{Gait}

While walking through Gait’s charcoal desert, Matt’s carbon fiber suit chafed under the glare of the sun. His nacre healed any irritation along his skin and kept him cool. Puk gaped his suit to fan himself as they crossed the turf up to the arena. Razor breezed ahead without a single adjustment to his fancy outfit.

The heat couldn’t burn away the skip in the Pain Curator’s step. Nor the massive line wrapped around the stadium and trailing off into the diorite flats for miles. Not even the extra beefy drones guarding the entrances could slow him down. The irate and uncomfortable crowd that camped out for weeks watched with narrowed gazes as the Emporium crew walked right by the bouncers and into the already packed stadium.

Matt took in the arena with genuine wonder. Carved in a bowl of black and white rock, it seated at least a million people. Enki tech infused every surface from the stands with white illumination and air-cooled pods, to the glass floor positioned over a glacier, to the glowing stage hidden behind a massive filter. The designers even suspended seats from the ceiling.

Monumental, the chief attraction stood taller than a decompressed Gargantuan Tritan with amplifiers illuminated in Enki blue. The filter prevented Matt from discerning the purpose of the two gigantic pylons flanking the stage or the weird contraptions in the center.

Pyrotechnics were surely involved.

Matt leaned into Puk. “Exactly how much does it pay to be in a metal band in the Vast Collective?”

Puk grinned back without a word.

Their cadre entered the arena’s floor level at the back of the crowd. Unfriendly faces turned, gaped, and moved out of the way. Like a river parting for rock, people moved aside to create an aisle down the center for the Pain Curator. It went all the way to the barricade.

The four-foot gated barrier around the stage hardly kept the crowd at bay. The fifty-foot nacre-deterring shield around it sufficed. Razor smirked at it before confiding in Matt, “I’ll admit, I am impressed. Those aren’t easy to come by.”

The ginger’s brows shot up. “You want to trade business insights?”

Razor shook his nail-less finger with anticipation glittering in his eyes. “This girl killed five of my best clients in a month. She’s cost me over twenty billion credits a night. She’ll have to impress me with more than a nacre-deterring shield to make it out of here alive.” Anger warred in the bolts of lightning amongst the gray flecks in his irises.

Matt hoped this girl arranged her affairs before this show.

The raked glacier cooled their feet beneath the glass. It helped with the sweat smell of over a million bodies. No one dared crowd too close to the Pain Curator, but people packed the place like sardines. It was hard to avoid. Especially as the lights went out, and the horde surged forward.

In the pale illumination of soft blue lights, Razor gazed at the stage. Manic electricity vibrated off of him. Murder mode. Matt and Puk flanked their boss, keeping people off him at all times. Given that look in his eyes, the people should thank his bodyguards.

People chanted “Night Rayne” in anticipation. Zealous dedication reminded Matt of cult mentality. Camping out weeks to wait days in line for a one-song show wasn’t in his wheelhouse. But as the filter vanished, and the veil fell from the stage, he got the hype.

“Wow.”

A structure connected the thirty-foot pylons toward the tops, covering the diorite stage. Something was inside of it, but he couldn’t make it out in the dark. Smaller pillars at varying heights over six feet peppered the set, and while they left him curious, center stage stole all of Matt’s attention. From where they stood on the barricade, a runway ended. Along this runway leading to the stage was a gauntlet of swinging blades and dangling chains beaded with razor blades. It scaled two dozen feet high to a catwalk encompassing the front two rows.

Razor mused to himself, “Business insights,” and smiled that congenial smile at Matt.

Puk beamed, full of enthusiasm. “The last time I was at one of these shows the stadium was much smaller, and I was stuck outside as security. This is amazing.”

“I didn’t realize you were a fan, Puk.” Nothing about Razor indicated anger or irritation at the drone’s confession.

The bulky alien shrugged without giving more away. “Not exactly a fan. But I moonlight the scene occasionally.”

The Pain Curator shrugged out of his blazer and held it out for Puk to take it. Without glancing at him, he declared, “When we return to the Emporium, let’s you and me discuss your pay and why you feel the need to moonlight for the competition.”

Matt intervened to bring the fun back into the outing. “All this for one song. Hey, do you think this ‘Rayne’ stands a chance?”

A thousand lights glared from the stage.

Razor shouted over the excited screams, “I’m dying to see.” With a flash of the lights, his eyes changed to the same white as Korac’s eyes but with two crescent pupils in each.

Matt shook his head, bewildered and overwhelmed. Worry about that later. Guitars and drums assaulted his ears in a hail of angry riffs and staccato beats. Fireworks blew from the colossal pylons, and sparks rained from the smaller ones. Crackling pyro effects showered down on them from the cage, with the drummer rolling in his kit overhead.

