did not want to order endless slaughter and made it clear that anyone who did so would have Conor to answer to.

    While the army would deal with the battles on the ground, the airforce would ground every aircraft in the star system. Every stellar cruiser, jet airliner, fighter craft, and even the smallest drone would be forced to land within the hour. No one but those under Eivaleys order would be allowed to so much as jump until she gave the word.

    Controlling the sky was something Conor had not even considered as vital to their efforts. He understood that airpower was essential to turning the tides of battle. If one held control of the air, odds were you would come out victorious on the ground; all of history pointed to that being the case.

    Conor just did not comprehend how much dominating the air would affect the tides of battle. He thought in terms of ground warfare. Having him understand the complexities of air battles would be like trying to teach a brick chess.

    As his paramour shined like a quasar, Conor prepared for the near-endless night ahead of him. The first matter of business was more carnal than most would assume the Lord of War to take: water. Conor slammed back a bottle of ice-cold liquid ichor before even reloading his magazines.

    Until the glorious liquid caressed his pallet, Conor had not realized the extent of his dehydration. His mouth ran red with blood as innumerable cracks opened when the floods crossed them. To him, that feeling was nothing new. He had choked on his blood dozens of times, hell, even once while Eivaley lugged him from an APC. This was just another time he pushed his body to the absolute limit.

    Once he tossed the bottle in the trash, Conor turned his attention to two men he knew would fight side by side with him without question. They were loyal, trained by himself and Vuraley; other than himself, there were no other fighters on the planet who could handle any weapon, face any foe, and believed that they were truly better than anyone in the field of combat.

    Conor knew his two bodyguards better than anyone else in the universe¡ªother than Eivaley and Fae. He knew those two women in ways Vitul and Cur¡¯sh would never know. It did not matter how many nights they drank beer together or how many training days they clocked; that was one gap those two men would never bridge.

    Conor liked them; he might dare say he loved the two idiots as brothers. By Urla, he was glad he had these two brave men by his side. Sure, they tried to stay in the bunker and not go out and fight, but the reason was understandable; they both had families to return to and avoiding combat was only natural. But they relented after Conor reminded them that he had Eivaley and was still getting back in the fight.

    Did he also mention how he would be sure to inform their kids and wives that they cowered in the bunker while he valiantly fought? He might have. Conor made special efforts to prospect what their dozens of kids would think of them at the end of the day.

    Just as he had assumed, the idea of their kids calling Uncle Conor a hero and not them was just the kick in the ass they needed.

    ¡°Fine, fine, we will go with,¡± Vitul groaned, patting Conor¡¯s shoulder while heading to the armory to get the combat load Conor had asked them to.

    ¡°Besides, if we did not go with you, Eivaley would kill us,¡± Cur¡¯sh laughed, stepping beside Conor.

    Vitul laughed in the hallway, having heard the joke from a distance, but Cur¡¯sh lingered until their friend was out of earshot. Conor wondered momentarily why the man remained, but the stern look on his face informed him that it was not to take another jab at him.

    ¡°Alright, big guy, while we get our gear on, I have a mission for you,¡± Cur¡¯sh said flatly, not a hint of his typical jovial attitude in his voice.

    ¡°So what, I¡¯m taking orders from you now?¡± Conor replied, not with any malice but just genuine confusion.

    The sudden shift in Cur¡¯sh¡¯s demeanor was honestly shocking; Conor had never seen the man look like anything but a goof. That he was behaving like he was about to go tell Conor to run through a known minefield was borderline disturbing.

    ¡°Nah, man, nothing like that. I just have some advice for you,¡± Cur¡¯sh replied.

    Conor raised a brow but did not interrupt the man''s explanation. When he had first arrived, he would have told him to pound sand, but now, after Vuraley had injected wisdom into him and Eivaley had softened his approach to others, he heard the man out.

    ¡°While we are getting ready, go talk to Eivaley. She will need it,¡± Cur¡¯sh gestured down the hall.

    From the ajar door, Eivaley could be heard still commanding the Kurlatra military. She proudly ordered others and filled her role as the temporary empress to the letter.

    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Conor asked.

    From Conor''s point of view, Eivaley seemed to be doing fine. She had killed someone, and that would haunt her, but she was in no way breaking down as he had seen so many others do when faced with the reality of slaughtering their kin. The fact that she was still coherent and could keep calm while commanding thousands of soldiers was proof enough of that.

    What else would matter? She was safe, and he would go stack bodies. Both would fulfill their role in life to the best of their abilities. Does he need to talk to her before he goes?

    ¡°Dude. I get that you are dense, but she is your wife, your Lady. You are about to go to war and need to talk to her about it. I wish I had back then,¡± Cur¡¯sh said, trailing off toward the end, his shoulders seeming to slump.

    ¡°What do you mean you wish you had?¡± Conor asked, patting his friend''s shoulder, clearly able to see how much this topic upset him.

    Cur¡¯sh looked down at his feet and sighed, taking a moment to put together his thoughts.

    When Conor and Eivaley visited his family, he made it very clear they were not to talk about combat, war, or anything remotely similar. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    At the time, Conor wondered why because Cur¡¯sh was more than willing to talk about his deployments when he was away from his family. But at home, he refused to, for damn good reason. To say that his first deployment was a rough spot in his and Juyila, his wife and Lady¡¯s relationship, was putting it lightly.

    At the time, he thought nothing of going off to war. It was what was expected of men, so why would his leaving cause any problems? But after he left, had not contacted Juyila for nearly two months, and returned after taking a blaster bolt to the neck, he saw the full scope of how his absence and lack of communication affected her.

    For months¡ªno to this day Juyila was paranoid about him leaving for extended periods of time. Each time he was leaving for a deployment, she would get increasingly clingy, horrified that when he left, it would be the last time she saw the love of her life.

    No matter how much he attempted to assure her that that first deployment was a fluke, she did not care. She was still horrified about his untimely death being right around the corner.

    While Cur''sh did not consider himself a wise man, he had trodden the path Conor was about to walk. If he could in any way help his friend from making the mistakes he had, he would do so.

    ¡°Look, brother, I will tell you what this is about once we are through this. Just go and say goodbye to her¡ªfor her sake,¡± Cur¡¯sh sighed.

    He paused and looked down the hall to see if someone was listening as if he would be embarrassed by someone hearing what he was about to say. He continued once he was confident they were not being listened in on.

    ¡°You might not care about you dying, but she does. You get it?¡± Cru¡¯sh finished, tapping his head to emphasize the question.

    Before Conor could respond to the man, Cur¡¯sh had already walked off. He knew that Conor would understand. The Human might be dense and slow sometimes, but he would do what was needed for her sake. Even if he did not truly get what was being told, he would still go talk to Eivaley, and she would say what needed to be said, so he did. She wore her heart on her sleeve; there was no way she would not make it understandable for him.

    ¡ª

    Eivaley stood in front of Conor outside the command center. She had left several troopers there to continue monitoring the progress of the veteran units and whatever loyalists were in the area.

    He had pulled her out of there, saying he needed to talk to her. She was reluctant to follow; she already had a sinking feeling in her gut that it was about him leaving the bunker to go fight.

    She felt that if she did not talk to him, he would not leave. Conor would stay in the bunker, safe and sound, but she knew Conor too well; of course, he would go out there and stack more bodies.

    She might have taken the man from Heavalun, but Heavalun was in his blood. He had made significant steps to completely forget that place and firmly place it in his past, but that was a journey of a million light years, and he had only taken a single step. It would be many years before the palace was his home, but someday, through her efforts, Conor would find absolute comfort in her embrace.

    She was glad he felt a resonating connection with her deep enough to talk to her about what was on his mind, even if it weighed on him like an anchor. Her paramour looked awkwardly between her and the wall. Each time he did, his eyes would flicker between settings, their color changing between his typical verdant green, a glowing yellow, and the infernal red she occasionally saw.

    She had noticed that his eyes did that whenever he felt uncomfortable or threatened by anything. Conor had explained that it was due to many of his body''s functions having semi-automated activation. That meant that they would activate when AI worked those systems believed he was in danger.

    Eivaley did not entirely understand the feeling, but she had begun to think of it similarly to how she twiddles her tail while nervous. It was simply something she could not control unless she made a conscious effort not to.

    Conor even agreed that they would not if he was actively focusing on keeping those threat-alleviating functions deactivated. That he was not doing so was evidence to Eivaley that whatever was on his mind must be weighing heavily, demanding his wholehearted focus.

    Eivaley reached up and ran her hand along Conor''s jaw, her claws tinking against the cold metal. She smiled and guided his eyes to look right at her. ¡°What is it, my love?¡±

    Her little invitation was all it took; Conor leaned into her touch, clasping her hand with his. She watched as his nervousness melted away and his gentle appreciation replaced his unassuredness. He smiled as gently as a satin curtain fluttering in the breeze¡ªa smile that infected her as well.

    Many months ago, Conor only thought of her as a little brat of a princess, someone who was no better than the other assholes in charge of Heavalun. He had tried to use her, get his rocks off, and essentially blackmail his now mentor, Vuraley, into paying him a large sum for her return.

    Now, he could not picture his life without her. Her dreams were his, her will was his orders, and her heart was his.

