by Jake Stone
“The corfew holds no sway on Korath,” the hellion mocks with a laugh. “For this is our realm, and we will prove it to you.”
“Enough talk,” Atia says. “Zorel.”
Zorel takes center stage as she aims her hand at the wretched figure. With the flick of her hand, she blasts a wave of electricity at him, but before the tendrils can reach its target, the hellion meets it with a blast of his own.
I look up at the glowering hellion and gasp in fear as it does away with its red robe, revealing the large amulet of Zendal.
“He’s a kaster!” Atia says, pointing her spear at the wizard. “Kill him!”
I draw my sword as I rush the stage, the rest of the women following close behind. Only Chun Hei remains in place, aiming her rifle to attack.
The kaster is quick with his spells, and we’re hit with bolts of lightning and tongues of fire. He laughs as he leaps off the stage, drawing our attention back toward the demon forge behind us.
“You think you can hurt me?” it says laughingly as it prances before us like a drunken fairy. It summons a flock of sharp-toothed birds with daggers for wings from its wrists, and we’re instantly caught in a fight for our lives. Luckily, between Atia’s helicopter movements and Petronelous’s two blades, we’re able to cut them down quickly. But the kaster is still alive.
He blasts us with shocks of purple light—electrical explosions that rival that of Zorel’s—mocking us with his laughter. Without shields, we’re forced to rely on our holy weapons and armor to deflect the attacks. Thankfully, they hold.
I raise my blade just in time as I’m struck with a shock of purple light. The tendrils slink around the length of my blade, over the vambraces of my forearms, across the chest of my armor, slinking over the metal like dangerous snakes, until they finally die.
“I have him!” Petronelous yells as she grips him from behind. With all her strength she bends the hunchback’s arms behind its back, grimacing in pain as her entire body is consumed by the purple fire. “Now!” she screams.
I race toward them, blade in hand, and swing for the kaster’s neck. His eyes grow wide as my blade slices through the rotting tendons of his neck.
He dies without a sound, head rolling across the cavern until it finally meets the wall.
“Alright,” I say, my heart pumping with surety and confidence from my kill. I look back at the demon knight still standing on the dais and aim my sword. “Let’s kick his ass.”
We walk as one, prepared to do battle with the monster who refuses to even move.
“Pretty little things,” Azafalia says mockingly. “You will become excellent additions to my harem. That is, all of you, except for him.” He points to me, and I feel my heart drop into my stomach. “For he will serve as a sacrifice.”
“Don’t listen to him,” Atia says. “He’s just trying to scare us. If we stand united, the corfew will see us through.”
“For the corfew,” Petronelous says.
“For the Republic,” Zorel replies.
As one, we charge the knight, hitting him with everything we have. Zorel blasts him in the chest with a shock of electricity that could bore a hole through a mountain. Yet, he merely staggers back, the dense plate of his armor able to absorb the bulk of the energy.
Atia flanks him from his left, while Petronelous does the same from the right. The two women warriors streak through the air, their blades held high as they fly toward him. Azafalia notices them at the last second, but he’s fast, precise, and he parries both of their strikes with the vambraces of his armor, sparks flying out as metal meets metal.
As the knight braves the assault, he responds with one of his own. He swings a fist at Atia, but, thankfully, our captain is faster, and she’s able to pull her head to the side at the last second. But it’s not enough to dodge the strike entirely. She lets out a grunt as Azafalia’s fist rails into her shoulder, sending her to the ground.
“Captain!” Petronelous jumps in to protect her, clashing her blades against the demon’s armor, striking it in a magnificent array. Sparks fly. Metal chips. But in the end. It’s nothing but a distraction.
The knight, as quick as ever, catches Petronelous by the throat and lifts her off her feet.
Strangled, Petronelous lets go of her blades, kicking frantically as she fights for breath. Amazingly, if it had been any of us in that position, we would’ve died. But Petronelous’s strength has become almost mythical, and the demon knight’s eyes widen in surprise as he feels her resistance.
