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Kalon
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Chapter Thirty-One: Adul Nuk Hempki Dama
Galactic Quadrant: Darna Quadrant
Ruling Government: Talum Merchant Federation
Solar System: D-447
Planet: Ora
Location: Above planet’s surface, compartment inside derelict Destroyer
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“Adul Nuk Hempki Dama.” Arrum prays.
May fear relinquish in the light of Hempki’s fire. An old prayer that has been passed down for generations among our people. It asks Hempki, God of the Forge for the strength to stand against all odds. Arrum has seldom said this prayer before, even more seldom have his eyes glowed without his consent.
The welds fail as the metal clangs to the floor. Streaks of red light from the moon's glow paint the silhouette of a Carver… its hands are smooth grey and the skin taut as it grips the edges of the hole, pulling itself forward. The metal-infused bones of its body distort and pop to allow it to crawl slowly through the hole. It is nearly two times the size of a grown man. A tangled monstrosity of warping edges as it twists itself through the hole we barely managed to fit. My hand threatens to drop my blade as its face looks up towards Arrum. A sinister smile rolls across its mouth filled with the glinting of red Netherium-tipped teeth. Its eyes glow fiercely as it sniffs at the air, twisting a hand towards Arrum, beckoning him with a clawed bony finger.
Arrum moves backward, his eyes tremble with his knees. I must hold strong, fear does not control me. My hand tightens on my blade as my feet move to action. As I exhale, the strangling fear falls from me. Death shall not claim me nor Arrum this night. There is an advantage while the Shulka tries to crawl through the hole, I must press it now or we are doomed.
I do not offer prayers to the gods as he does, there is calm building in me as I hollow myself. I will not go quietly and succumb to the fear that tries to pull my knees to the floor. I am alive, Arrum is alive, this is all we need to see a path to victory. We did not survive all these years to be killed by a Shulka. We are strong, having trained our bodies and minds to the limits. The calm deepens as my hand strikes the first chord of my blade’s song. Exhaling the last breath of fear I move to meet the creature.
It claws at the ground trying to pull itself towards Arrum. Its large shoulders finally mangle through the small hole, the grinding of its metal-infused bones scratches at my nerves, but the calm flows past it, guiding my hand as I put my laser cutter on maximum power. The room illuminates with a dancing light that makes the Carver turn to me now. Its head tilts at me as it growls low. The cutter’s beam of light dances across its face before it can block with its arm. Steam rises steadily with the smoke of its charring flesh.
The Maka in the air pulls as the creature wails, the Netherium shards that embroider its flesh rattle and glow brighter as its wounds seal and the flesh rolls back into place. Sekat. The cutter will not be enough, there is not enough charge to… an idea sweeps me. My feet pull back as it slashes out at me. If I can manage to use the core, no there isn’t time. I should have thought of it sooner. Focus.
Another swipe comes, nearly hitting me as its arm pops from the joint to extend its reach. It snaps back with a grotesque sound. The beast lets out a howl, its deep crimson eyes cascading with light. Arrum comes from behind me, pulling me to the side. The Carver throws debris at me with one hand, while the other claws, still trying to pull its oversized body through the hole.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“Together,” I say.
Arrum and I move like lightning, bounding from the walls, avoiding its clawing. Tagging it in streaks, its black blood sparkles with Netherium as it rolls down its skin. Creating a tapestry of false red stars glinting on its body. The glow of its Netherium supply rises again as it tries to mend it. We must be faster. We must destroy its heart. Our blades have purpose as they hum in unison, our strikes complimenting each other. The rhythm of battle is ours. Hope rises in me as I peel back the flesh of its chest and I see the bright crimson glow pouring from it. We can do this. We can…
Arrum’s boot slides across the black blood that lies on the floor, freshly frozen and slick. I can see the glow of his eyes through his goggles as he skids unsteadily towards the open arms of the Shulka.
