Mr. Biggins wasn’t a man to commit blunders, but whoever had failed to inform him of the consequences of his actions certainly was. When he reported his hard-earned findings, he had expected praise and promotions, not for an Imperial executioner to come for him.
There hadn’t even any time for him to comb his hair.
In one moment, he’d been fast asleep, and in the next, a deafening thrum shook his quarters, shooting him out of bed.
Mr. Biggins had barely managed to sweep some robes around himself as Lieutenant Keshig burst through the door.
Normally, the behavior would have been highly unacceptable coming from a mere guard, but any thoughts for proper decorum were erased in the face of an announcement that was only just beginning to become clear to the diplomat’s ears.
Adortha Vidris…
As they pulled him from his rooms, Mr. Biggins was visibly shaking.
𐫰 𐫰 𐫰
For a stealth craft, the B3 X-Ranger could certainly make its presence known when subtlety wasn’t needed.
Burning light flooded the plains, making the midnight hour seem blessed by a second sun, and roaring antimatter engines caused the crystalline grass to sway and tremble. Mr. Biggins thinning, uncombed hair fluttered helplessly in the sharp breeze as he staggered out into the night, forcefully escorted by the soldiers meant to serve as his guard.
Coats turn quickly whenever a stronger wind blows, and now, at the zenith of the X-Ranger’s blinding light, stood the empire’s executioners.
The mere sight of them left Mr. Biggins’ knees weak, and if not for the hands still leading him forward, he would have turned around and ran then and there.
The sight of their leader — a seven-and-a-half-foot giant, dressed in inky armor that seemed to absorb whatever warmth or color his surroundings held – awoke some deep, primal fear deep inside of the diplomat. As was only natural.
Adortha Vidris XII was death to most of those who lay their eyes upon him, and the alien skull, carved into his helmet, didn’t hold much mercy for his allies either. Only a faint, reddish glow, set deep in hollow eye sockets, cut against the black as the man’s attention fell upon the aged diplomat.
A single look, and Mr. Biggins knew that his life was forfeit the moment Adortha no longer saw any value in it. Now, as an armored hand the size of Mr. Biggins’ head reached forward, the diplomat couldn’t help but flinch.
With the X-Ranger now hovering directly above them, the thrum of its engines was loud enough to scar the diplomat’s hearing forever. Even half-deafened, however, there was no need for him to hear to understand the meaning of that gesture. Everything Mr. Biggins needed to know stood written in those ghostly eyes.
‘Give me what I came for or die.’
It was with trembling hands that he pulled the stone circlet from his robes, nervously placing it within the executioner’s palm. Whatever paltry excuses he’d been preparing in case it was fake, whatever attempts he’d hoped of pushing the blame onto the half-breed merchant, died there upon his tongue.
If the circlet wasn’t what it was meant to be, they would all die for having wasted the time of one of the galaxy’s most dangerous men. Mr. Biggins had already seen his own end in those callous eyes, and now, they shifted towards the stone circlet.
A moment of bated breath, and then, inky fingers shut around the Artifact as the Stratiotis Ouranios’ towering guard began spreading out across their surroundings.
“This planet now falls beneath Néo Fos Dalaméin Salazar III reign,” Adortha coldly announced in his twice distorted voice — a mixture of muffled breaths and mechanical transmission. “Fall in line, diplomat, or fall where you stand.”
𐫰 𐫰 𐫰
For six months, I had been fighting for control over my life and for a way to face the grim future I’d seen. Just as I felt I was starting to regain my agency, however, it was all ripped away from underneath me.
Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.
Even with Jenna and Mikayes there beside me, the only options we were presented were obedience or death as that black armored soldier pushed his way inside the tent, booming out his distorted, mechanical orders, “Return to your ship. Remain there until further notice. This planet now falls under imperial decree!”
Threat Level: ??
Executioner’s Hand
Run Battle Simulation (y/n):
Odds Of Winning, 0.02%
There was no need for me to doubt the numbers my interface fed me. Of the thousand imperial elites that carried the title of ‘Stratiotis Ouranios,’ there wasn’t even one I would have trusted myself to fight right now.
In my current state, even Adortha Vidris’ weakest guard was a death sentence to me. More so, he was the last person whose attention I wished to pull.
I’d seen the madman scorch entire worlds to catch a single criminal in my past life. The Imperial Executioner was the type to crush the tree to pick the acorn. This wasn’t a fight or flight situation, it was a ‘be quiet, don’t get noticed, and hope to survive’ one.