“Interesting,” he says, his head cocked to the side. “You might last longer than the others.”
“Damn you,” Petronelous manages, as she stretches out to kick him in the face.
Startled, he blinks.
Chun Hei and I exchange a glance. This is our chance. I rush up the dais as Chun Hei aims her rifle. She hits him with a series of shots that slam into his eyes. Staggering back, his grip loosens around Petronelous, and I jump in for the killing stroke.
My blade flies high as I leap at the monster, its tip perfectly aimed at the open space of his armor. But just as I’m about to plunge my blade, he opens his eyes, and, astonishingly, I fall right through him.
Slamming into the floor, I quickly spin around, only to see that my enemy is nothing but a ghost. He laughs as his body solidifies once again. “Did you really think you could defeat the likes of me?”
So that’s his power, I realize. He can dematerialize. Wow, this is going to be harder than I thought.
Atia is undeterred by the revelation. Her philosophy is to attack and attack until the enemy or we are dead. Can’t really fault it, especially when we’re faced with such a monster. But there has to be another way.
Drawing my sword, I attack again. We all do. Again and again, until we’ve wasted our strength and lie wounded on the ground. Clustered, gripping our wounds, staggering into place once more to make a final stand, we stare up at the demon, hopeless.
Azafalia marches out toward us, his claws glinting in the firelight, when suddenly he comes to a stop, a weak gasp leaving his lips. Something’s wrong. He’s hurt. But how?
He turns around slowly, his steps awkward, and we see the spear that he’d left behind now lodged deep between his shoulder blades. The young slave girl, the one who was forced to toil at his feet at the end of a chain, now stands proudly before him.
I exchange a glance with Atia, astonished at our good fortune. One of the few weapons that can harm a demon knight is one of its own. We’ve been saved.
“You treacherous bitch!” Azafalia seethes. Already his movements are slow, and his speech is strangled by the rush of black blood filling its throat. He staggers forward, falling to the ground, his clawed hand reaching out to the young girl as if begging for help.
“You will not have me anymore,” the young woman declares, glaring down at the dying demon. “You will never touch my skin again, and I will never give you any pleasure.”
Azafalia reaches out to the slave girl one last time before finally dying and a long moment of silence passes as what has happened dawns upon us.
I march up the steps of the dais, toward the girl, drawn to her sad victory.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
For a moment, she says nothing. She just stares at the demon, tears running down her cheeks as the death of her master becomes real. If I’m not mistaken, I actually see pity in her eyes, as if there was something about Azafalia that she laments, as if she’s such a good person that her heart is still capable of mercy.
“You’re safe now,” I say, finally breaking through her shell of shock. She looks at me, blinks then gazes down at the long thick chain that connects her collar to that of the demon knight’s throne.
“And yet, I’m still not free,” she says.
I wave to Chun Hei, who quickly comes.
“Do we have anything that can break her collar?” I ask in sign language.
The purple-eyed beauty thinks for a moment, her gaze turning to the metal
tongs hanging along the rack next to the main hearth. She quickly sets off to retrieve the tool, while I kneel next to the young brunette, hoping that my presence will calm her.
“Here.” Chun Hei hands me the tongs.
The woman flinches in fear, as I bring the tool close to her neck.
“Don’t worry,” I assure her. “We’re not going to hurt you.”
The girl settles as she puts her faith in us. Chun Hei grabs her by the hand and offers a kind smile.
The collar that the slave girl wears is the largest, densest thing I’ve ever seen. The bolts are set deep within the metal, and I have to use all my strength to pull them out. To the girl’s credit, she’s able to withstand the force, her eyes squinting in determination as she waits to be freed.
Finally, with a quick snap, the bolt breaks and the collar snaps open, freeing the girl to take in the deepest breath I’ve ever seen anyone take.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
“Of course,” I reply. “I only wish that we could’ve freed you earlier.”