    Back then, Eivaley thought of him as little more than a concept. He was nothing more than the idea of a strong man who would protect her valiantly; he was a gallant fantasy. Now, she saw him, genuinely him, not the monikers, titles, or rules that life had imposed upon his existence.

    Conor was a sensitive soul, anchored to reality by countless bodies, regrets, and an animalistic desire to prevent others from becoming him.

    Despite this, she saw the man who held her like she would be broken by a single wrong move. For her, he was not the Wolf of Heavalun, God Slayer, Lord of War, or the Dog of Eivaley; he was just Conor. A mere mortal man beaten down by life yet still able to smile, wipe away her tears, and assure her everything would be alright.

    He might value her over others, but his actions showed his care for all he met. He trained others despite constantly complaining about doing so. He mentored his guards to become truly great men. He had even given Eivaley and Mulaney the means to guard themselves from the dark and endless hatred of others.

    Without his vigilance, neither Eivaley nor Mulaney would still have beating hearts. His valiant desire to protect and guard others, yet his understanding of his limitations, gave them the chance they needed to survive this night.

    Conor and Eivaley had significantly grown since meeting; thank Urla. Their growth made the following conversation far less awkward than it had to be. Both, in simple terms, showed their hearts to the other. There was no need for flashy bravado or pomp of regality.

    ¡°I love you, Eivaley,¡± Conor whispered, pulling her closer and letting their breaths mingle.

    ¡®I love you no matter the distance between us, and even after we are both gone, my love will burn, waiting for us to be joined again in the endless deserts,¡± Eivaley whispered, wrapping her tail around Conor''s neck.

    Eivaley could not help but glow like a star. She snuggled against her man, savoring each bass-filled heartbeat. Her understanding that he could be gone come the morning did not matter. He was hers, and these moments should be cherished.

    Cherishing that moment, she indeed did, as did he.

    They stood there, uncaring of the soldiers flowing past them for several minutes. No trooper dared interrupt them. Most of the soldiers understood that Conor was trying to express to her his fear of returning on a riderless black, while the others simply ducked away from a pair of individuals they thought as divine.

    ¡°I will come back,¡± Conor said, not knowing how to broach a topic like this without being direct.

    ¡°You can¡¯t promise me that,¡± Eivaley sniveled, burying her head in his shoulder.

    Eivaley''s heart sank, and her body deflated from her fears coming true. They had made it; they were safe, so why would Conor ever want to leave? Sure, he was a notable fighter and well-known as a man dedicated to the craft of violence.

    The veterans had requested his help at the front gate, but she still did not want him to go. They could handle themselves; they did not need to take him away from her. She needed him, now and always.

    Conor sighed, knowing that Eivaley was right. He could not promise to return. War was violent, unpredictable, and chaotic. One millimeter of movement could spell the difference between life and death when bullets were flying.

    Despite his understanding of battle''s chaos, he wished to defy it for her sake. He was the Lord of War, the Dog of Eivaley. If anyone could rally the troops around the palace, find her parents, and skin her sister alive all in one night, it was him.

    ¡°You can''t promise me that it will all be alright. Please say something else,¡± Eivaley clutched his shoulders.

    Conor slumped his shoulders and held her tighter, not wanting the moment to fade. He understood why Cru¡¯sh told him he must talk to her before leaving. All of his life, he had next to no one he cared about, now feeling her trembling body and agony in her voice stabbed him in the heart.

    He did not wish to leave; he yearned to remain by her side until the end of the days. But he understood his role in this war. Remaining by her side would only lead to more deaths than was needed.

    ¡°I will finish this, and I need you to help me from here,¡± Conor whispered, wanting to show her how he needed her to do her best while he did his. ¡°Can you do that for me?¡±

    She sniffled and looked up at him while Conor wiped a tear from her eye. Her lips slightly tilted in not what looked like a forced smile, but it seemed like she was swallowing the reality of him diving headfirst into danger.

    ¡°I will,¡± Eivaley replied before licking Conor on the cheek.

    With that final word, Conor kissed Eivaley''s cheek, and they separated. Both went to their stations in the battle, Eivaley resuming command and Conor taking the fight to the enemy.

    They would do all they could to return to one another and show that they were there for their paramour; despite the fire burning in their chests and their willingness to do what must be done in their souls, taking those few steps away hurt. It left them feeling cold and alone, enough so that they both looked back and shared one last glance at their reason for fighting.

 Section Thirty-Six: Supporting Friends

    ¡°Vet one actual, we are about to reach the stairs and take out that MG; watch your fire,¡± Conor said calmly over the radio.

    ¡°Rodger, we will adjust our fire,¡± Rokoyu replied, his thick accent even more pronounced through the radio.

    Conor peaked around the corner and watched as the streaking hell of bullets and blaster fire aimed at a group of soldiers at the main entrance of the palace slackened, having been redirected to the hundreds of rebels in fighting positions outside.

    That brief reprieve breathed fire into the MG teams; they popped back out of cover and resumed raining hellish fire on the veterans, taking cover behind the palace''s bastions.

    The MG troopers had set up a well-defended position high over the main fight that streaked into the vast front lawn and gardens. They had sandbags, shield units, and even an APS to knock grenades out of the air at the top of the grand staircase. They even had toppled a statue of the empress to use as hard cover on one of their flanks.

    Their overwatch position had done well in cutting down many of the veterans and Lost Ladies who had taken up arms in Eivaley''s name enough so that Eivaley''s forces were currently being routed.

    Rokoyu had done his best to keep his forces moving from cover to cover and take control of the machine guns, but they were found to be lacking. They had done well and had cleared nearly 300 meters of open ground, kicking, screaming, and stacking rebel bodies the entire way. Now they had been stopped dead in their tracks after a few rockets disabled one of the two mech-walkers they had liberated from the local police department and vehicles they were using as mobile cover.

    Additionally, the guns cut several of their teams down like a scythe through grass. According to Rokoyu, they had lost nearly a platoon worth of troopers when the guns opened up on them. Their deaths were precisely why Conor and his team were prioritizing their destruction.

    These MG positions were the linchpin of the rebels'' defense of the main gate. Without them, their base of fire would be removed, allowing Eivaleys'' forces to take control of the battle''s momentum.

    Conor looked over to Cur¡¯sh and Vitul. The two of them were loading their grenade launchers behind a pillar in the large room. They were as stoic as ever, yet their joviality was still fully displayed. The two argued subvocally about who would get to smoke the machine gun with Conor and who would target the other high-priority location.

    As they could see, the enemy had two positions in the area: the machine gun was one, and the other was through a set of double doors on the far end. They were not sure what was in there, but several of the enemy had brought wounded and ambulatory fighters through there. They assumed it was a rallying point or a CCP. Either way, whoever was in that small room would soon be met with a hail of shrapnel and fragments.

    Once they had loaded and trained their launchers on the targets decided by their little argument, Conor nodded and aimed his own toward the back of the machine gunner''s body.

    The ambush began like a well-choreographed dance. All three sent grenades into their targets. Time seemed to slow momentarily as they watched their eggs arch through the air.

    Boom! All three launcher rounds went off simultaneously, creating widespread panic among the troops, who only expected contact from their front, not a well-timed assault from the rear.

    Conor''s round found its mark and slammed square into the back of the soldier on the machine gun, only adding to the visceral devastation of his attack. Bone and armor, along with burning frag, ripped through the soldiers. Arms were ripped off, heads turned to vape, and those lucky enough to survive were showered in the gore of their once faithful friends.

    Before the survivors recovered from the shock and attempted to rally, Conor and Cur¡¯sh unloaded on them fully cyclic. Bullets tore through them, splaying their guts out on the defensive positions. They kept up the fire even as the soldiers tried to crawl behind their dead friends, desperate for any sanctuary in this hell.

    It did not matter how much they screamed or begged; all of the rebels would die here tonight. Both kept up the fire and mowed down the soldiers, running and fighting alike.

    At the same time, Vitul bounded forward and tossed multiple frag grenades through the doors he had already lobbed a 40mm through. He paused behind a desk and trained his weapon on the door, waiting for targets to emerge.

    Just as grenades were built to do, the introduction of those deadly metal balls flushed the soldiers out of the room like a covey of quail fleeing a ravenous hound.

    Those troopers were in surprisingly good order as they flowed through the dust tossed up by the grenades exploding behind them. They raised their rifles and attempted to shoot at Conor and Cre¡¯sh. It was a good thing that they did not see Vitul only a few meters away, training his muzzle on their chests.

    They only squirted out a few random shots that whizzed past Conor''s head before Vitul slaughtered them one by one as they exited. Each burst of his M45 sent them collapsing to the ground. Bullet wounds seeping blood peppered their bodies, making them look like they were blasted by shotgun fire.

    Only the last one out of the door was actually hit by a buckshot. When Vitul''s magazine ran dry, he pulled the trigger of his underbarrel and blasted the man in half.

    Conor had no idea Vitul had a CQB 40mm round, but he was glad his friend had brought one. The CQB round was nearly a hundred four millimeter ball bearings; its effectiveness was shown in the man clutching his chest, which now resembled raw hamburger meat.

    They all fell in on the door after dead-checking the troopers with anchoring shots to the head; not many needed them, but still, it was good practice to ensure the soldiers were not playing possum.