Puk pumped his fist in the air and cheered.

Razor grinned openly at the excessive spectacle.

Matt wished Lucy were here. A crazy metal show front row on an alien planet. If anything, she’d appreciate this woman’s style.

And in this moment, impostor Rayne appeared in a cage rising from beneath the stage. She gripped the bars and head banged as if unafraid this was the last day of her life.

Lucy would definitely like her style.

She sang one line before producing two dancing fans decorated with ignited magnesium flares. Sensually, she walked down the gauntlet, singing for the crowd to get closer. Then she haphazardly threw a fan at the people. It went right through the nacre-deterrent barrier and caught a cluster of unfortunates on fire. After another line, she repeated the same on the opposite side.

It shocked Matt how many people eagerly attended such a fatal enticement. But then again, she wasn’t close enough yet to assess her.

Puk jumped with the bass while Razor stared. His smile lessened. With Matt’s attention, the Pain Curator pointed at the girl’s hands and yelled to him, “The flares melted them.”

He was right. Her skin melted off the fingernails, exposing bone.

Damn. Even more impressed, Matt grinned. “She might be tougher to kill than you thought.”

That’s when she jumped onto the first pendulum blade and danced as it swung her left and right. All the while singing of enjoying adrenaline and violence. Begging the audience to shove their fist in her chest and take out her nacre. She completed the gauntlet by the end of the chorus.

Not that Matt noticed. He was busy punching some guy who got too close before Puk jerked the redhead back around.

“What?”

Both the drone and the Pain Curator stared up at the stage, entranced. The instruments took the spotlight as they revved up the energy for the next verse. Fake Rayne stood mostly in shadow, but Matt made out more than enough.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Every step the muscular young woman took, the tan skin of her thighs peeked through her micro-mini kilt. It was made of chains dangling from her belt. Even with all the special cooling technology, her stomach and waist glistened with exertion. The cropped PVC top left her arms and abs bare. Made of a clear material, it exposed her naked breasts pressed firmly in the plastic. Long black hair swayed around her. A good dye job, but not exactly Rayne’s shade of brunette.

The next verse started, and a spotlight shone on Razor. She crossed the stage, singing to him about getting high with her. It was only when she reached for the Pain Curator, despite the nacre-deterrent barrier, that Matt made out her features.

Soft, sweet pink lips.

Empty, dark blue eyes.

And a chain around her neck.

Lucy kept her gaze on Razor as he took her hand and stepped through the barrier. It didn’t expose his secret so much as add to the Pain Curator’s mystery. He stared down at Lucy as if he wanted to eat her. She stared up at Razor as if she wanted him to try.

Still, she sang on while deftly ripping the buttons open on the man’s shirt. Not even Triss was allowed to harm his clothes. Yet Razor seemed unperturbed as she wrapped her legs around his waist, arched her back to the stage, and brought him down on top of her. The entire while she sang to him of excess and sex, asking him to push harder.

Matt was beyond impressed with her, but he worried about the shift in the Pain Curator. The alien stared at her as if fascinated. Not enamored or even attracted, but curious about how her mind worked.

The same which attracted Matt to her and kept him thinking of her all this time.

“You okay, man? You’re snarling.” Puk apparently knew better than to touch him.

Teeth grinding was such a stupid coping mechanism. “Yeah, I’m good. Just nervous about crowd control is all.”

“Mhmm.” The drone sounded unconvinced.

Before the whole girlfriend undulating under Razor thing got to him, Lucy met Matt’s gaze. The air left him. In the song, she asked the crowd if they were ready to feed. But they both knew she was talking to him.

After which, Lucy walked Razor back to the barricade and let him down before turning around to climb the razorblade chains for the refrain of the chorus.

Razor, with that same fascinated expression, turned to Matt and asked, “Do you think Triss would like her?”

The redhead surprised himself by answering honestly, “I think she’s out of your league.” He ignored the Pain Curator’s face with his eyebrows all up high and his eyes all stormy. Matt was preoccupied with Lucy climbing to the catwalk coated in her own blood.

Something changed in the arena’s atmosphere with her up there. The music escalated. On a resounding kick to the drum solo, the rails separating the left side of the stands from the floor lowered. Another kick, and the right side went down. With the final kick, the front of the stadium was freed. All the while Lucy shrieked in a voice Matt never heard before, beckoning the audience to kill the band. Meanwhile, Razor rolled up his sleeves and discussed strategy with Puk.

Was this really happening? Or would she stop it before it went too far?

Once finished with the call to fight, Lucy drank her pendant of Rayne’s blood.

Yes. Matt smirked. This was happening. He tossed back his vial, too.

