The Complete Void Wraith Saga

by Chris Fox

  She stepped on the disk, bending her knees slightly as it zoomed aloft. It traced the now-familiar route, heading unerringly back to the arena. As she approached, Fizgig realized there were dozens of islands clustered around the arena, easily triple what she’d seen last time.

  “He has something special planned,” she muttered, mustering a grim smile. She had gone through a long courtship with death, and she was ready for the chase to end.

  The disk zoomed down to the arena, depositing her across from a single Saurian. It wore black scaled armor that perfectly blended with its own dark scales, and it rested its hands on a pair of heavy plasma pistols. The Saurian was taller than most, though not so heavily muscled as some. Lean, and likely fast.

  Azatok could learn, apparently. He’d come to understand that her speed was her chief weapon, and brought someone to counter that ability. Fizgig had no doubt the Saurian would be fast enough to get a shot off before she could close.

  Fizgig began to stretch, preparing for battle. Obstinance now, before such a crowd, would warrant immediate execution. Azatok would suffer no further slights to his honor. Yet she was still curious to see what scenario he’d devised. There would be some tactic designed to get her to fight. What would he use?

  Azatok zoomed out over the crowd, alone on a magnificent golden transport disk. He raised his arms expansively, gesturing at the crowd. “I am thrilled to see so many of the new Imperium’s mighty gathered here to witness an historic event. Many of you recognized Siskus, the champion of the lower games. He has bested every species, even Ganog. Today, he faces the champion of the Coalition, an alien challenger.”

  “She won’t fight,” someone from the crowd yelled. It was echoed many times over.

  “What’s that?” Azatok cocked a hand to his ear, his fur going smug orange. “You think she will not fight? Rest easy, friends. She will fight. Observe.”

  A holoscreen floated up over the arena so that it was visible to everyone in the audience. It flared into photorealistic life, showing a planet Fizgig recognized. It was New Jaguara, the world where Carnifex and the Jaguara had chosen to resettle after the loss of their home world.

  “Fizgig—or ‘Mighty Fizgig’ as her people call her—refuses to fight because we have been unable to threaten anything she loves,” Azatok explained, grinning savagely at Fizgig. “I believe I have finally found something she cares about. This world possesses over fifty million of her species. Begin orbital bombardment. Continue that bombardment until Siskus is dead, or the surface of the planet is molten.”

  The single dreadnought and its fleet of supporting cruisers unleashed a barrage, the scarlet streaks boiling away the atmosphere before continuing on to melt the surface into a sea of glass. The bombardment moved west, eradicating everything it touched.

  Hundreds of thousands of Tigris died as death rained on their cities. A few vessels attempted to resist, but the largest was a single destroyer. The cruisers made short work of it, then returned to their grisly mission.

  Fizgig ignited her plasma blade and charged the Saurian. She used her free hand to thumb the button on her belt twice, to set it in shield mode. The Saurian was as fast as she’d feared, yanking his plasma pistols from their holsters with astonishing speed. He aimed them unerringly at her chest, squeezing off a quartet of scarlet blasts.

  The energy washed over her shield, discoloring the area around her chest as it revealed the protective barrier. The Saurian’s eyes widened, and he fired frantically. One pistol aimed for her face, the other her crotch.

  Fizgig vaulted into the air, spinning over the last few blasts. At the apex of her jump, she darted her plasma blade toward her target. The humming, blue energy sank right through his body armor, severing the spine in a single blow.

  She landed in a crouch and darted to the Saurian’s side. Fizgig ripped the pistols from his limp hands, noting the hatred in his reptilian eyes. He was paralyzed, but still very much alive. She extinguished her blades, and turned to face Azatok.

  “You are right,” Fizgig said, as respectfully as she could muster. “You have discovered the correct leverage. My foe is dead. Please, stop this madness.”

  Azatok stared down at her in consideration, tapping his jaw with his index finger.