    After they cleared the room, having found it to be nothing more than a sitting room the soldiers were using as a staging area and CCP, they moved toward the machine guns, needing to move things along because their allies were still under fire by those outside.

    ¡°Get on the gun,¡± Conor barked, throwing the corpse of a soldier off one of the emplaced weapons. If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    Crur¡¯sh quickly hopped on the gun and worked the action, ensuring it was loaded and still functional. While he was doing that, Vitul kept their rear covered, and Conor began deconfliction procedures with Rokoyu; neither side wanted to accidentally shoot their own while attempting to clear out the enemy troops between their positions.

    ¡°Vet one actual, we have cleared the machinegun nest at the front doors. We are going to engage the soldiers between us. Sit tight and watch your fire,¡± Conor calmly ordered.

    Once Rokoyu confirmed his troops were down and in cover, Conor and Cur¡¯sh got to work. To call what happened next a slaughter did not give it credence.

    Cur¡¯sh lacked night vision and could not see the targets clearly in the dim glow of burning wreckage and starlight, but with Conor''s multispectrum vision, he could see the enemy as clearly as day. Conor, using his target tracker, guided Cur¡¯sh''s deadly fire to each group of soldiers huddling behind cover and shooting toward the veterans across the lawn.

    Hateful burst after burst lanced forward, annihilating the rebel troops and splattering them across the grass. They were shooting fish in a barrel. Each group was picked apart as tracers skipped off their bodies and cover.

    Only the final position they laid into seemed to know where the attack came from. When they spotted tracers bouncing off their ally''s positions, they turned their weapons toward Conor''s team''s position.

    Their rifles barked in defiance of death, attempting to force Cur¡¯sh to stop firing through sheer violence of action. Usually, Conor and Cur''sh would have just shifted fire and buried their enemies in hot lead, but these troopers were accurate, freakishly so when their circumstances were considered.

    Rounds bounced off the sandbags and cracked overhead. Conor and Cur¡¯sh ducked just as tracer fire streaked through where their heads were a moment ago.

    The hellish whistle of bullets overhead screamed the warning the troopers wanted them to understand. "If you get up, you will die."

    Instead of popping back up, attempting to engage, and putting themselves into unnecessary danger, they did what all good troopers would do¡ªthey called for help.

    ¡°Actual, we have eliminated all the enemy save for one dug-in position to your ten o''clock. Can you clear them out? They have us pinned well and good," Conor asked calmly. There was no difference in his voice now versus when he asked a servant to refill his glass with liquor. There was no need to be panicked; his friend had him covered and would deal with these fuck after all.

    ¡°That''s not a problem. You scratched our back; now we will scratch yours; stand by; I''m putting Peekala on it,¡±  Rokoyu laughed over the radio.

    Conor had no idea who Peekala was, but he communicated the update to his team, and they waited. They expected the sounds of machine guns and rifle fire to echo through the night, silencing those rebels with judicious efficiency. Instead, a slow thumping arose from the battle. It started nearly impossible to hear, but it gradually grew to a near-deafening thooming; it was so loud their teeth rattled with each thump.

    The fire suppressing them lifted but did not stop. The sounds of screaming and frantic gunshots still filled the air. Conor peaked over the sandbags, and what he was gave him pause.

    Hundreds of soldiers slowly moved through the trees. Their white thermal signatures flowed across the gap between the walls and the palace like deathly specters. They were all efficient and wasted no motions. Women and men alike assured the enemy positions were clear, and they moved to accomplish whatever task Rokoyu had given them.

    The veterans and Lost Ladies'' abilities showed Conor that Rokoyu had been preparing for this for a long time, likely years. They all had the same armor, uniforms, sealed helmets, and a healthy mix of weapons: machine guns, rifles, shotguns, blasters, and snipers.

    That old romantic must have had multiple caches of weapons around the veterans center. Considering this militia was wearing gear that many warlords around the galaxy would pray for, he had to wonder what else the sly old dog had hidden around the capital.

    The soldier''s gear and training were impressive, but what really made Conor and Cur¡¯sh gawk was the mech that was currently demolishing the troopers who had been laying hate at him.

    It stood four meters tall and was as black as night. Its sleek, no-nonsense design had no waste or flare, save for the wet paint on its side, which looked like a pin-up of a burly Kurltara male.

    Conor did not question that bit of personal art. He had seen plenty of stuff like that in his years; soldiers and pilots alike prefer to personalize their gear; the stollen mech was much the same. Besides, he had something more important to focus on---Peekala''s ability behind the sticks of that piece of wargear

    Peekala roared over the mech''s loudspeakers, calling the soldiers, which she was training on traitorous mongrels. Boosting rockets erupted on the rear of the mech chassis, forcing the mech forward, nearly gliding over the ground.

    As she surged through the trees, her chain gun began firing. Throaty barks roared through the night as bullets the size of Conor''s thumb ignored the cover they were behind. The rounds ripped them in half, blasting through the destroyed car they clung to life it would save them. That weapon was built to destroy light tanks and aircraft; that it deleted their cover was not shocking.

    Sparks flew from the metal as the bipedal walker rushed forward at a full tilt, its gyroscopically stabilized weapon as steady as stone. Peekala closed the hundred-meter gap in the blink of an eye, crushing the car with a foot as one of the soldiers helplessly fired at the towering mech.

    With the arm without a weapon, she picked the trooper up by the chest, uncaring that she broke his arms and forced the rifle he wielded through his armor and into his guts. The reason she did not care was evident when the pilot simply crushed the man like an insect.

    "Fucking scum," Peekala spat, throwing the man''s corpse to the ground.

    ¡°They are pretty amazing, eh?¡± Rokoyu asked, walking up the steps toward Conor''s position.

    Rokoyu had his rifle slung and wore armor similar to Conor''s, light yet shielding his vitals and nothing more. He clearly emphasized wanting all he could carry to deal with threats. His vest had dozens of mags, grenades, and a few pieces of what Conor thought were bricks of high explosives. The man even had a single-use rocket slung over his back.

    Now that he was close, Conor could see an interesting detail on the man''s shoulder. Sewn onto his shirt was a small ruby-red patch. It had a simple depiction of the graveyard where Burlai and Stitch were buried in front and center; on its borders were the simple words in effervescent white Eivaley''s Guard, we were saved, not chosen.

    Conor did not comment about the patch. Once, the ghostly warriors flowed past them, and he could see they all had one; he knew there was no point in him even joking about how guarding Eivaley was his job.

    ¡°Yeah, she is pretty amazing,¡± Conor agreed.

    Conor had seen plenty of mechs in his life, but those were slow, lumbering tanks designed for urban fighting. This one, however, was quick, light, and clearly controlled by someone who was not shy about using their weapons to the best of their ability.

    It took him a moment, but then he realized why this mech was built how it was. Livayie was built around a desert that stretched on for hundreds of kilometers. Any tech for their military, police, or even civilian use needed speed. This one certainly met those needs.

    "Hey, now, warrior, don''t let those eyes drift," Rokoyu laughed, giving Conor a half-hug. "I know she is a beast of a woman, but you are spoken for."

    "Hey, I can still appreciate a woman doing something well without me cheating on Eivaley," Conor replied, patting Rokoyu a bit more forcefully than needed.

    If the rough treatment troubled Rokoyu, he did not comment. Instead, he stepped deeper into the palace to protect himself from fire.

    ¡°Now then, my friend. What is it you need us to do?¡± Rokoyu asked, gesturing wide to encapsulate the hundreds of soldiers he brought ready to do as Conor needed.

    ¡°Let¡¯s see where we could use you guys,¡± Conor said before keying his radio to contact Eivaley and give her a status update.

 Section Thirty-Seven: Beasts of Battle

    Eivaley wasted no time in putting Rokoyu¡¯s forces to work. She immediately had him and any of his platoon commanders brought onto their secure communications network, letting her truly take charge of the empire in their eyes.

    In a barrage of orders, Eivaley issued them tasking and ensured that there was no doubt what they were doing and why. Her primary goal for the veteran forces was to have them go throughout the palace, securing sections of it, rally with the isolated pockets of the royal guard, and, above all else, keep the civilians safe.

    The veterans under the self-imposed banner of Eivaley''s guard took to their orders with unbridled enthusiasm. Their officers rallied troops, communicated decisive orders as they split the palace amidst one another, and pinpointed the royal guard based on Eivaley''s instructions.

    Before Conor realized it, all the troops had flowed like water throughout the grounds, leaving only Cur¡¯sh, Vitul, Rokoyu, and Peekal in her mech in the palace''s main foyer.

    Rokoyu remained because he was not needed by the platoons spreading around the grounds; their leaders could handle anything that came their way. So, he volunteered himself as an additional gun for the Conors team. Something Conor had no issues with; the man was trained and would be helpful to have around.

    Peekala, on the other hand, had nowhere else to go after her sister''s mech was destroyed. Typically, scouting mechs like hers worked in pairs, each supporting the other with fire and maneuvering.

    She could have tagged along with any of the other soldiers spreading about the palace, but she flat-out told Conor to fuck off when he suggested she should go with them.