She looks down at the necklace on her chest and gives it a weak smile. “As do I.”
“What’s your name?” I ask.
She looks up at me, and when I see her eyes, it’s as if I’m looking at Rachel again. “Tora,” she says.
Chapter Thirteen
Slowly, people begin to appear from their hiding places, rising from behind rocks, creeping out from behind the exits, all of them swarming around us in guarded hesitation.
They’re worried, I realize, noting how tightly they’re holding their scarred hands to their chests, the way their eyes remain still and unblinking. We’ve just killed their enslavers. Does that mean we’re their new masters?
They must’ve been like this for months, I realize, watching as their emaciated frames come into view. They’re nothing but skin and bones and wide eyes terrified by the world.
Chun Hei sets off to treat the worst ones, drawing bandages from her supply bag, administering antibiotics, coating wounds with an antiseptic gel that also cauterizes deep gashes. The people gawk in amazement.
One of them, a gaunt-looking fella with unkempt hair and a matted beard, wanders out ahead of the pack, his long legs and arms like the stilts of a puppet.
“Who are you?” he asks, his bony finger shifting between us.
“You have nothing to fear,” Atia announces to the frightened people. “You are free from this moment on, protected by the Republic army under Commander Alvarium and his faithful servants, the Battle Saints.”
“Battle Saints,” an older woman with a soot-stained face whispers to those around her. She’s in disbelief, as are they all.
Battle Saints are few in the galaxy. The odds of coming across one, much less five, are astronomical, especially on such a desolate and harsh planet as Korath. This will be a day they will never forget, the moment when they were freed from their captors by holy warriors.
One of the children, a scrappy boy with wild hair and no teeth, kisses Atia’s hand and proposes to her right then and there. The girls and I fight back a laugh, when Atia’s face flushes red, her mouth falling agape, speechless.
“Settle down there, little guy,” Zorel says, mussing the kid’s hair with a hand. “She’s way too old for you.”
Atia does her best, albeit awkwardly, to regain the situation. She might be a warrior, but she’s not immune to kindness. Reaching into the satchel on her waist, she hands the boy a piece of protein bar.
He frowns as he studies the tiny morsel, confused by the processed chunk of amino acids and carbohydrates. Even the adults, starved and exhausted, are suspicious of the gift, crowding around to study it closer. But they watch on. Food is food. And they’ll take whatever they can. Hesitantly, the boy takes his first bite, and his eyes widen in surprise, amazed at how well it tastes. The crowd relaxes as their worry is extinguished.
“We don’t have much food,” Atia announces to the crowd. “But what little food we have is yours.”
Her words are a gift to the starving people, and they show their appreciation with tears, their hands clasping in unison as they bow their heads in gratitude. Others, poor souls whose scarred bodies and tragic faces tell a darker story, stand in solitary silence, their gazes falling to the ground as if too weak, or as if the pain of their loss has been so great that they don’t even want to go on living. I grieve for them.
“You’ve done much good here,” Tora says, breaking me from my spell.
I glance at the young woman, momentarily captivated by her beauty. As ragged as she looks, it does nothing to darken her high cheekbones, sensuous lips, and burning eyes. In fact, it takes me a moment to collect myself. “Not soon enough.”
She replies with a polite smile. “What is your name?” she asks.
“Xander,” I say with a formal nod. “Xander Cross of the Seventh legion.”
“Xander,” she repeats to herself in a whisper. “That’s a strange name.”
“Uh …” I start, worrying that I’ve suddenly become lesser in her eyes because of it. “Yeah, I guess it is.”
She looks up at me as if barely registering that I was there, and shakes the lethargy from her mind. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“Relax,” I say, removing my gauntlet so that I can touch her hand. “It’s fine. I think it’s actually kind of dumb. There’s a famous character from a movie on my planet with that name.”
“Movie?” she asks.
“Uh, it’s kind of like a hologram,” I explain. “Only flatter.”