  “Had you cooperated earlier, perhaps I’d show mercy. You chose to embarrass me. Continue the bombardment,” Azatok said, waving at his techsmith. The holographic screen showed the destruction, unabated. “In fact, have three planetstriders warp to the southern continent and begin laying waste to their cities. I want to watch their young run from death.”

  Fizgig mastered her rage, mentally calculating. She looked from platform to platform, but there was no easy way to reach Azatok. By the time she did, he’d simply have moved his platform. That left her only one option. She must get him, to come to her.

  “You are a true coward, Azatok. A weak brute relying on others to support your own power. I ask you one last time: Fight me.”

  “And why would I do that?” Azatok said, laughing.

  Fizgig scanned Azatok’s harem—to which she had paid a great deal of attention during her previous times in the arena—and picked out the two females that had spent the most time simpering before Azatok. She raised the Saurian’s pistols, and executed them both. Their bodies toppled from the disks, plummeting to the arena’s sandy floor.

  Azatok gawked, mouth working. Fizgig shot two more, smiling calmly up at Azatok. “You will fight me, because I have also found the correct leverage. I will kill your entire harem, unless you stop me. Where is your honor now, Ganog?”

  Azatok’s eyes blazed. He roared his fury, knocking a techsmith from his path as he leapt over the side of the transport disk. He landed across from Fizgig, growling. “I’m going to enjoy this, little cat.”

  “No. No, you are not,” Fizgig answered, sliding her feet apart. She reignited her plasma blade, dropping the pistols.

  48

  Sacrifice

  Khar rolled away from a Ganog’s kick, air whooshing past as the blow just missed his face. Behind him, an Adept was waiting. She glided forward, her fist rabbiting into the small of his back. His nanochrons dispersed some of the kinetic force, but a warning light flared.

  Khar’s elbow shot into the Adept’s face, slamming her nose into her brain cavity. The blow knocked her away, but before Khar could follow up, another Adept had stepped into her place.

  A shimmering figure landed next to the Adept, then a roundhouse kick flung her into the air. Khar lunged, punching his plasma dagger through her throat as she sailed past. He twisted, putting his back to Zakanna’s heat signature.

  “We’ve hurt them,” she said, panting.

  “Not enough,” he said, warding off a blow from an Adept. Most of the elites were down, at least, and the last trio was circling around the beacon protectively. They weren’t leaving it, but were instead allowing the Adepts to wear them down. “We’ve lost the advantage of stealth. They know what to look for now.”

  Then there was no more time for words. Khar blocked another punch, returning one that broke his opponent’s forearm. He battled furiously, watching as his power reserves dwindled. He hadn’t really expected it to be easy, but this protracted combat was more than he’d bargained for.

  Zakanna flipped over an Adept, and that Adept turned to face her. Khar plunged his dagger into the back of the Adept’s skull, pivoting to dodge a strike from another Adept. That opened him to a kick from a third, which flung him to the ground.

  A hail of punches and kicks rained down, and it was all Khar could to do protect his vital systems. Warning lights sprang up all over the place, but try as he might, he couldn’t regain his feet. There were too many enemies.

  “Zakanna!” he yelled.

  The blows slackened, and Zakanna roared in anger. Khar lashed out with his foot, shattering a kneecap. He rose to his feet, nanochrons already repairing the worst of the damage. The Adepts were converging around Zakanna, and her belt finally failed entirely.
She was fully visible, and was now the focus of their collective attention.

  Khar knew there’d be no way to stop them all, no way to prevent them from killing her. He had to try anyway. Khar sprinted forward, dropping an Adept with his plasma blade, then launched his knee into another, shattering the Adept’s spine. He fought like a demon, slashing and whirling and kicking.

  The battle was glorious, and he lost himself in it, ignoring the bitter whisper that survival was impossible. One of the elites moved to attack Zakanna, so Khar vaulted into the air. The elite was ready, its fist blurring out.

  The blow caught Khar in the chest, flinging him into the barricade wall. Yellow lights shifted to red, showing the catastrophic damage throughout his limbs and torso. Behind the elite, Zakanna battled desperately.