    The flat-out denial gave Conor a bit of pause. Not because he had drank the Kool-Aid and believed himself to be better. No, it just was that there was nothing quite like having a four-meter-tall mech covered in blood with a steaming chain gun tell you to shove your idea where the sun does not shine.

    Peekala did at least have the courtesy of opening the mech''s cockpit and looking him in the eyes when she told him to pound sand. Conor was not sure what he was expecting, but it certainly was not a woman who walked straight off a swimsuit modeling show.

    Peekala¡¯s scales were as yellow as sunlight; they glittered in the flickering light of the consols before her. Her taught tomboy build festooned in nothing but a sports bra and panties in no way matched the deadly look in Peekala¡¯s eyes.

    She was a true blue dealer of death. If Conor had not watched her fight like an unchained monster just a few minutes earlier, that look of fire in her eyes would have communicated it. She practically radiated a confident control of violence.

    She was a dime piece; any man would have fought for the right to have her take you on a date because you certainly were not going to take her out on the town.

    Conor could see ninety percent of the royal guard crawling through fifty kilometers of desert just to lick the sweat from her abs. By Urla, if Conor did not love Eivaley until his dying breath, Peekala would be a solid number two contender for the best-looking woman he had ever known.

    Once the matter of her going along with them was settled, they set out with a very clear destination. They were going to work their way through the palace and head straight to the throne room because they, at long last, had a pinpoint on Therilay.

    Conor had already assumed that Therilay would be holed up in the throne room; now, it was confirmed. The maid who arrived at the bunker told Eivaley this intel and also informed her of several others who were there: the empress, Vuraley, and shockingly enough, Lord Herella of all people.

    Hearing that uptight fucks name pissed Conor off, reminding him well and good about the rotten attitude that was pervasive in the nobility. Thank Urla, he was here. Conor would kill Herella, enemy or not. People die by mistake all the time in warzones; Conor might just have to organize such a tragedy into happening----or just shoot him in the face and lie to everyone. No one would make a fuss about the pompous ass no longer being on the mortal coil if Conor did kill him.

    With quick, decisive action, Conor organized their small unit, which was now operating as essentially dismounted infantry. Conor would be paired with Vitul, while Cur''sh and Rokoyu would be paired together. Leaving Peekala as a lone element able to direct them and ensure they were given the base of fire they needed.

    Considering they now had a mech working with them, they would center their tactics around the fire support it offered. The only downside to having Peekala come along was that they would be significantly slower. Her mech could only move through about half of the halls in the palace, so they would reach the throne in a roundabout way.

    Their movement to the throne went as well as it possibly could have. Conor and the rest of the dismounted troops had to dust a few shooters that Peekala could not engage due to the close confines of the hallways. In return, she dominated reinforced positions with her chaingun, rockets, and smoke canisters, letting the infantry mop up once they were close to the target.

    It was going too well. There was no way the enemy was truly this disorganized. They had only encountered small pockets of resistance, with only a dozen troops at each location. That was until they reached one of the final passages leading to the throne room.

    There, Therilay had removed all the stops and reinforced them as if she were protecting all the diamonds in the universe.

    Gun positions were between each column, and energy shields protected each soldier''s position. From the brief glance, Conor got before having to retreat from hellish gunfire, he saw at least five machine guns set up and nearly fifty troopers on the ground. Additionally, he spotted at least a dozen troops on the rooftops.Conor easily saw them because his target tracker keyed him in on the movement, and a new dawn would soon rise. That made seeing the shifting shadows against the oranging sky easy.

    ¡°Well, this is going to be fun,¡± Conor said over the team''s net. He did this because Peekala¡¯s external microphone was damaged in an earlier ambush, meaning she could not hear them without the radio.

    She could still speak without the radio and tended to still use the booming speakers of the mech to communicate. That she could make thunderous declarations still was her joy; how would these wastes of life know their end was near if she did not tell them? It wasn''t like she was in a ten-ton mech and had a chain gun that blasted hate at 500 RPM. She was just a demure lady in her mind, after all.

    Before the others could respond, a rocket roared past Peekala, slamming into the wall behind her mech. Debris showered over them as a wave of force brought all but Conor and Peekala to their knees.

    Conor looked over at the others, assessing their situation. Thank Urla, none of them had died. Cur¡¯sh took a grazing bit of frag through the arm, but it was not bad enough to stop them. That cut seemed to be the group''s worst injury; Vitul and Rokoyu were already back on their feet.

    ¡°You all alright?¡± Conor barked, trying to speak over his once again ringing ears.

    ¡°I will be fine,¡± Cur¡¯sh assured, fishing a skin patch from a medical kit on his belt.

    As Cur''sh was treating his wound, the others began to strategize about how to proceed, but Peekala had already started to move, ever the battle junkie.

    She burst forward into the opening, grabbed hold of one of the pillars, and knocked it clean over. The world shook from hundreds of tons crashing to the deck, momentarily causing multiple soldiers on the other side to slacken their fire.

    ¡°Shoot the assholes up high,¡± Peekala roared over the loudspeakers.

    She mounted her chaingun atop the collapsed pillar, using it similarly to how the other soldiers were sandbags. She held the trigger down, a slow melodic boom erupting from each fireball pouring from the cannon. The massive arrowhead brake on the muzzle of the weapon kicked up dust meters away from the weapon. From where the squad was, they could feel each shot in their bones, the massive overpressure vibrating every molecule of their bodies.

    As soon as the chain gun roared to life and lanced across the soldiers on the ground, eviscerating a solid half of them, the groups on the upper decks made their refusal to give up this position loud and clear.

    Heavy machine guns blasted out at Peekala rounds, sparking off the mechs'' sleek side, but some were still embedding and blasting straight through the shielding.

    Now, her mech was tough, but it was not tough enough to stand a beating like that for long. It was a scout mech, after all, not a true heavy unit. A heavy unit could tank those shots all day and keep dishing out hate in job lots. In her case, though, heavy weapons like that could knock out tanks, something her scout mech certainly was not. She would have been cut to ribbons without the pillar absorbing most of the impact.

    Seeing her being lit up put Conor and the rest of the team into high gear. They split into two teams to attack the problem from both sides of the peristyle. Doing this ensured they had assistance to bind and keep Peekala from being flanked by shooters moving through the pillars.

    It was good that this was their decided course of action; Cur¡¯sh and Rokoyu immediately found a group of soldiers sneaking along the wall with a rocket, readying to knock their battle babe out of the fight for good.

    They had something to say about that.

    Their rifles cracked like whips as methodically controlled shots tore the missile wielder to shreds, both having thought of knocking him down first.

    ¡°Suppressing!¡± Rokoyu shouted, shifting targets and flicking the giggle switch on his rifle to ride the lightning setting and unloading while bracing against the wall.

    At the same time, Cur¡¯sh dove to the grit-covered ground and kept up his precise fire. He would settle his crosshair between the eyes of each target, let the world fall away, and pull the trigger. Each round found its mark, sending another enemy soldier to the endless deserts.If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    Cur''sh was a machine; he was the only soldier who could meet Conor''s standards of precision rifle fire. At this point, he could ash a cigar at 300 meters like it was nothing. Shots like this? A moving target that was shooting back at you and only 25 meters out? He could make these shots in the dark, on no sleep, and one-handed.

    At the same time, on the other side of the courtyard, Conor and Vitul were dealing with something entirely different. They were pinned down. The venomous snap of bullets arched past and chipped away at the columns he and Vitul were taking cover behind.

    They tried to peak out and return fire, but after that cost Conor his rifle and a few pieces of spawling cutting over his right eye, they decided that it was best they get some assistance.

    ¡°Peekala, drop us some smoke over here,¡± Vitul radioed as Conor drew his magnum and ditched his plate carrier.

    Conor no longer needed the heavy carrier; with his weapon destroyed, all it would do now was slow him down. And if he needed a rifle, there would be plenty lying around he could creatively liberate for his personal use.

    ¡°You got it,¡± Peekala replied.

    Four tubes opened from the mech''s shoulder, launching just as many grenades in their direction. After a dull pop, heavy black smoke began to flow out and cover the area.

    Conor looked over to Vitul and nodded, communicating how he could deal with those up top. Vitul nodded, waited for the smoke to billow, and then Conor got to work.

    He peaked out after activating his thermal vision to see perfectly clearly through the smoke. The other soldiers fired wildly through the concealment. Conor was not worried about being hit; his AI tracked all their weapons and informed him none would hit him.

    He lined up the magnum sights, squeezed the trigger, and watched as their head exploded in blood and viscera. Conor worked meticulously from one target to the other. None of the soldiers he was dusting had any idea where he was. Some managed to fire close to him, but they were spraying wildly through the billowing smokescreen.

    As Conor laid the hate, Vitul bounded past him, patting him on the shoulder. ¡°Moving!¡±

    ¡°Covering!¡± Conor replied, shiting his sights onto another heavy machine gunner''s head and blowing his brains out.

    By the time Conor had either killed all the targets on the roof, or they finally grew some brains and realized he could easily see them, Vitul was at the end of the turn and launching grenade after grenade down the way. Each thrashing explosion ripped soldiers to shreds, uncaring of them or anyone in the way of their righteous path.