“Flatter?” she repeats.
“Not as immersive.”
“Interesting.”
There’s wonder in her voice. She looks up at me, and I smile, seeing the fascination breathing through her eyes. She’s beautiful, innocent. It inspires me to grab a piece of Azifalia’s cloak to cover her bare shoulders with it. But when I do, she bats it away, cringing in disgust.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I thought you might want—”
“I want nothing of his,” she replies.
“Of course.” I nod in acceptance.
“Xander!” Atia calls.
I look over my shoulder to see Atia staring at me. Her statuesque face is stern in the shadows of the fire. “Help us with distributing the food.”
“I’m on my way,” I say.
As I straighten to join my compatriots, I feel the tug of a hand on my wrist. Looking down, I see Tora gazing up at me with frightened eyes, and I realize that she doesn’t want me to go. I don’t blame her. If I’d been a demon’s pet for as long as she has, I’d feel the same way. But duty calls.
“Come with me,” I say, giving her hand a tug.
Her face is lit with surprise, and she quickly shoots a glance at the hard-faced Atia, who’s staring at me with that expectant face that could make a demon nervous.
“Are you sure?” Tora asks. “She looks …”
“Scary?”
Atia lets out a long sigh, her arms crossing over her armored chest as she waits for me to hurry.
“In a way,” Tora answers. “But I’m sure you’ll protect me.”
“From her?” I snort. “I’ll do my best.”
People crowd around me as I hold up one of our satchels. They crane their necks as they peer inside my bag, their faces stretched in curiosity as they wonder what goodies I have for them. The children are the worst. Their tiny hands tug at the ends of the satchel, yanking it down to eye level, anxious to get their food.
“Do you have any candy?” a child with so much dirt on their face I wonder if they’re a boy or not. The voice betrays their disguise, and I quickly realize that it’s a girl. I reach into the bag and hand her a piece of dehydrated fruit that the battle saints give us for better digestion.
The girl snatches it from my gauntleted hand and runs away, her friends sliding into her abandoned spot to see if I can reward them with the same gift. Sadly, I can’t. Our food is scarce, and soon, our bags become empty.
“I’m sorry,” I say to the next person in line, an older woman with sagging jowls and empty eyes. She looks away seeming unaffected as if she’s just a husk of a person who has neither needs nor wants.
“What have they done to these people?” Petronelous asks, watching the woman wander away as if in a daze.
“Much that you don’t want to hear about,” one of the men say.
I turn as an old man, one of the elders of the group, walks toward us. His faculties seem intact, and there’s a wisdom to his voice as if by some miracle, his soul was great enough to be untouched by the demon’s torture.
“How long have you been down here for?” I ask.
“Weeks,” he answers. “Months. Years. Who knows? Time does not exist here as it does out in the world. There is no sun, no moon, no day, no night. Only … fire.” He turns his glare to the burning hearth in the center of the cavern, the shadows flickering against his withered face.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “If we’d known—”
“If you’d known, you would’ve come sooner,” he finishes for me, the hollowness of his words pointing out the futility of my statement. He’s right. Even if the Republic had known about their plight, there would be little, if anything, that it would’ve done. Resources are stretched thin. Battles must be won. There are at least a thousand other worlds where the Republic’s manpower could be better served. I bow my head in shame.
“Do not scorn the brave,” Atia says, reciting the words from the corfew. “For they are the sacrifices of the light.”
“Good words,” the old man says with a grin. “If only they were true.”
“I’m sorry?” Atia demands.
He raises his hands in surrender. It’s a weak gesture, one that speaks for itself, and Atia subsides in her outrage. “Apologies,” he says.
“It’s fine,” I quickly intercede.
“It’s been so long since we’ve spoken to anyone from the outside…” he says. “It’s hard not to get emotional.”
Atia nods her acceptance.
“What was this place?” I ask.
“An armory,” the old man says. “A forge where the demons forced us to make evil weapons.”
