Ch. 16 Prey

With the gnarled blade still in hand, Niroth took a few deep breaths, preparing himself for what lay ahead. He then carefully re-donned his EVA suit's glove, he then stowed the blade in his vest. Suddenly, the cavern around him shook violently with a deafening boom, the result of the timed charge he had planted upstairs in the hallway going off.

Niroth swiftly radioed Joran, his voice slick with false concern, "What was that?"

Joran, still within the metal building, responded urgently, "I don't know, but we're leaving. How close are you?"

Niroth wasted no time. He began to stride purposefully, his movements a dance between the shadows of the ruined city. With each step, he seemed to dip in and out of reality, going behind one pillar and emerging in an impossible location the next, warping the very fabric of space with his presence. In his usual dry and pragmatic tone, he replied, "I'm close."

In mere heartbeats, Niroth's mastery over the eldritch ruin had rapidly grown. He materialized at the edge of the ruin in a matter of seconds, his two sentries somehow keeping pace with his reality-warping movements. As he approached the metal building, its door flung open.

Before him stood Joran and Pathfinder, but Pathfinder was clearly injured. Niroth's disconnected mind couldn't help but wonder what had happened to her. Joran wasted no time, his voice carrying a sense of urgency. "Let's get out of here. This cave might be collapsing. Form up."

Niroth immediately fell into formation, the actions well-practiced and ingrained. The trio of Thrashers began their ascent up the frozen stairs, some of them determined to leave this enigmatic place behind.

As the trio reached the summit of their frozen ascent, the tent-like structure loomed before them. They proceeded with caution, weapons drawn and at the ready. Anxiety clung to the air, a palpable tension that urged them to remain vigilant. Once again, they passed through the decontamination chamber, a sensation of restlessness tugging at Niroth's chest, a desire to act on something that eluded his conscious understanding.

On the other side of the chamber, the heavy door swung open, revealing the hallway where a disturbing scene had unfolded. Dust and smoke shrouded the area, their flashlights struggling to pierce more than a foot into the murky haze. Joran's voice broke the silence; his words were weighed down by the grim atmosphere. "This must be where that shaking was coming from."

Pathfinder voiced her concern, her tone reflecting the uncertainty of their situation. "Do you think it was another collapse?"

Niroth responded dryly, "That's a possibility." However, just as he spoke, a rustling sound and a faint whimper emanated from deeper within the dust-choked corridor, sending a shiver down their spines. All three Thrashers aimed their weapons at the sound, their senses heightened and their nerves on edge.

The team of Thrashers moved cautiously through the dense smoke and dust, pressing forward to the T junction.

They had reached the junction however, from the swirling obscurity, the distinct screeches of approaching creatures grew louder and louder. In an instant, five shadows, roughly half the hieght of what the group had come to call humans charged toward the Thrashers. The only warning they received was the piercing crescendo of those menacing screeches.

Joran's voice cut through the noise, his command urgent and decisive. "Pathfinder, get to Kessa! Get the package out of here!" Pathfinder hesitated for a split second, torn between her trust in Joran's judgment and the imminent danger approaching. Ultimately, she turned and dashed down the corridor, heading back up the stairs toward the historians, leaving Niroth and Joran to confront the oncoming threat.

The black and blue dog-like creatures drew closer, their unnatural forms becoming clearer as the Thrashers opened fire, beams of energy slicing through the smoke to reveal their grotesque visages. Niroth, however, felt a different sensation coursing through him—an unmistakable longing that emanated from deep within his chest. He halted his barrage of shots and instead drew the gnarled blade, a sense of purpose and understanding dawning upon him as the eerie creatures drew nearer.

As the first of the grotesque creatures leaped towards Niroth with a ferocious snarl, he reacted with swift precision. His left hand, reinforced with mechanical servos, snapped shut around the beast, crushing its body in a vice-like grip. With the creature immobilized, Niroth wasted no time. He raised the gnarled blade high above his head and, with a determined thrust, plunged it into the mold-covered monstrosity.

The moment the blade penetrated the creature's form, a remarkable transformation began. Purple cracks radiated out from the entry point, forming intricate patterns across the creature's surface. An intense lavender light started to emanate from within, growing brighter with every passing second. It was as if the creature's very essence was being unraveled.

In a sudden burst of energy, the creature shattered into countless small flecks of purple glass. The shards hung in the air for a moment before disintegrating into nothingness. Niroth stood there, his chest heaving with the adrenaline of battle, a profound sense of understanding washing over him.

He realized that he was being guided, guided by the mysterious interlopers, beings beyond comprehension. They had chosen him for a divine purpose—to strike fear into the heart of this connected conglomerate that had plagued this planet. This entity was merely a distraction, a nuisance, a pawn in a grander cosmic game.

Niroth felt something he had never experienced before—a profound sense of fulfillment. Killing that creature wasn't just an act of self-defense; it was a calling, a purpose he was meant to fulfill.

Joran had managed to take down one of the hideous creatures, leaving three of them remaining. But as Niroth finished his own brutal battle with one of the monsters, a blinding flash of light filled the chamber, halting the advance of the remaining three creatures. They screeched in anger and frustration, their hatred palpable.

Joran, still catching his breath, turned to Niroth, his voice tinged with disbelief: "Wait, isn't that the blade Archaeologist David had?"