    ¡°Keep Pushing!¡± Conor ordered over the radio so everyone, even Peekala, would hear the order.

    Fighting forward was their only choice. They could not afford to stay here and get stuck in. They were ambushed; all they could do was bring more fire down on the enemy, take the initiative, and out violence of action them.

    Without missing a beat, everyone confirmed the order and tightened the noose around the soldiers.

    Peekala vaulted over the pillar and kept shooting the entire way. Each thunderous crack of the chaingun brought down the energy shields over the machinegun positions, opening them for everyone else to cut down the now-exposed enemy.

    The next forty seconds were truly a master class in escaping an ambush and a roaring lesson in why you don''t fuck with the Lord of War.

    Their weapons not only talked to one another, but they sang declarations of victory. Everyone shouted their reloads and kept pushing forward, not wasting any time to close the gap and bring the fight to their now-on-the-backfoot enemies.

    By the time they reached the sandbags, the enemy had been nearly massacred. Only a few remained, and those were heavily wounded. Heavily wounded did not mean they were out of the fight. They had no choice but to fight to the death. If any of the rebels did surrender, they would be executed for being traitors anyway. Either way, they would die, so they made the only choice that left any of their fate in their hands.

    Conor vaulted over the sandbags as Peekala lifted her fire. She was no real help in this scenario. The overpressure of her shooting her cannon would hurt her team, and with everyone joining in a mad scramble, using the coaxial machine gun was off the table; they were too close, and she likely would shoot her allies and the enemy alike.

    Conor landed right next to one of the enemy soldiers and jammed the magnum into his mouth, blowing the back of his head off. Before he had a chance to turn and pick another target, one of the enemies slammed into him full force, knocking the Human to the ground.

    Conor twisted on the deck, pulling the knife from his side, one he had not even realized had been stabbed and was bleeding like mad. Sure, his nanites activated, and his HUD made efforts to inform him of the wound, but he had other issues to deal with; reading that notification was far down his list of problems. Namely, the crazed soldier who kept up their attack.

    Conor kicked at them, trying to keep them off, but that did not matter. They were well-trained, experienced, and capable. He tried to nut-check them, but they flowed around his legs and tried to drive their bloody blade into his neck.

    The two entered a violent deadlock when Conor caught the man''s wrist, the blade viscously licking at his neck; both put their full force into their will. The soldier desperately attempted to sink the blade into Conor''s neck; at the same time, he pressed against their writhing scales, pressing them away.

    Conor might have been stronger than any non-augment in the universe under typical circumstances, but all bets were off when adrenaline and a life-and-death scenario were tossed in. A non-augmented person could meet him with nearly the same force as when they were desperate.

    By Urla, all sapientes backed into a corner would fight tooth and nail to live for even a second. Conor had lived that desperation enough times to not miss that possibility.

    Conor twisted on the ground, driving a foot into the attacker''s chest, kicking him back nearly a meter, the sounds of cracking ribs joining the frantic, unguided racket of a proper brawl to the end.

    Most of the Kurlatra were masters of hand-to-hand; that was just what they were good at; it was something they had trained since early life. But before his violent dance partner could ever recover and bring that blade back into him, Conor drew the magnum and stitched off three quick shots into his chest.

    The man collapsed to the ground not only from Conor''s rounds, but Vitul had dumped a round into his head, blowing it to hell.

    All was going as well as possible until Peekala shouted a warning out, ¡°Help Cur¡¯sh!¡±

    Conor levered to his feat and joined Vitul to keep up the pressure, moving toward where Peekala directed them. They burst around the pillar Peekala indicated and found a horrific sight. Cur¡¯sh was pinned down by one soldier, the man''s fangs digging deep into his collar, pouring venom deep into the spasming man.

    At the same time, Rokoyu was driving his rifle butt into a man''s head while straddling his hips. The man screamed like a beast of hell, venom dripping from his flaring fangs. "Fucking die already!"

    Conor exploded forward like a bullet without hesitation, aiming straight for the man envenoming Cur''sh. The Human coiled around the enemy''s body like a viper. His arm snaked tightly around his neck and began to squeeze. At the same time, he wrenched the man off his friend, pulling him a meter away, both tumbling in the dirt before settling against a collapsing sandbag wall.

    The soldier struggled and thrashed. He did all he could to try to break free from Conor''s headlock. But it was no use. No matter how much he clawed, kicked, used his tail, or bucked, he stayed firmly in the Human''s overpowering control.

    After what only felt like a few seconds, the last sounds of their brawl echoed; a dull crunch filled Conor''s chest with jubilation, knowing the feeling of vertebrae turning to dust by heart. The man''s body went slack, him having joined all his ancestors in the endless desert, ready to be judged by the brood mother''s kin.

    By the time Conor had tossed the man away and turned his attention to Cur¡¯sh, the man was already dead. He lay limp as Vitul held their friend and spoke softly to the corpse.

    A dozen antivenom injections were in Cur''sh''s chest, a meager attempt to save him. But those fangs injected venom into his heart; they were just wasted supplies.

    ¡°It¡¯s alright, buddy. We will get you out of here,¡± Vitul assured, nearly sobbing.

    Conor''s heart clenched as he felt for the man in every way. He understood the emotions spiraling in Vitul right now more than anyone here. Sure, Rokoyu somewhat understood, as did Peekala, but it was not the same.

    Vitul and Cur¡¯sh had been friends since childhood. They lived and played side by side through their youth, adolescence, service in the army, and even the royal guard. They had never been apart. Losing Cur¡¯sh would be like having a piece of his very soul ripped out.

    As Conor approached Vitul, he roared in anger, not at the Human, but at his friend''s corpse. He roared about how he could not die, how Cur¡¯sh had a wife and kids to return to, how he was supposed to never go like this.

    In a way, Conor found the display odd, not in a cruel way, but in a slight observation of what Vitul started to shout about next. He clutched Cur¡¯sh and shouted about plans they had for the future.

    It was something Conor had done with Brakul''s body what felt like a lifetime ago. At the time, Conor yelled about how his brother was going to live a life of luxury away from war, families, or anything other than cheap scags and booze.Vitul on the other hand, demanded his friend wake up so they could go out hunting on some far-off reserve Conor had heard them speak of in the past.

    It seemed that some things transcended all external appearances. No matter the sapient species, when the reaper came knocking, you did not want to accept the reality before you. You denied it, fought like a cornered animal, and kept your heart and soul anchored in what you knew.

    Conor crouched next to Vitul and rested a hand on his shoulder. That slight touch ripped his friend from the little bubble he had encapsulated himself in, horrifically bringing him back to the reality before them. It was as if Conor had not even been next to him until the contact grounded him in the bitter truth of what happens in war.

    Conor sighed, knowing there was nothing beneficial he could say right now. But as their commander, he could not fret about the dead, not while there was still a fight to finish.

    He would rather have Vitul with him to the end, but if he refused, Conor understood. He and the others could finish this, but he was nearly certain he could keep Vitul in this fight.

    ¡°Deep breaths, brother, we are not out of the woods yet,¡± Conor said.

    ¡°He shouldn¡¯t have¡ª¡± Vitul started.

    ¡°I know,¡± Conor replied, gently moving Vituls''s hands from Cur¡¯sh¡¯s corpse and slowly letting it be lowered to the deck. ¡°But we can¡¯t stay here.¡±

    Conor gestured behind Vitul toward the massive doors leading to the throne room. ¡°We have to get in there and finish this. If we don¡¯t, his death means nothing.¡±

    Vitul looked back at the door, then at the corpse yet again. He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something but did not. He just could not comprehend the reality before him.

    ¡°Vitul, come on,¡± Conor said, standing and turning toward the door. ¡°If you can¡¯t, get out of our way. If you can, pick up your rifle and come with me.¡±

    Was it a blunt request? Yeah, it was, but when in battle, simple was better. It was best to not overcomplicate anything, especially emotions. You just had to crush them, dominate your own psyche, and keep it in until you were safe. Right now, Vitul¡¯s emotional state was as volatile as any poison, so Conor was the leader he needed to pull him through this hell.

    Vitul stared at his rifle. It felt like eons passed as he thought of the simple question: Could he do this? Conor had depended on him and Cur¡¯sh for months; it was all they had to do with their lives; now, without his friend, could he still fight?

    Nothing had changed about him? He was still strong and uninjured and had all the training to prepare for this. Of course, he could still fight. He glanced back at Cur¡¯sh and thought of his friend''s last words, something only he was privy to hear.

    ¡°Take care of them,¡± Cur¡¯sh had muttered through blood, barely able to get the words out as the venom caused his body to shut down.

    The them in that sentence was obvious to Vitul. He and Cur''sh were godfathers to the other kids and had agreed to care for the other''s wife if they kicked the bucket.

    He would fight for his family, Cur¡¯sh¡¯s family, Conor¡¯s, and every other family that was being broken by this hellish night. He did not know if he would limp out of this ordeal, but he would do his damnedest to make sure his friend, no, brother''s family would live well, even with the loss they would have hanging over them for the rest of their days.

    Vitul fished his rifle out of the pool of his friend''s blood, stood straight up, and turned to Conor. A fire burned in his eyes. It was a fire of hate¡ªhate of Therulay and all that her actions had done¡ªbut it was also one of love¡ªlove for everyone he was fighting for.

