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KALON
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Chapter Forty-Four: Bala Tula Kul
Galactic Quadrant: Darna Quadrant
Ruling Government: Talum Merchant Federation
Solar System: D-447
Planet: Ora
Location: Planet's surface
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My eyes hollow at the creature, spinning blade in hand, I am ready for it.
The Carver hisses at me, changing its gaze, looking toward the woman now. Its eyes grow wide, and its mouth drips with anticipation as it disregards me and moves toward her. It is ignoring me, like the one I fought with Arrum. My jaw flexes, somehow, I am offended. Even the Shulka disregard me as trash.
“Bala Tula Kul,” I say in the old tongue, the creature turns to me, its head tilting to the side, hissing more.
Your end comes by my hand
Some say the Carvers are intelligent enough to glean words. The way its deep grey nostrils flare at my provocation… perhaps they are right. It does not matter. My hand grips my blade tightly.
It lunges, faster than the one that I fought before. That is fine, I do not have anything I must protect this time. The woman means nothing to me. Her death is already written in stone alongside mine. Is it my pride that wishes to best this Shulka? Rolling to the side as it swipes, I plunge my blade into its flesh, twisting it as I avoid its oversized body. Is it because it too thinks me unworthy? Am I so worthless? No… I will make it feel the worth of my existence. My body aches as I spin to avoid the next strike, returning it with my own flurry of stabs. The space in the cabin is cramped, more so than where I fought the other one. I have an advantage here.
It is my nostrils that flare now as I see the wounds I inflicted upon it sealing, as though I never made them. It reminds me of when Barnak allowed others to pretend my blade did not find purchase. Rage rises as I strike again and again. Memories of the years of pain I have endured fill each slash. All of it only to end up being sold. Like an object. Like a simple tool.
I do not fight the glow of my Kuwathi eyes, letting them burn brightly now. I am tired of living on their terms. If I am to survive… it will be on mine.
My arm burns as it slices me with its long claws. Another comes and cuts my leg, I barely manage to deflect it from my abdomen. Blood from my brow runs into my eyes as it slams me into the metal wall. Blood. My blood. My eyes narrow as I wipe my blade against my wounds. Slamming it deep inside the creature.
“Taste my existence,”
It grabs my arm, squeezing tightly. I feel the bones crack. It throws me into the wall. My head is dazed as I try to stand, my fractured arm screams in protest. As I grab hold of one of the torn metal boxes that once lined the hull of the ship, I see something. Something I thought was lost. The device Yuri gave me, is lodged in a crack of the metal hull. Tucking my blade into my boot, I grab it quickly. Barely dodging a strike that lands where I once was.
The Shulka screeches in annoyance, its mouth opened wide. I slam the device into its gaping hole with my other hand as it lunges to bite my throat. It clenches on my hand, I feel the Netherium digging into my flesh. My body flashes hot and cold, fighting against its rhythm. No… I do this with my own strength. I do not need their power. At least let me have this. I can die knowing that I alone was enough… for once. The creature chokes, pulling at its throat, it takes the device from it and throws it behind it.
The creature steps forward, its face tilting to the side as it looks down towards its belly. I recognize the look. Bubbling boils begin to form around its mouth and where my blood-soaked blade slid into its body. It screeches loudly, clawing at itself miserably. Dying in the same way the previous one did. My blood… I am poison to them. I am sure of it. There is no other explanation. My head is dizzy as I look for the medigel box, I need to seal the wound on my arm. Just as I inject the first one, I hear the low growl of a second Carver. It stomps its heavy foot onto the shuttle floor, looking at the other Carver who lies dead it growls higher.
My arms hang at my side, one broken and one still bleeding from the first’s bite. Nekam’s words of luck thrash in my skull. Vek luck… I make my own. It lunges, grabbing me into the air, smashing me against the wall, and dazing me more. Blood streaks on my hand as I fumble for Betran’s gun. Shame fills me as I use Betran’s weapon to blow a hole in its belly with it. I was not enough. Was I ever? It does not stop as it bites my hand, my fingers squeeze again and again. Molten Shulka rolls to the floor as it fires inside of it. Its eyes widen as I fire again.
Blowing a hole through its chest. I pull again but the gun has malfunctioned. The lights on it flicker from the Netherium in the creature’s blood. Grasping a shard of metal, I plunge it deep into the Shulka’s exposed heart, twisting it.
“Feel my existence,” I say through gritted teeth, stabbing it as it stabs me in its last moments. The cold metal of its claws pierces my belly but I do not relent, it will die with me.
Its eyes flicker as it dies. Before I can catch my breath, I hear the shrieks outside begin anew. I am bleeding heavily. Stabbing myself with medigel injectors all over my body. It is folly. I am dying, I can feel it.
“Come!” I yell savagely, my eyes blur as I finish “Find absolution in my blade.”
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Falling to my knees, I clutch my arm, it bleeds still, through the cracks in the foam. My hand stumbles for the second medigel case. My fingers are so cold now, not obeying my command. My fractured arm tries to pull at the lid. No use. Pounding my head against the case, it pops open. There is no relief, only determination.
As I fumble with a syringe, I hear the next beasts descending quickly. There is a loud noise growing outside the shambled shuttle, a hissing that is not the Shulka… the device Yuri gave me. The device that they took from me when they chained me, the same one that Yuri gave back… the broken laser cutter core… it’s finally going critical.