Not like this, not Arrum.
My body moves on instinct alone as I rip and tear with my blade, stabbing it desperately over and over, trying to cut its arm from its deformed body. Arrum yells in pain. My pulse threads, and my blade slams. Deep black blood sprays from its grey flesh, sparkles of Netherium coating the air as the blood crystalizes. I do not stop, even as the foul blood soaks my garb, seeping towards my body. Pulling at the little Maka I have.
The creature thrashes side to side throwing Arrum against the wall, his body goes limp. Fear and calm slip away as rage smashes into my body. This creature does not have the right to take him. I lunge forward plunging my blade toward its chest, but the blade does not pierce, it rolls off the armored ribs. Its arm swipes at me, sending me backward into a roll that I spring from, lunging back at it. It screeches at me, baring its fangs. Swiping at the air, trying to grab Arrum and drag him through the hole with it.
It will not take him, I will not let it. Blood from my hand slipping on the slick blade streaks down my arm under my garb, mixing with the foul creature’s blood as I hack and slash. I feel the dark rot of its blood seeping into my wounds. Sekat. I cannot stop. I will not stop.
Its arm falls to the floor, causing it to howl menacingly. Its clawed hand grabs at me. Pulling me close, I try to fight against it, but its body is unnaturally strong and I feel the blood weakening me. Its Netherium-tipped fangs sink into my body. Pain cascades as I feel the throb of the little Maka my body can hold ripping through me towards the Netherium.
The Carver throws my body against the wall. Spitting my blood onto the ground, tilting its head to the side as though repulsed by it. Turning to Arrum now, its dark grey lips curl into a smile, my blood still dripping from its cruel lips. My body tightens, trying to stand up, but I can’t, the world is spinning. Everything hurts, like something being called from the deep of my bones.
“Stay… away from him” I manage to say weakly.
It turns as it picks him up, dragging him behind it. My body tightens again as I pull from deep within. It drags him next to me, holding him up by the face then looking at me. Its claw scratches lightly on his throat, its crimson eyes watching my reaction.
Managing to move to my knees, I wave my knife at it. It moves from its path easily. It is toying with me now. I have heard tell of such a thing before. It is why even the other Shulka fear the Carvers. They are not mindless like the Shriekers, nor cautious like the Lurkers. They are what we all see in our nightmares.
It makes a sound like it is laughing at me. A deep cackling of its flesh. Darkness swells in my vision as I feel the call of the abyss. It will not stop me from protecting Arrum. He would not give up, nor can I.
Heat floods my cold flesh as I burn every trace of Maka left inside me all at once. If only I had runes, no, I need no runes. My anger will be enough, the rage that spills from my defiant frame ignites my body to action. My body leaps from the cold metal into the air. Bioluminescence erupts as my Kuwathi eyes scream to life. Pulling off my garb as I move, as it will only limit me. The cold sweeps me as I do. Yet I endure.
“Get away from him!” I yell as I plunge my blade into the Shulka’s back. Tearing and cutting down.
It squeals as it turns to meet me. Blood soaks Arrum’s heavy clothes. Fury burns deeper through me as I stab the Shulka again and again. Peeling back the flesh. The beast bites and claws my body, blood spills from me, mixing more with its.
Its head tilts at me again now, though its expression is strange, more than just repulsed. A look I have never seen a Shulka make before. Black ooze rolls from the edges of its mouth. Clutching with its only hand at its face now, it claws desperately at its own skin, peeling it off. Clawing deeper at its own throat, then its belly. Black blood ejects from its mouth, spewing upon the floor. It backs away from me with wide eyes. It scratches where I cut the flesh of its stump. Its skin bubbles and boils, releasing steam.
It howls until it has ripped its own throat from its mangled flesh. Blood sputters from the hole in its neck. Its eyes spin around wildly looking about the room until it rests on me. The crimson glow fades from its eyes as its body slumps upon the ground. Dead.