  She blurred through combat forms, fighting off Adepts as she dodged the elite. It was as impressive a martial display as Khar had ever seen, yet he knew it must end soon.

  Zakanna caught Khar’s eye, and time seemed to slow. In that eternal instant, her gaze conveyed everything, her feelings for him, her hopes for the future. Her knowledge of her own imminent death. Her willing sacrifice.

  A Ganog stumbled in front of Zakanna, ending the moment. Khar glanced at the beacon, realizing that all three elites were converging on Zakanna, determined to end her. They’d already dismissed him, stopped considering him a threat.

  His path was clear. He must destroy the beacon.

  49

  Boom

  Khar hung in agonized eternity. He looked to the beacon, then back to Zakanna. He shared her feelings—not just her affection, but her willingness to sacrifice everything. She’d created an opening, and he would honor her sacrifice by taking full advantage of it. They were both probably dead anyway.

  Khar triggered his stealth belt again, feeding it power from his own dwindling reserves. He sprinted toward the beacon, pulling a block of ferrogel from his pack. The Ganog explosive had proven far more effective than the Coalition equivalent, with the added benefit of being relatively stable.

  Only one elite somehow detected him, and Khar ducked under a clumsy fist. He darted forward hurling the block at the beacon. Khar ripped his particle pistol from its holster, aiming at the ferrogel. His reticle lined up, and he stroked the trigger. A blast of blue shot into the ferrogel, igniting it instantly.

  “Shield!” Khar roared, using the nanochrons to amplify his voice.

  He thumbed the switch on his belt, turning it from stealth to defensive field, and added a torrent of energy from his reserves to amplify the protective field.

  A wave of brilliant light burst from the beacon, slamming into Khar. He was flung away from the center of the blast and sailed past the elite who’d been trying to stop him. The flames and debris shredded the elite’s armor, picking him up with the same force that had flung Khar into the air.

  The wave of flame blasted him into the wall of the barricade, and Khar rebounded off as the explosion burst upward out the top of the barricade.

  He landed in a heap, confused and unable to rise. Red warning lights covered every system, and those few that functioned were being shut down to allow the nanochrons to effect repairs. Khar overrode that process, continuing repairs but keeping critical systems active.

  The area around him was filled with smoking bodies, and the wisps rising from the elite mostly obscured his view. Khar slowly stretched out a hand, pulling himself past the elite. He allowed himself a weak smile when he was finally able to see the beacon—or its smoldering remains, anyway. A single hunk of warped, white metal lay where the cube had been, the circuitry on its blasted surface now dark.

  Shards of white shrapnel were embedded in the barricade’s scorched walls, and in the bodies of the fallen Ganog. A few of those bodies were still moving, writhing in blind agony and unable to rise.

  Khar scanned the pile of bodies where Zakanna had been, struggling to find any sign of her. Now able to use both arms, he tugged himself across the grass. It took long moments to reach the pile of blackened and charred bodies.

  He tugged an Adept off the pile, then another. The elites were too heavy to move, so he worked around them, trying to find any sign of her.

  Finally, he heard a weak cough.

  “Zakanna?” he called, clawing his way over to the area the sound had come from. It was under one of the elites.

  “I—I’m here,” came a weak reply. “I activated the belt just in time I think. This body covering mine probably also helped, though the smell is abominable.”

  “Can you move?” he asked, rising to one knee. His reserves dipped below ten percent, but some basic function was returning.

  “Hold on,” she said, through gritted teeth.

  A series of deep, booming breaths came from underneath the elite. The elite was flung upward, crashing to the ground several meters away. Zakanna flipped to her feet, moving to Khar’s side. Her chest heaved as if she’d run a marathon, and her gaze was thick with weariness.

  “Oh, Khar,” she said, kneeling next to him. “Your fur—”

  Khar looked down at himself and began to laugh. His fur had been cooked away from his face and shoulders. “It will grow back by this time tomorrow, I’m sure. Come, let’s see if our actions have had any affect.”