    ¡°I am ready,¡± Vitul said, whipping away a tear with his tail.

    ¡°Good,¡± Conor smirked before walking away from the doors, seeking cover. ¡°Peekala, use a rocket and blow that door to hell.¡±

    ¡°With Pleasure,¡± Peekala laughed over the microphone.

 Section Thirty-Eight: False Empress

    Therulay leaned back against the plush throne, waiting for Conor to break down those doors, sweep her off her feet, and tell her he had at long last made the correct choice.

    He had been playing hard to get for months. Therulay had invited him out multiple times, lingered nearby, and given apparent signs. He made eye contact numerous times; that dense man surely knew.

    To top it all off, she had thrown herself at him naked, and that man still had the gall to deny her, the youngest princess of the Kurlatra empire.

    Did he now understand how many suitors she had waiting in the wings? Hundreds, if not thousands, had offered themselves to her since his arrival, but she was gracious enough to let such a fine specimen of a man become hers. She was willing to overlook his lowborn status and the fact that he was not Kurlatra.

    He had been obstinate for so long that she had no choice but to give him front-row seats for the coup that would pull them together. She had no other option left, and she was done waiting. All she had to do now was wait for her sisters to die and the nobles she had made back-door deals with to fulfill their ends of the deal.

    Would their bonding cause some issues in the future? Of course, it would. They could not have an heir naturally, and after this war, she would need one. Granted, she was not interested in having ankle-biters or threats to her rule, but she understood the necessity of maintaining well-manicured blood.

    Their infertility was hardly an issue. Therulay could simply take on a consort or two from carefully chosen, obedient, subservient nobles to continue the bloodline. She could not have any children who would look up to her and be envious. If she did, a coup would be in her future as well.

    All Conor had to do was be the loyal mutt he had been for her sister. He would have to warm her bed, kill dissidents, and never talk back to her. Any man with two brain cells together would, of course, take her up on the opportunity to live a life that simple.

    By this point, she had already heard from the soldiers outside that Conor was attacking them and doing quite a good job of slaughtering the useless lot.

    Apparently, he had also brought along several other soldiers; one even had a mech suit. That much effort just to see her? By the Brood Mother, this man was more dedicated to being with her than she had ever believed.

    Her anticipation vibrated through her body; everything was going perfectly, and she had no reason to believe the rest of the night would not be.

    Nobles, planetwide, were doing what she is now. Lounging on their own lesser thrones after killing their sisters, mother, and any local dissidents. Most were her friends or those she had networked with; they were loyal and agreed to this coordinated attack.

    There had to be a small covey of nobles who simply heard of the ongoing overthrow and took the initiative to seize power. That was good; they were willing to take action when it presented itself. So long as they bent the knee, she would allow them to keep whatever they claimed throughout the night. Starting their relationship with a gesture of goodwill, like acknowledging the right to keep what they stole, would be best after all.

    The only thing marring her enjoyment of the night was the constant wailing from the corner of the throne room. How in her will could she have been birthed by that pathetic excuse for a woman.

    ¡°Will you shut her up?¡± Theruley hissed at Herela, flicking her tail toward her mother and the pile of dead royal guards.

    Eyurali clung to Vuraley''s cooling corpse, unable to string together a coherent string of words for the last half an hour; it was to the point her voice was long gone. Blood trickled out of her mouth, raining onto her father''s shimmering armor.

    Apparently, losing her Champion was the last straw for the old bitch. The former empress had been struggling to cope with all the death around her for years.

    Why she did so was beyond Therulay''s understanding; her mother had killed her sisters and signed the death warrants of many other sapients. How was seeing your own daughters do what you had with glee different?

    There was no difference as far as the youngest princess could understand. Both were simply killing to gain power and achieve what she had. Above all else, become the next empress.

    They were another life and were in the way of achieving your goals; the only thing that could change how one judged their life was their usefulness to you.

    Theruley knew how to capitalize on usefulness well. She had plenty of valuable idiots around, but that was just because they were worth more to her alive than dead¡ªHerela was such an example.

    All it took was her promising him land and a position as the high general once she was empress, and he swore fealty in her name. The Moron did not even attempt to haggle for more; he just accepted the first offer in a heartbeat.

    Did she plan to follow through? If he survived, she would give him what was promised. But if Conor decided to kill him, so be it. The man was just a useful idiot who had done all she had asked.

    Without him, she could never have killed her father. Now, that was not because she was unwilling, far from it; she was physically incapable of besting him in a fight. She was not so short-sighted to believe she could defeat a man who thrived in war in a fair fight; she needed the underhanded tactics they had used.

    Luckily for her, Herela was more than willing to kill him while Therulay put on an act of being the innocent daughter and distracted him.

    She had waited in the throne room, crying while sputtering about how everything had gotten out of hand. Her father did not even hesitate to help his dear little girl. He rushed over to try to assure her they could get past this and everything was all right. The so-called hero did not even bother to clear the room, letting Herela strike from the shadows.

    The betrayal of his paternal instincts damned him to the endless sands.

    Oh, the look of horror in his eyes when Herela shot him in the back and he bled out was to die for. It was better than drugs. Her only regret was that she had not recorded the event; she could fall asleep to the sweet sounds of her father choking on his blood as her mother cried over him every night.

    ¡°What should I do?¡± Herela asked, nervously fiddling with the pommel of his legendary sword.

    Therulay rolled her eyes. How could a man like this have gained any power? Not only gain power but kill a drake in solo combat. Seeing his struggle to pull the trigger on the phase rifle she had given him as an assassination tool was beyond pathetic, enough so that she doubted that he genuinely slayed the beast he was known to have. This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.

    He was so¡ªso¡ªbland. He had no confidence, presence, or willingness to make a single choice of his own. Whatever killed that drake, it certainly was not this wet noodle of a noble. It probably was a group effort of hundreds of soldiers he just so happened to be with at the time.

    The confidence Herela lacked was just what she appreciated about her destined Champion. That Human would have heard the order, made a choice, and done so.

    He would have acted like it was his god-given right to judge those around him. His actions would be righteous and unquestionable divination. Conor thought like she did. He knew others were lesser, and he knew what was correct each time he made a choice.

    Watching his discernment was titillating. She got wet just observing him do anything. However, the most prominent example in her mind was far above and beyond just a captivating show. She wanted to jump him right then and there with everyone watching, especially Eivaley.

    When she had Herela kill her sister, frame Conor, and have the God of Close Combat attack Conor. That was the most breathtaking display of primal, raw power she had ever been blessed to witness.

    Watching the Human rip that stupid man apart was the most romantic thing she had ever seen. Each hit was assured, and every motion was a dance of death. She dreamed of it almost daily since then.

    And to think, soon enough, that weapon of a man would be all hers.

    ¡°I do not care; just shut her up,¡± Therulay ordered, returning to daydreaming about the Human and how they would be a power couple beyond all power couples.

    Herela turned about and started to walk toward Therulay''s mother. He pulled out his sword, clearly ready to kill the sobbing woman. That would have been a fantastic gesture of his loyalty to her if he had not hesitated at the final moment.

    He raised his blade, its molecule-sharp edge glinting in the dawn light pouring in through the windows behind Therulay. His hands trembled after Eyurali looked up at him for a moment, then back to Vurraley, presenting her neck to him and accepting the end. Herela looked at Therulay as if he needed permission to chop her head off.

    Therulay sighed and was about to demand that he grow a pair and just kill her, but before she could, the convergence of her destiny and the Humans had arrived.

    The front of the room exploded, sending Herela, Eyurali, and the corpses flying into support pillars. The doors, despite weighing multiple tons, were tossed across the room. The gargantuan blades narrowly missed, their deadly momentum arrested as they embedded halfway into the walls.

    Through the settling smoke and dirt, he entered like a true hero of old, making a grand entrance to save the princess from a beast. His eyes glowed red as Conor flowed in with his squad, moving with practiced efficiency few could replicate.

    Smoke clung to them, making them look ethereal. They looked like specters of judgment given form on the mortal coil. Their leader, front, and center, with his flaring red eyes and massive build, looked like a demon raised from hell itself; a man dragged from the depths and reforged in infernal fire.

    Once they had drifted into the room and swept its every surface for enemies, Conor and the soldier she knew was Vitul moved towards her mother while the other trooper, whom she did not know, aimed a weapon at her.

    The fucking gall, how dare this lesser man think he could do that to her, the empress. Therulay looked over at the Herela, still struggling to his knees, leaning on his sword for support.

    "Well, are you going to do your job?" Therulay hissed, or do you now want your nobility?"

    Herela shook off the dust and stumbled to his feet. The explosion had nearly knocked him unconscious. When he finally got a good look at who was in the room, he spotted the Human and his guard.

    Now, Herela remembered Conor; he could never forgive what that Human had done. He had humiliated him in front of everyone. That one night of mocking from both him and the former empress had cost him much: money, contacts, status, and even the loyalty of his own soldiers. He would not make that mistake twice.

    Now, with the new empress watching, he would reclaim his glory and take all the titles the Human now had, making Herela a true powerhouse in the new Empire.

