by Tristan Vick
Not much was known about Nodengoth except that he once was a skilled and noble warrior, since made into a puppet for a celestial entity of pure evil. Whatever greatness he may have once possessed had since been eclipsed by the tyrant king’s ambition and bloodlust.
The red, vengeful eye of hate replaced any semblance of valor or compassion the noble knight may have once had. All that remained of the Nyctan warrior was his body, a mere bludgeoning tool—and a cold-blooded killing machine.
Each repletion of the warrior’s name was followed by the rhythmic banging on armor. Et’vat Nodengoth! Clank-ka-clank. Clackity-clank. Et’vat Nodengoth! Clank-ka-clank. Clackity-clank.
The thrumming pattern repeated itself endlessly as the throng of warriors spurred on their champion. Et’vat Nodengoth! Clank-ka-clank. Clackity-clank. Et’vat Nodengoth! Clank-ka-clank. Clackity-clank.
Jegra raised the heavy, dual head of her battle axe and twirled it about with a bit of style and verve, and then flung it over her shoulder where she let it rest. She shifted her hips into a casual, yet dynamic pose, and watched with a smirk on her face as Nodengoth sauntered toward her position.
Unintimidated by the gladiatrix, he came to a stop about thirty feet away and raised a gauntleted fist into the air. Almost immediately, the chanting of his legionnaires died down and his black eyes with golden irises surged with golden light as he looked upon her with a nearly endless well of contempt.
“It’s been a long time, pink-skin,” he sneered. “The last time we met you were crawling through your own blood and fluids as I clutched your newborn in my hands. Tell me, Mother of Dagon, what does it feel like to lose a child?”
Jegra’s eyes narrowed down to dark, smoldering coals of scorn. She tossed her axe to the ground and then, her fists balled tight, she lunged into the air and roared with all the fury her belly could muster.
Her first strike crashed down on his linked forearms, and even though he managed to block her downward punch, the force of the blow sent him flying backward. Digging in his heavy metal boots, he carved out gashes in the soil as he skidded across it.
Still in motion, his eyes widened with shock as she thrust herself forward and slid into him, landing several blows on his torso before he even managed to scrape to a halt.
Stopped, he blocked a flying knee to his chest, but she quickly ducked down and followed it up with a couple of hits below the belt. She caught him in the balls, and he lurched forward, shifting his stance to avoid another ball-tap. Even so, it seemed that’s exactly what she was hoping he’d do, because Jegra leaped up and headbutted him, sending him staggering back once again.
Nodengoth grinned as he licked the trickle of blue blood trailing down the corner of his mouth and ran his tongue across his white teeth. As blue blood smeared and stained them, he smiled even more.
“Well done,” he said, grinning like a maniac. Impressed that she’d managed to draw first blood, he circled her and shook his arms loose, preparing himself for what was turning out to be a real fight. “You may prove a challenge to me yet.” He tossed his long dark hair behind him, adding, “I cannot tell you how long it’s been since I faced a truly worthy opponent.”
She smirked and raised her hand, motioning for him to come at her.
With an impossible speed, he blurred out of sight—and then was suddenly standing just over her right shoulder.
Jegra’s eyes widened as she realized that he’d manifested directly behind her. Attacking her backside, where she had no defense, was the best way at taking her down. Even so, she’d fully predicted he’d make that exact move.
In her spare time over the past year, Jegra had studied every piece of available footage she could get her hands on regarding Nodengoth. And although he was fast and ruthless, he was also cocky and reckless.
It wasn’t hard to predict his first attack. Even as he had manifested behind her in the blink of an eye, she was already shifting her body weight. She leaned to the left, bending one knee slightly and tilting just enough so that Nodengoth’s arm and fist flew across her shoulder, narrowly missing her head.
Over extending, he looked down, an almost amused look coming over his face.
Reflexively, Jegra reached up, took his forearm in her hands, and pulled down on it. Hard. His arm joint snapped over her shoulder with a bone-chilling crunch and he let out a yelp as she dislocated his elbow, shoulder, and wrist all in single move.