Light billows as a shockwave erupts outside the shuttle. Blasting back the horde of Shriekers and incinerating their Lurker allies. It sends me to the floor, my eyes blinded by the light still. I feel shrapnel in my chest near my shoulder. A deep ominous rumbling outside quakes the ice the ship sits upon. An avalanche… fitting. I try to grasp for another syringe, but it is no use. My hand is too numb to feel for it in the dark. Laying my head back, I rest it on the cold metal hull as I feel the mountain of ice and snow batter the ship until everything becomes muffled.
I lay there for a time, feeling the blood freeze in my exposed wounds. It will not stop the flow, but it does slow it. Long enough that I can hear the Shulka scratching at the shuttle, crawling through the snow. They are relentless. My breath is uneven, and my eyes have spots in them. The cold embrace of my reality seeps into my bones. Even if I were not fatally wounded, I do not think I could take on so many Shulka. They are a horde. I am but one…
My head leans over, toward the woman, for her to survive the crash, only to be devoured by the creatures of my barren planet seems a cruel fate. My eyes widen as I look at her though, her mask is too tinted to see her face, but something shines through the crack. Maka swells in the air, condensing upon her frame. Her hand clenches as her body rises, I can feel the vibrations in the air as she calls to the Maka.
Her hands extend outward, there is a change in the air as she does. Like the Maka from everywhere, all around us is drawn to her, for many paces even outside the ship… so much control, how is this even possible? The Shulka stop their shrieking … they are afraid, I have never seen them fear anything besides the Carvers… She picks up the body of one of the dead Carvers with both hands and swings it like a club towards them. She is strong, unnaturally so. Is it the Maka? My head is dizzy, but I can’t stop watching her, she is remarkable. I did not know that Maka could be controlled to this extent.
A jagged claw scrapes at my shoulder, and my head turns slowly to look at it. A Carver's claw. It rolls me over, discarding me to the side as it moves towards the woman, in her blind spot.
“Behind you…” I try to yell, but my voice is hoarse and weak against the sound of her slamming a Carver's remains into another Shulka.
My hand searches for anything I can use, so numb I can only feel a rough outline, a blade? No, but my hand grabs it anyways. In my grasp, I see the black box that the woman guarded so desperately. Its edges are sharp, it is heavy, it will be enough. Two more Carvers come from the back of the craft where the woman fights, clawing in from the snow. So many, she cannot hope to fight them all. There is no hope. Yet, I am stubborn, and my pride is bruised again by being discarded by these creatures. It takes all the frustration, all the bile, all the bitterness to rise to my feet. I don’t know how I am still alive, perhaps the Netherium teeth lodged in my arm keep my heart from failing. Now standing in defiance of my fate, in defiance of what my knees tell me is possible.
Using the black box, I strike the Carver in the back. It is weaker than I wanted, but I strike again. I will die on my feet, as a warrior. The Carver turns back to me hissing. I smash again and again despite it. Managing to cut the skin with its edge. The markings on the box ignite instantly when it tastes the creature's blood. Its body goes rigid as its pupils dilate. I feel something strange, like a presence sweeping over the cabin, coming from the box.
The other Carvers stop moving now too, all of their eyes focus on the glow of the box. Words in the old tongue begin to flow onto the edges, swirling into existence. I hear whispers coming from the box, much like the chant, except these whispers feel like they are dipped in malice. Pain folds into my hand as sensation erupts back into it. My blood unfreezes from my glove and rolls into the black box. The patterns intensify as the whispers explode in volume. A singular voice rises above them all, a voice that ebbs with power. It asks a question in the old tongue.
Adan Shal Hada
The voice whispers the question again as though next to my ear, it is almost like I can feel its breath upon my skin.
Adan Shal Hada
Its words rattle my nerves as I watch my blood flow up my arm toward the black box. The Shulka’s head twitches as though fighting something. It raises a clawed hand slowly. I can hear the voice growing louder. The Shulka closest to the box draws its claw across its own throat. Black blood splashes through the air, suspended around the box as it drinks it greedily. More words are inscribed upon the box, brimming with crimson light.
Here sleeps destiny, shackled by fate
Countless must die, so that one may rise
The forsaken shall gather to the call
Bringing forth the Wrath of the Abyss
Thus, a commandment is born
That which will be
The box flies from my hand as the blue-haired woman strikes it, sending it against the wall. The words disappear, and my knees slam to the ground. My vision splashes with darkness as my consciousness fades. Death calls to me with its tune. The realm of dreams ushers me from reality.
***
Realm of Dreams
***
Gales of wind collide against me, and torrents of water smash me from every direction. Light mixes with darkness. The dream world tremors as cracks begin to form in the periphery of the stars. The words of the malice-filled voice slam into my mind.
Adan Shal Hada
Thoughts swirl as I am thrown under the waters. The dead claw at me desperately. Hundreds of them. My eyes widen as I see Barnak, my old Clan chief amongst them. His eyes are lit with crimson, twisted by the darkness that spreads rapidly. I have not seen him in my dream world before, why does he come to me now of all times? The crimson of his eyes is battling against the blue as he claws the dead from me. Pushing me towards an island made of black stone, tossing me upon it.
I try to grab his arm, but my grip on him is not enough, the dead punish him, pulling him deep into their depths. Leaving me to hold to the rock against the waves that try to take me with him. I have never felt so much pressure in the dream world before, like a mountain is crushing my very soul. Red lightning arcs above me, and the thunderous boom sends fissures into the cracks of the dream world. Despair spreads further in the skies as a being swathed in darkness descends from the clouds. Its voice ruptures my ears with the malice it holds, cracking the stone beneath my feet.
Do you seek power
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End of Book One
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