  Khar opened a communications channel to Aluki. “Aluki, the beacon is destroyed. Can you give us an update?”

  “Mmm, it’s a full-on war out here. The Void Wraith have begun attacking Ganog. All Ganog, everywhere. They’re slaughtering them, both down here and up in orbit.” Aluki sounded thrilled. “Are you ready for extraction? We’re in position, just outside the spire.”

  “Yes,” Khar said, accepting Zakanna’s hand as she pulled him to his feet. “But we have one more errand to attend to before we escape.”

  “Mmm, it had better be quick,” Aluki cautioned.

  Above, the spire shuddered, then stone rained down. Aluki’s cruiser shimmered into view as it dipped through the very same hole they’d left when they fled this world before. It descended toward their island, a ramp already extending as they landed.

  Zakanna helped Khar up the ramp, and he was embarrassed to admit he needed that help.

  “Mmm, what’s so important that we need to risk the Void Wraith?” Halut demanded, slapping the red button to close the ramp behind them. “We should leave. Now.”

  “No,” Khar growled, glaring at the little Whalorian. “We must save Fizgig. Then we can be away from this place.”

  50

  Azatok

  Azatok had rarely been this furious, and had never been so humiliated. The crowd’s cruel laughter prodded him forward, toward the little Tigris that had caused such catastrophic damage to his reputation. The alien had even goaded him into sending part of the fleet to destroy a Coalition world. Utfa would be furious, if he learned of it.

  All because he wanted to break an aging enemy commander. He’d blundered, and he knew it. But there was still some satisfaction yet to be gleaned. He would enjoy watching the life fade from Fizgig’s eyes.

  Azatok withdrew the same daggers he’d used to kill Takkar. He began his breathing, circling Fizgig. The Tigris was already smaller than him, but soon he’d dwarf her. There was no way she could stand against him in great form.

  Fizgig shimmered out of sight. Azatok’s eyes widened as he frantically scanned for any sign of his opponent. He sucked in a breath to comment on her cowardice when a humming, blue blade came at his face. He staggered backward, desperately struggling to get one of his daggers up in time to block.

  Unfortunately, the attack came toward his wounded side. His arm was still healing, and was slower than it should have been. The blue dagger scored his cheek, nearly taking his eye before he was able to disengage.

  “Coward! You began a duel before I completed the change. Have you no honor?” he roared, slashing at the air in front of him with one of his daggers. “Show yourself.”

  He continued his breathing, growing a full meter as he to
ok a step. A humming came from behind, and he spun. Too late. The blade punched into his back, through the armor and deep into his flesh. He roared, swiping behind him in a wild slash.

  Azatok whipped his foot around in a roundhouse kick, but found only air. He spotted a shimmer in the air, like heat. “Ah, there you are. Your little trick won’t work any more. I can see you now.”

  Fizgig reappeared, standing where he’d seen the shimmer. “It won’t save you.” She charged, launching a slash at his face, toward the other eye.

  Azatok knocked the blade away, backpedaling to gain room. He tried to focus on the change, seeking the great form that he knew would end this fight. She gave him no opportunity, coming at him relentlessly. Again and again she struck, and each time he was barely able to parry. He flared his lower nostrils, needing the extra oxygen they could provide. His fur was a mass of red and yellow and black, broadcasting his emotions for all to see.

  Azatok lunged, suddenly on the offensive. His first dagger shot toward Fizgig’s face, but she dodged the blow. His second would have disemboweled her, but she knocked it to the side with her plasma blade. He began a third strike, but she was faster.

  Fizgig slashed at his wrist—the uninjured one. Her blade bit deeply, nearly severing his hand. Azatok’s dagger clattered to the ground, and Fizgig scooped it up as she continued to press her attack.

  He staggered back, keeping her briefly at bay with wild slashes from his remaining dagger. She switched fighting styles, coming at him with both daggers. Azatok tried to adjust his defenses, but his wounds were mounting, and he knew he was slowing.