She twisted her hips, pivoted, and, using his body weight against him, flipped him over her shoulder. With the force of a hammer, he smashed into the ground, ribs breaking, and coughing up blood.
Jegra rolled her head across her shoulders and cracked her neck. As she waited for her opponent to get back to his feet, she rotated her shoulders, hopped up and down, and shook out the tension in her arms.
Staying loose meant staying fast. As she bounced up and down, her meaty thighs bounced with her. Once she’d settled back into position, she widened her stance, raised her fists and nodded at Nodengoth to hurry it along.
“What’s the matter, Nodengoth? Did you fall out of practice?”
“Silence, woman!” Nodengoth growled as he pushed himself to his feet with only one good arm.
Once up, he popped his elbow and shoulder back into joint with a grunt and then flexed his arm to make sure everything was back in order. As he flexed, his forearm tightened to the point that his wrist reset itself, almost as if he had self-healing properties and then he shook out the tension in his arm, flexed again, and then rotated his arm in its socket just to be certain everything was back in working order. It was.
“I thought you avatars were supposed to be tough. By the way, your pretty little girlfriend up there wanted me to give you this,” Jegra informed. Reaching into a small leather satchel on her waist, she pulled something out and tossed it to Nodengoth.
He looked down at what he held in his own two hands. It took him a minute to process the information, then it dawned on him that it was Azra’il Nun’s tongue. Sickened by the barbarity of it, he flung the grotesque appendage into the dirt and screamed out in rage. “You’ll pay for that, you bitch!”
“Big words coming from such a little man,” she taunted, making sure he was riled up. The angrier he was, the more clouded his judgement.
“Grah!” Nodengoth lunged forward. He blurred partially as a spray of dirt shot up behind him. Jegra merely kicked a powerful leg back and, to everyone’s surprise, caught his punch with one hand.
“H-how is this even possible?” Nodengoth looked down at his fist clutched in her mighty grip. She smiled at him and then crushed his fist as though it were as brittle as eggshells.
“ARGH!” he shouted as he drew back, clutching his mangled hand.
“I have a message for your master. Tell him I want to meet face to face.”
“He’ll never meet with someone so unworthy.”
“Unworthy?” Jegra balked. “Do you know who I am?”
A perplexed look came over Nodengoth’s face.
“I’m Jegra Alakandra, commander of the Knights of Caelum, loyal wife to the true emperor, champion of the arena, and the Mother of Dagon. And I will have my vengeance, in this life or the next.”
“Rousing speech,” Nodengoth sneered, “but I can tell you’re stalling.”
Jegra shrugged.
“The question is why.”
After a short pause, Nodengoth’s eyes grew wide with shock as a red line slowly appeared on the top of his head, ran down his face, and continued the entire length of his body. By the time he was aware of what had happened, it was already too late.
His eyes flickered with rage as they refocused on Jegra. “You backstabbing, two-faced whore...” he wheezed with his last breath. He was unable to finish the insult, as cleaved in two, both halves fell apart at the seam and Nodengoth spilled to the ground in two separate piles of guts and gore.
Emperor Dakroth stood directly behind Nodengoth’s corpse, radiant finger still glowing hot pink.
&nbs
p; Jegra gave an appreciative nod for the assist. He nodded back and then casually brushed down his space suit.
Battles were won by not having to fight your opponent head on. By distracting Nodengoth with a well-timed flurry of attacks, he became too preoccupied with what she was doing to notice the emperor silently sneaking up behind him.
After all, Jegra wasn’t looking to punish Nodengoth for his crimes. She wasn’t going to give him a slap on the wrist and forgive him. She was looking to make an example of him.
A couple of Nephilim legionnaires rushed forward, roaring fierce battle cries as they entered the clearing. Hoping to avenge their fallen hero, they drew their weapons and charged Emperor Dakroth. That was their first and last mistake.
Without even looking at them, Dakroth threw out his arm and let off a prolonged laser blast that cut the two warriors down in their tracks. The blast was so powerful, however, that a dozen other soldiers still standing in formation a hundred meters in the distance teetered and then collapsed as well.