    Herela pointed his sword at Conor and began to bellow the rightful challenge, only befitting men of their station. "Conor, I, Ecallar Herela, son of Kiyulin Herela, father of Hextron Herela, the last daughter of House Herela, Champion of."

    "Contact," Conor bellowed before unloading his weapon, with the rest of the troops laying into the man with just as much fury.

    Their weapons snarled like hell hounds as their teeth ripped chunks of Herela off and tossed them on the ground. Herela spasmed as hundreds of bullets tore him to shreds.

    The man did not even see the first shot Conor had let off. The Human was just too swift to be observed. That first bullet had killed Herela; the rest were all just anchoring shots, assuring the man named Ecallar Herela died like a beast being put down.

    Watching the man die like that, Therulay couldn¡¯t help but smile. That worthless fool had died as pathetically as he had lived.

    ¡°Watch her,¡± Conor barked at the other two soldiers while confidently marching towards her mother and father. The others reloaded in turn and watched her like hawks.

    Why would he do this? She was right there. It took her a moment to realize, but it made sense after a second. He must have heard the order to make her mother shut up and was going to kill her. That works for her; she would wait for her man. But what happened next confused her.

    Conor crouched down and spoke softly to the broken woman; she clung to him, still making no sense. After a few moments, he gently picked her up and handed Mother off to one of the soldiers, instructing the other to take Vuraley''s corpse with them.

    They dutifully did what he ordered, leaving her and him alone. Conor must have wanted to kill the empress publically. There is nothing like a public execution to show the change of power; it makes the whole ordeal of a coup easier. He must know that as well as she did.

    ¡°Well, I am glad you finally arrived,¡± Therulay smiled, shifting slightly on the throne, trying not to sound like a starstruck girl.

    ¡°Yeah, well, it wasn¡¯t easy,¡± Conor growled, stepping over the bodies of the royal guards and reaching the bottom of the dais.

    She had taken those words as something completely different than what Conor meant. She ignored the venom in his voice and inferred that she was worth the effort.

    ¡°Do you like what I have done for you?¡± Therulay asked, gesturing wide at the palace and the world itself.

    ¡°Not really,¡± Conor shrugged while slowly stepping up the stairs, his heavy footfalls and intense stare making her heart flutter.

    ¡°Well, I''m sorry it was not to your liking,¡± Therulay said, standing to step down closer to him. ¡°What did I do wrong?¡±

    She asked this when the two were only a breath''s distance away. She was at long last close to her man, her destiny. She leaned against him, fluttered her eyes, and walked her fingers along his heavy, lethal muscles.

    The smell of oil, blood, and sweat pouring off him was erotic, to say the least. That fatal potpourri was the scent of their new world, one where they would fight all others and stand tall on mountains of bodies. Those people who would die did not matter; it would just be what needed to happen to keep her enraptured in his arms.

    Something he seemed oh so eager to give to her. His cold metal hand glided along her hip and over her breast; she could not help but feel excited. Her nipples hardened as the rough metal caressed her through the silken dress she wore.

    At the same time, the burning intensity of his presence lit a fire in her core. She silently begged that he was about to take her then and there. He would pick her up and cristen their love and the dawn of a new world on the throne of the old one. She knew that was what would happen when he slowly wrapped his hand around her neck, mimicking the impression on Eivaleys neck.

    She had heard them making love for weeks; it was finally her turn to have this beast in her bed. The Human would claim her, take his place at her side, and rule with her¡ªas her tool of death, of course.

    ¡°I am ready!¡± Therulay purred, looking up at him and fully believing the delusions she had conjured up.

    ¡°You asked what you did wrong?¡± Conor said, lightly squeezing her throat, making her moan.

    ¡°Yes,¡± she breathed.

    Instead of laying her back and claiming her soul, Conor did something she could not fathom; in fact, it went completely against all she knew was destined to be. He gripped her neck like he was trying to choke the life from her and lifted her with ease.

    Theruley''s breath hitched as he pulled her close, and they looked eye to eye, but she still dangled in his grip.

    ¡°You fucking existed,¡± Conor growled before tossing her off the dais like she weighed nothing.

 Section Thirty-Nine: A New Dawn

    Therulay tumbled down the stairs, landing in a groaning pile at the base of the dais. Conor watched with satisfaction as she writhed on the floor. Several lacerations opened as she fell, oozing blood over her perfect dress. Those wounds marked the beginning of the end for Therulay. By the end of this, what he had done to Sheruai would pale in comparison.

    This little bitch had the fucking gall to think Conor wouldn¡¯t care about all she¡¯d done. She caused all this death, destruction, and pain for no good fucking reason. It was all because she was a nutter and thought that she had him and the world all figured out. Conor did not know if she was a psychopath, a sociopath, a rotten egg, or just someone who had cracked under the weight of the world; whatever the reason, it did not matter. He would end her no matter what.

    Eivaley had long ago asked him not to harm her sisters, and even Eyurali had pleaded for her. By Urla, they were fools to think she would see the dawn. Cancers like Therulay could only be dealt with at the end of a gun, knife point, or execution. He could deal with the aftermath of killing her; Eivaley would just have to trust his choice in the matter.

    This little zlit-rat had orchestrated uncountable deaths in the last few hours, enough so that tonight would be referred to as the night of ash forever. Conor didn¡¯t care about most of the dead; he didn¡¯t love the Kurlatra empire enough for that. However, he cared about quite a few of them and would act on their behalf.

    He fought for Cur¡¯sh, the veterans, and Mulaney, guarding their memories. He did not know whether Mulaney was dead, but he considered her part of the fallen martyrs. Their deaths were tragic and a waste of good lives, but one name, no one good man, was above them all, Vuraley.

    That man did not deserve to die here. He was wise, calm, caring, and better than all others Conor had ever known. He should have left the mortal coil surrounded by loved ones, knowing how much he had done and that it was all worth the effort.

    Vuraley had a boundless love for others. No matter how base a sapient was, he saw the good in them, nurtured it like a garden, and helped them rise above their station.

    Vuraley was an example of what a Champion should be. Even Conor¡¯s dense ass could see that. He had taken Conor and countless others under his wing and guided them to greatness he did not know they had within themselves.

    It was like Vuraley had access to chronomancy and could scry on others'' future potential. No matter how much they fought back and pushed him away, he stubbornly remained by their side. He uprooted bad habits, watered greatness, and ensured they were better each and every day.

    Now, this little bitch took that away. Took away from the Kurlatra empire a man who only wanted to see the best in others. How fucking dare she. Conor still had so much he wanted to learn from him. How to fight, lead, dictate, delegate, and be a man.

    Conor had learned much from Brakul in his younger years, but his old friend and brother taught him how to survive. However, Vuraley showed Conor what it meant to be a man.

    Vuraley had taught him that true men fight for others. He believed that a man should stand up for what is right no matter the odds.

    A true man of worth does not fight for what is before him¡ªhe fights for who stands behind him.

    Vuraley likely stood by that to the end. He believed in his daughters to the end and died believing in them and all the Kurlatra. Conor would not know for days the betrayal that caused Vuraleys death when Eyurali would tell him, but for now, it did not matter. The reality before he was enough of a tattletale for the Human to know this little pink bitch killed him.

    If he had known what Therulay had done, he would have killed her with far less mercy than he was going to show her. This ordeal would not have been a few minutes; it would have been dragged out for hours to satiate Conor''s blood lust.

    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Therulay gagged, looking up as Conor stared down at her, looming like a demon ready to annihilate everything that dared to enter its domain.

    ¡°I¡¯m getting ready to kill you,¡± Conor replied plainly, pulling out his pistol and checking the chamber for another round.

    ¡°What? Why? We are destined to be together,¡± Therulay argued, trying to rise to her feet.

    The moment her foot found purchase, Conor fired. His targeting software kept his aim true as the bullet tore through her knee. She collapsed with a sharp yelp, her head slamming against the ground.

    Conor held the smoking magnum at his hip with a venomous smile on his lips. ¡°Oh, is that so?¡±

    ¡°Yes!¡± She choked out, barely able to prevent a scream from escaping her. ¡°We are destined for each other; not even the gods will prevent it. I''ve seen it in my dreams.¡±

    Conor was not the most religious man. Sure, he spoke invoking Urla often, but that was just a linguistic holdover from growing up in the COS. He did not believe in any God and frankly did not understand the need to believe in them.

    In his mind, if it was not tangible, it did not matter. Those who did believe in gods were either delusional or stupid.

    Conor slowly craned his neck, looking around the throne room and scanning it. ¡°I don''t see any gods. But I will tell you what, let''s put that to the test. Think of it as a bet.¡±

    Conor turned around and walked up to the throne. Therulay could not see what he was doing as he ascended, but she could still hear his booming voice demanding her attention and methodical metallic clicking.

    ¡°I bet you that Urla, or The Brood Mother, don¡¯t really give a flying fuck, about you,¡± Conor sneered.

    ¡°I know I¡¯m right,¡± Therulay snapped back, refusing to concede.

    ¡°So you really think we are destined to be together,¡± Conor challenged, gesturing wide before setting his pistol on the throne and turning around.  ¡°Right?¡±

    ¡°Yes, we are!¡± she yelled.