Niroth, his demeanor strangely calm in the midst of chaos, replied with a dry tone, "Oh, you met David?"

Joran, thoroughly puzzled, responded, "And did you? You shouldn't be holding that thing, Prepper. We don't know a lot about this—"

Before Joran could finish his sentence, Niroth's actions were swift and ruthless. The gnarled blade plunged into Joran's chest with purposeful intent. In a matter of seconds, Niroth's hand moved to Joran's EVA helmet, his mechanical strength easily ripping it off Joran's head.

A voice emanated from Niroth, but it was unlike any Joran had ever heard from his long-time friend. It was quiet, filled with pure hatred and malice. "I know exactly what I'm doing," Niroth hissed.

Joran, still stunned by the sudden turn of events and the betrayal he was witnessing, could only watch in shock.

Niroth continued, his tone dripping with venomous determination: "I have been given a purpose, something greater than this half-fallen empire, something I was always destined for."

Niroth's eyes widened with unwavering conviction, and he declared, "I will not be steered from that path any longer."

With ruthless efficiency, Niroth pulled the blade back out and jammed it into Joran's neck with an unnatural speed that even his cybernetic enhancements couldn't produce. The act was swift and final, leaving Joran gasping for breath as his orangish-brown blood started to spill from his beak.

Niroth, his heart now seemingly aligned with a newfound purpose, mentally commanded his two sentries to attach themselves to the dying Joran. He marveled at how he had been guided by some higher force to release those creatures, as if they were divine messengers unveiling his true destiny. It all became clear to him now, and he couldn't help but feel a sense of awe at this providential revelation.

Returning to the present, Niroth found himself holding the spasming and gurgling Commander Joran. The three remaining creatures still cowered, unable to confront Niroth directly. With a chilling determination, Niroth uttered aloud, "Eat up," as he tossed Joran towards the trio of monsters. They hesitated for a moment before descending upon the dying thrasher, their screeches of excitement filling the air.

As Niroth began his journey down the dark hallway towards the ascending stairs, he cast aside Joran's helmet, leaving behind the gruesome scene he had orchestrated. The sounds of Joran's gurgling gasps, the creatures' frenzied feasting, and the countdown for self-destruction on both of Niroth's sentries echoed in his ears, a symphony of chaos in the forsaken depths of this place.

Niroth ascended the stairs, shouting "NO WAIT!" over the comms. The anguished scream of his fake dismay broadcast over the comms. It was followed by a deafening explosion, the golden light engulfing both of his sentries in a blinding flash, vaporizing the creatures and Joran in a heartbeat. Pathfinder and Kessa, both talking over the comms, demanded to know what had happened, their voices filled with confusion and concern.

Niroth replied quietly, his voice weighed down by a faux profound sense of loss: "He... he followed suit with Demo... he..."Pathfinders and Kessa's responses were of anger, shock, and loss; however, Niroth heard none of it. being consumed by his own zealous thoughts.

As he continued to ascend the stairs, a fire burned in Niroth's heart. He now knew what he had to do, but he also realized that he needed more time, more followers, more resources, and most importantly, careful preparation.

Niroth stowed the blade once again as he ascended the stairs, reaching the top with a noticeable pant in his breath. With a determined tone, he declared, "I'm taking command." Pathfinder and Kessa, still in a state of shock, didn't protest. The historians in the corner remained stunned, unable to comprehend the events unfolding before them.

Niroth walked over to the stasis emitter and closed it to get a clear view outside. To his expectation, the storm had dissipated, just as he knew it would. The guiding hand in his mind had proven infallible. He used his long-range transmitter to establish contact with the Pinfeather.

"This is Prepper. We need immediate EVAC. We have two thrashers down," he relayed.

The pilot's voice on the other end responded, "It's been one hell of a storm up here, with creatures in it too. We had to deploy some fighters to clear the way, but I should have a clear shot to get you all. ETA 7 minutes."

Niroth turned to address the group, a sigh of relief filling the room. However, one historian stood out from the rest, her focus squarely on him. He couldn't shake the feeling that her scrutiny was different, almost unsettling. It was the same historian who had witnessed his momentary collapse earlier. He made a mental note to keep an eye on her; she might become a problem.

But for now, Niroth turned his attention back to the open expanse beyond the stasis emitter, gazing out at the dark, snowy landscape, a sense of anticipation building within him for what lay ahead.

Little time had passed before the Pinfeather landed outside of the ruin, this time much closer to the site. The pilot's confidence had been boosted by the presence of two Vultures, Imperial starfighters that doubled as atmospheric air support. Elara watched as Kessa and Albana started loading up the remains of the humans. These beings, these humans," as the AI Washington had referred to them, were finally going to be solved.

As the preparations continued and the group boarded the Pinfeather once more, Elara couldn't ignore a growing sense of unease. Something was bothering her about Prepper Niroth. It wouldn't be until they were back in the hangar of the Emblematic Approach, the familiar surroundings offering a semblance of safety, that her mind put all the pieces together.

She had always been told she was a rather observant person, but she never thought that she would be the only one in a group of her betters to notice something out of place. Sitting there, her thoughts racing, she finally realized what had been nagging at her. The realization came like a freight train—something no one else had noticed in the moment, but she had. If Joran had used a charge to sacrifice himself, vaporizing himself instantly, just as Demo had, that does not explain

why Niroth has speckles of orangish-brown blood on his right arm.