Bored, Dakroth reached up and cupped his mouth to stifle a yawn. Jegra couldn’t help but smile.
In the brief repose, as the enemy tried to figure out their next move, she turned and looked up toward the Nephilim battlecruiser. “On second thought,” Jegra said, addressing Dakroth. “Blow that fucking bitch out of the sky.”
“I thought you’d never ask,” Dakroth said appreciatively. Raising his glowing finger, he pointed it up toward the cruiser. Taking ahold of his own wrist, and locking it in place with his left hand, he steadied his aim.
The Dygra crystal in his chest began to pulse and his finger began to glow a hot pink. The crystal pulsed faster and faster until, finally, it flared in his chest like a miniature starburst; the intensity of it showing through the fabric of his suit.
A massive laser blast raced up toward the Nephilim cruiser and then, like a plasma welder cutting through steel, it sliced the enemy ship right down the middle. This was followed by a series of explosions but, even so, the ship managed to hold together.
“Hmmm...” he said, stroking his chin.
“What is it?” Callestra asked, sauntering up to them. She glanced over at the Nephilim soldiers, who seemed uncertain as how to proceed, now that their champion lay in a smoldering pile of entrails at their feet.
“Oh, nothing,” Dakroth said, yawning again. “I suppose I’m just tired is all.” On a full charge, he would have decimated that ship. But the battle had left him drained, and he was in need a bit of food and refreshment to get his powers back up.
Callestra placed her hand on his chest and said, “What you need, my luv, is a bit of distraction.” She licked her lips as she stared longingly into his eyes and he bent down and kissed her.
Grendok and Brei’Alas arrived to lend their support to Jegra just as the first beams of red light came down to collect the remaining enemy soldiers. Jegra stood and watched until every last one of them had been called back up to the ship.
Good riddance, she thought. Then, looking up, they all watched as the Nephilim cruiser, ever so slowly, turned about and limped away, venting gas out of its open wounds as it went. A swarm of remaining fighters trailed after it like a string of ducklings following their mother.
The Dagon and Galliforn ground forces all let out a round of victorious cheers as the enemy tucked tail and retreated. Although outnumbered, they had proven themselves to be the superior fighters. Hopefully, this victory for them would be enough to catch H’aaztre’s undivided attention. Unless he was looking forward to more setbacks, he’d have to take Jegra’s rebellion seriously.
“Now what?” Brei’Alas asked.
“Now we get cleaned up and feast,” Grendok answered in his usual gruff voice. When he turned to meet Jegra’s gaze, the two of them stared at each other for a brief moment and then both smiled and threw their arms out as they drew together and embraced. “It’s been a long time, old friend.”
“How I’ve missed your hoary old mug,” she said, squeezing and then letting him go.
As they embraced one another, Brei shrugged and, wrapped her arms around the both of them and squeezed until they all needed air.
Uncomfortable with all the sentimentality on display, Callestra turned away and merely twirled her knives, waiting for everyone to finish gushing emotions everywhere.
Dakroth placed his hands on his waist and stared up at the destroyer. Squinting hard, he aimed his finger again and let out another blast. Everyone turned to watch the red beam stretch into the heavens. A few seconds later there was a brilliant flash of light as the ship exploded, breaking apart into a million flaming pieces.
“That’s more like it,” he said, as if reassuring himself that he still had it. His work done, he turned and headed back to the basecamp.
Still gazing up at the glowing ring of light that used to be the Nephilim battlecruiser, Grendok said, “An impressive man, that Dakroth.”
Callestra smiled, sliding her blades back into their sheaths on her back.
“For all his shortcomings, he sometimes manages to surprise you.”
Callestra frowned. She didn’t like the fact that Jegra would openly talk bad about the emperor, even in jest. Growing defensive, she responded, “Personally, I think he’s perfect.”
“Of course, you do,” Jegra said, fixing her dark brown eyes onto the Dagon woman. “Because you’re head over heels in love with him.”
“I...you...that’s not...” stuttered Callestra, not knowing how to respond to that. It wasn’t a wrong assessment, but she thought she’d hidden her infatuation better. Yet looking around at all the grinning faces, it was clear to her that they all knew.