    The pain in her shattered knee was unlike anything she had ever known. It burned and wept, blood pooling from the wound. The warmth of her life force was all that remained in her otherwise numb limb.

    ¡°I am glad you think so. ¡± Conor snarled, slowly stepping down to her.

    Conor bent over and grabbed her head, palming it like a ball. He hoisted her high and trudged to the far end of the room. She continued to struggle, lightly kicking at him with her good leg, but that did not matter. Nor did the muffled screaming for him to give her a chance.

    Once at the doors, Conor slammed Therulay into the ground, nearly knocking her unconscious. The Human glanced at Peekala, seeing if the woman had anything to say about what she was witnessing. The mech pilot did not. What was there to say? It was not like Peekala was loyal to Therulay; her death would just be another noble cleared off the board. Conor gave her a nod, returning his attention from the looming mech toward Therulay, who was regaining some coherence.

    ¡°Get it, and shoot me; prove you are worth a damn to me,¡± Conor ordered, pointing at the throne. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

    Before Therulay confirmed the instructions, Conor stomped on her good leg, snapping bone. "Do you understand?"

    Theruley honestly shocked him. She did not hesitate nor complain. She nodded up at him and started to crawl toward the throne; for once since meeting this little bitch Conor actually felt a small flicker of respect for her. He had assumed she would have broken down and begged for a swift death, not actually following through on her delusions to the very end.

    She stopped and panted a few times, pushing through her agony as Conor berated her, calling her stupid, a failure, and assuring her he was right.

    Once reminded of what was at stake, she resumed her arduous pilgrimage across the room.

    He originally wanted to torment her as a bit of a cruel act before killing her, just as a way to give her some just deserts. But since she seemed to determined to win their bet, now he was just using her as a proxy to vent his frustrations about the empire and was letting off steam.

    Was it cruel? Of course. Would anyone who truly knew how Therulay died say anything about it? No, Peekala was loyal to him and would keep her mouth shut. The only other witnesses would be corpses, and good luck getting them to condemn Conor''s actions.

    Since arriving at the capitol, he had to put on a show and act like a peacock strutting about. No, that was not right; he was a fucking clown to be used for the noble''s amusement. They, like Therulay, had treated him as nothing more than a curio, something to be ogled and awed at in the best circumstances. During the worst instances, like this little whore, he was not even a person; he was an idea, a concept, and a force to be used to kill others.

    They did not see Conor; they could only see The Wolf of Heavalun, a creature, a beast to be tamed.

    Fuck all of them.

    He was Conor. He was augmented, a fighter, a warrior, a man. He might have been capable of killing anyone who crossed him but that did not mean he was anything but a mear mortal man.

    Conor still had fears. Just like the small child he was when his mother died, he still jumped in the dark, terrified of what the shifting shadows contained.

    Conor still fell to his knees at the sight of true beauty. Until he was here, he just did not know what beauty was. Beauty was this city¡ªits people, their loves, their hopes, and their dreams. Just seeing this city''s heart thrumming to the sounds of its daily inhabitants nearly brought him to tears.

    That somewhere could know peace like this was beyond him until a few short months ago. He knew he would die to keep that peace.

    Above all, the most base thing that despite how he may look still assured him in his heart, he was a man was love. The love for his woman, his little ruby. She had taught him so much about life, and what it truly meant to live and not just exists.

    He no longer existed for hate, money, or the desire of others. He had cast away the fugue state he had for his entire life. All for Eivaley. He was The Wolf of Eivaley, and that''s all he had to be. If he lived and died by her side, everything was worth it.

    But for him to understand that, it cost him dearly. Friends, mentors, thousands of innocent souls, and sacrificing the facade of a life he had built.

    From day one, Conor had seen that the Kurlatra empire could not be their home. The empire was too dangerous, too fickle, and filled with daggers in the dark. He had just deluded himself into thinking that none of Eivaley''s sisters would kill the others.

    But it seemed no matter where you were in the universe, monsters still skulked, plotted, and gnashed at others. Like Heavalun, these monstrosities still did not care who they harmed, clamoring out of the dark, reaching for power.

    He was not a monster, merc, or feral beast. He was a man, a true man. Vuraley had taught him that if you wanted to be a man, you had to put others before you. When that late warrior had tried to explain that to Conor, he did not care. The Human had assumed the man was just saying what he needed to get Conor to stay in class.

    Now Conor understood. Eivaley, Mulaney, Cur''sh, Vitul, fuck everyone he had broken bread with here were more important than him. And this little fucking bitch hurt them, hurt his people.

    She dared to think killing who Conor cared about would be acceptable and that there would be no recourse for such a sin against him. Oh, how wrong she was.

    Therulay at long last reached the throne, with Conor only a step behind her. With shaking hands she grabbed the weapon and slumped to the floor, her back against the shimmering gold throne.

    ¡°Well, what are you waiting for,¡± Conor said, crossing his arms. ¡°If you are right, the gods won''t let me die here.¡±

    ¡°They won¡¯t. I am right; I am always right,¡± Therulay struggled to say while raising the pistol up and pointing it at Conor''s head.

    Time slowed for Therulay. She was ready to prove this man wrong. She would pull the trigger, nothing would happen, and Conor would save her. She would have proven it. The gods were on her side. Surely, even he could not go against her at that point.

    The millimeter of slack in the trigger felt like it took lightyears to remove. Once it hit the wall, the release was crisp and final.

    Click! The sound was as loud as lightning crashing to earth. She smiled as warmth filled her chest. She was right, justified in everything.

    ¡°See, I was right!¡± Therulay smirked, ¡°Now be mine.¡±

    Conor crouched and took the pistol from Therulay¡¯s trembling hands. He studied it with mocking deliberation, as though genuinely curious about its failure, though his venomous smile betrayed his intent. He depressed the mag release; nothing fell from the grip. The next thing he did was pull back the slide, revealing an empty chamber.

    ¡°You weren¡¯t. I just unloaded it,¡± Conor replied. ¡°So no gods kept me safe. I did.¡±

    ¡°But,¡± Therulay began.

    ¡°Will you just shut up?¡± Conor barked, standing while reloading his weapon. ¡°I¡¯ve played your game; you have mine. Let''s end this.¡±

    Therulay looked up at Conor, venom pouring out of her. If looks could kill, Conor would have died a thousand times over. ¡°So what now? You take me to jail?¡±

    ¡°Not a fucking chance in that. You can''t live,¡± Conor replied.

    Before Therulay could process the statement, Conor unleashed a vicious, straight kick into her jaw. Her head snapped back and shattered against the throne. Blood oozed out as her body spasmed from the sudden impact and the last death throws of all creatures.

    Conor knew that kick had broken her neck and killed her, but in his experience, one couldn¡¯t be too careful. He lifted his foot over her, readying to stomp her down to finish the job.

    Every servo in his body screamed as Conor released all safety limiters, allowing him to use all the strength he typically kept suppressed. His boot crashed down onto her head, cratering it inward. A shockwave vibrated through her body and the throne, leaving both cracked and broken.

    In one swift action, Conor not only ended the leader of the rebellion but shattered all the empire believed in. His actions tonight would shake the empire to its foundations, allowing him and Eivaley to rise from the ashes of this world as its new leaders.

    They would take the empire''s remnants by the horns and ensure this would never happen again. They could not allow this to happen again. So long as sister killed sister remained the norm, others like Therulay would rise in the shadows and desperately try to claim all the empire had to offer.

    Conor couldn¡¯t predict all the changes Eivaley would bring, but he knew she would end that practice. If she demanded it, the empire would obey. That was simply how the empire followed the divine will of their leader.

    Conor turned around, leaving the corpse where it lay, and walked back toward the entrance of the throne room.

    ¡°Eivaley, Therulay is dead. What else is going on in the palace,¡± Conor asked over the radio.

    ¡°Not much. The army has secured the capitol, and the veterans have mopped up inside the walls,¡± Eivaley replied.

    Eivaley did not mention her distaste for Conor killing Therulay. Over the radio was not the time or place. She had a new image as a leader to maintain. Others hearing her arguing with her Champion would not give the powerful image the empire needed at this time.

    ¡°Perfect. I will see you in a minute,¡± Conor replied. ¡°We can start planning ahead from there.¡±

    ¡°Alright, I will see you soon,¡± Eivaley replied.

    This night was just the start of many battles, deaths, and struggles. Almost all nobles were still grabbing for power and would do all they could to keep what they did have.

    The next few years would define generations, rewrite culture, and define what the Kurlatra were on a galactic scale. Nothing would be the same now that Eivaley and Conor had taken charge.

    Conor and Eivaley would struggle hand in hand to move the Kurlatra forward. Through their love of one another, the empire, and life itself, they would eventually bring peace back to the Kurlatra.

    History books would be written about the following years of their lives, some accurate, some less so. But all of them had one detail in common. The empire''s revolution did not start within its borders; it began on a distant world, one that most did not know of.

    Heavalun was a city of cutthroats, gangers, and contract killers. A place where you could find scum of the galaxy and little else.

    That horrible place of twisted duracrete, lost souls, and death was where a princess and a Human met one fateful night. The revolution began on Heavalun, the moment Conor followed Eivaley to the stars, and through love, she helped him escape Heavalun in mind, body, and soul.