We hadn’t been turned to atomic dust just yet, at least, giving me some hope. We were here with a diplomat from the Triumvirate. There was no need to be afraid, only a reason to question why. Why was the Executioner all the way out here, chasing fickle rumors about Artifacts?
Because this rabbit hole goes deeper than you ever imagined, was the quiet answer I found within the back of my head.
Yeah, maybe quiet obedience isn’t the best course of action.
“I suggest you contact your fiancé right about now,” I silently sent Mikayes over my interface. “It might be the only way we make it out of this alive.”
The answer I found, however, as we were all shoved out of that tent beneath a frame that dwarfed even Jenna, was all but reassuring. “Already tried. External communication cut off.”
Well, shit…
For what it was worth, neither Mikayes nor Jenna made any attempts at struggling as we staggered out into the blinding night. Maybe they already knew of Adortha, maybe they were still trying to process the situation, or maybe my brief warning had helped. It was the wiser decision either way. Resistance was futile.
The stealth craft’s propulsion engines caused my clothes to flutter where it hovered over the Cratered Plains, but even over the deafening noise, I could hear distant yells ring through the night. Not all of our companions had taken as easily to the sudden intruders, and to the shrieking cries of a few Ruskels, I could see the short figures flee the sonars that they had been manning.
They didn’t get far before a handful of HE-projectiles — one each — reached them, turning their heads into bloody mist as their limp bodies dipped into the tall grass.
It was a merciful death in one sense, leaving their brains scattered to the wind even before they knew what hit them. It was cruel in another, as it told the rest of us know that we were no longer in control of our lives.
Our fate now lay in the palm of Adortha Vidris XII, and I only had a vague understanding why he was here.
My interface was constantly connecting threads, analyzing our surroundings, and feeding me theories. I just wasn’t sure how much of it I could trust. The more plausible those speculations seemed, the more it felt as if the System was once more trying to grab hold upon its galactic chess board.
I needed something more concrete, and so, as we were escorted towards our Transporter, I quietly probed for answers.
At least I tried, but I had barely reached out as another thundering blast left the corpse of Lieutenant Keshig falling to the ground as well, cutting off my last connection to the Astral Fleet’s network.
“He was compromised,” another of those distorted, metallic voices rang as one of Adortha’s guards stepped forward, picking up the dead officer by the nape of his neck.
He looked like a limp mannequin where he dangled in the massive man’s grip, and I could only grit my teeth. Not only had I lost one of the few advantages I had, but my careless actions had just killed an innocent man.
Now, Adortha’s own haunting voice carried across the plains like a rattling breath, “Who else did you inform, diplomat?” the giant of death asked a shivering Mr. Biggins, standing there before him.
The lieutenant’s blood had splashed across the side of the diplomat’s face, giving his ashen cheeks some color as his frail voice followed, “N-no one, sir!”
“Then why do you keep failing to point us towards this circlet’s origin?”
“T-the half breed merchant,” Mr. Biggins yelled in a panic, a frail finger pointing our way. “Him! Over there, he—”
A swipe of Adortha’s hand, and another headless corpse fell to the ground. A dozen hollow eyes, glowing red, turned our way as black-armored man who’d been escorting us towards our ship stopped in his tracks.
Whether there was some internal communication going on, or if he just knew the actions expected of him, the seven-foot giant now turned towards us to address Mikayes directly.
“Former owner of Migur-NE-11, Mikayes Felt, can you lead us to the origin of that stone circlet?”
Mikayes must have been able to sense death looming over us as there was an unusual stiffness to him as he spoke, “I…If given enough time, I—”
“Three days, Mikayes Felt,” the Hand of the Executioner spoke. “You have been granted three days to show that you are a loyal servant of our Glorious Empire. Do not waste them.”
Even if Mikayes didn’t know the implication of those three days as he gave an uneasy nod, I did.
Three days was the amount of time the inhabitants of Simur-F9 had been given to hand over the rebel son hiding in their midst. Three days was the amount of time the insurgents of Abidar Prime had been given to execute themselves before their entire home world was turned to ashes.
In three days, we would either hand Adortha exactly what he wanted, or we would be smushed like insects as he began cracking the planet up from the inside out, seeking out those Artifacts. Such was the justice of the Imperial Executioner.