“It’s perfectly all right,” Jegra reassured her. “You have my blessing.”
“I do?” she asked.
“I expect you to keep a close eye on him. He’s a handful, that one.” She gestured back over her shoulder with a stiff thumb in the direction Dakroth had headed. Callestra merely nodded.
Callestra took Jegra’s hand in hers, knelt at her feet, and pressed her lips to her empress’s hand. After offering her kiss of allegiance, she replied, “I shall do my utmost to serve both my emperor and the Mother of Dagon to the best of my abilities.”
Jegra pulled the woman back up to her feet so that they were standing face to face. “I know you will.”
“Seems it’s turning into a beautiful night after all,” Brei’Alas mused as she continued gazing up at the sparkling debris that filled the sky like ten thousand, thousand glittering fireflies.
“Quite right,” Grendok affirmed. “A most glorious evening indeed.”
21
Onelle Te’Legra Agnar stood on the observation deck of the Nephilim medical frigate. She watched as drones brought in badly damaged escape pods. Apparently, the Nephilim flagship had gone up in a blaze of glory and Azra’il Nun had been aboard it. Rumor had it, however, that she was alive and well. And Onelle, who had on a fancy, pearl white cocktail dress, waited in the observation lounge for her monthly scheduled meeting.
Azra’il Nun strode into the lounge wearing a golden gown that draped across her porcelain figure. Onelle noticed she had some recent suture lines where the laser welder had operated on her. But the most striking thing was the prosthetic jaw she had attached.
Onelle took the drink resting on the bar, sipped it, and set it back down. Seeing that Azra’il had spotted her, she rose to meet the woman. “I know it’s none of my business, but what in the bleedin’ galaxy happened to you?”
Azra’il tried to speak, but her prosthetic jaw locked up. She fetched a small screwdriver from a toolkit strapped to her thigh like a garter and tightened the servos inside her jaw. Opening and shutting her mouth a few times, testing to see if all the kinks were out, she replaced the screwdriver and then turned to those off duty patrons who convened in the lounge. “Leave us,” she commanded.
Without hesitation, the crew set down their tools, stopped whatever it was they were doing, and quickly left the bridg
e as requested. Once the final crewman had shuffled out of the doors, Azra’il turned her attention back to the meeting at hand.
“Dakroth and his wild harem of savage women is what happened.”
“I warned you they’d be trouble,” Onelle answered.
“I barely made it off that ship alive. If I hadn’t ordered the evacuation after the first blast, we’d all be dead right now.”
“H’aaztre must be watching over you, hallowed be his name,” Onelle said reverently, bowing her head.
“The Terran has awoken and she has banded together a small yet effective alliance of Dagon, Satyr, and even the emperor himself.”
“Jegra,” Onelle hissed, her brow settling into a scowl at the mere mention of her mortal enemy. “What can I do to help?” Onelle asked, offering her services.
The truth was, she’d do anything to see Jegra overthrown and brought to ruin. It was her sole mission in life to get revenge for Abethca’s death, and she wouldn’t rest until Jegra was frozen in crystalline as the centerpiece in her fountain room.
“Surely, as a business woman with eyes and ears in every sector of the Commonwealth, you are uniquely suited for sniffing out insurgency wherever it might rear its ugly head. Although I am the Voice of H’aaztre, you are his ears.”
Onelle bowed her head, “It would be my pleasure.”
Azra’il smiled rigidly, the prosthetic still rather stiff. All she could manage was an artificial sort of grin, which made her look almost manic. She quickly gave up on the smile, rubbing her jaw and trying to get the thing to loosen up.
“I want you to monitor any and all unusual shipments. Large quantities of medicine, weapons, and food must be accounted for. If there is a last-minute change in shipping coordinates and a shipment gets rerouted, I want to be the first to know about it. If a bulk order for coolant gels gets made, I want to be the first to know. Anything and everything that could be used to support a rebellion needs to be watched with a renewed vigilance.”
“Yes, my mistress. Is there anything else you’d ask of me?”