Razor caught the synchronous act. He stared at Matt through a narrowed gaze as he connected the dots. But it was too late. Every molecule of Matt’s being lit aflame. Blazed like a sun and begged him for battle.

The rest of the stadium poured onto the floor. Clashes of people killed each other for access to the stage. When Lucy gave the signal on a dramatic guitar riff, the nacre-deterring barrier dissolved.

Matt and Puk both turned their backs on the barricade and took on two—three—four people clamoring for the stage. The ginger ran all three of his into the barricade, and their skulls collapsed in a gore bath. He slammed the next two together so hard their rib cages snagged and wouldn’t unlock, despite their horrified screams. Puk threw a guy over his head back into the crowd. His kills were far less gory than Matt, who jumped onto the stage after Razor.

The Pain Curator let people fight around him. No one touched him, despite the mayhem. And he only had eyes for Matt’s girl.

Lucy was beautiful and raw. Drenched in a rainbow of blood, she ripped all comers apart, fed them to the gauntlet, or strangled them with the bladed chains. She never stopped singing. All while wearing that outfit Matt was definitely insisting she keep. Because they would survive this after killing the entire arena of assailants. And then they’d celebrate in their post-slaughter way on the catwalk.

Matt couldn’t wait.

But first, Razor.

And before Razor, all of these other motherfuckers.

Puk made his way onto the stage, and the two bodyguards backed into each other. Meanwhile, Razor stared up at the catwalk, perfectly content to let her tire herself out and weed out his competition.

The music never stopped. The members of the band riffing and drumming were safe on various levels and heights throughout the facility. Only Lucy was exposed to danger. Bait in a trap for the Vast Collective’s worst. She was the predator here.

Matt snatched the next charging contender and broke his back over his knee. The next one, he swapped upside down and bounced his head on the floor. The satisfying crack of his neck reaching something visceral in Matt that went a long time neglected. He put a fist through the next person’s chest and ripped out their nacre. He swallowed it immediately.

Behind him, Puk did all right for someone without Rayne’s blood to superpower him. Blood painted Razor’s white button-down. He seemed completely unbothered by all of it. His attention entirely for Lucy. Always amazing, she hid more magnesium weapons on the catwalk and melted all her potential murderers down to liquid skin and bone ash.

Unable to contain it any longer, Matt grinned.

This was the best concert ever.

Someone dared to touch Razor. The Caprent alien gripped the sleeve of the Pain Curator’s shirt, turned him around, and lost all color to their dark complexion. Matt understood Razor’s constant threat in his dominion, but the utter regard for the man out here in the desert confused him—

Razor landed a single blow to the assailant’s jaw, and the unfortunate man’s head exploded. The contact created a reverberating impact that obliterated the seventeen aliens fighting behind the dead guy.

Matt gaped. It reminded him of that line in Nox’s Verse about the Primary. “So great was his might and ability that he punched clear through to the heart of the cave system.”

Barely inconvenienced, Razor adjusted his shirt and went back to spectating.

With that fresh development, people ran for the exits. But someone lowered the riot gates to the outside. Screams and shouts echoed throughout the arena. They couldn’t escape. That’s when the ceiling opened up. All the audience members sitting up top came tumbling down. Outside, the day turned to dusk, painting a sunset across the purple sky. Not a star in sight.

An anti-grav vehicle hovered over the stadium. People turned and gawked into the twilight. Razor cursed behind Matt, and Puk smiled. A cargo bay opened and dropped some equivalent of napalm at the exits and further most points from the stage. People melted in mass. The smell of so much cooked flesh triggered Matt’s gag reflex despite the nacre. Puk vomited.

“Such a clever little siren.” Razor sounded less like vomiting and more like strangling Matt’s girlfriend to death. He marched toward her elevated position on stage.

Matt and Puk ran ahead of him, fighting through the dwindling crowd. Lucy never stopped. Her life depended on it, but he knew better. Under all that makeup and gore, Lucy smiled. Big. And he couldn’t wait to kiss her—

Puk flew up to the catwalk, leaving Razor and Matt onstage. They both exchanged a look. When the drone alighted, he and Lucy faced one another.

After two heartbeats, Lucy hugged Puk, who shot Matt a thumbs up.

Razor’s voice went icy cold as he glared at them. “Very clever.” He turned to look at Matt. “You didn’t know.” Not a question.

Matt shook his head gravely before approaching the catwalk. Lucy gave him a hand up.

The Pain Curator turned into a statue. Only the storm in his eyes belied how much this treachery affected him.

While Puk held some opponents off of them, Matt gripped Lucy by the nape and kissed the blood on her lips. Kissed her to compensate for the last seven months and made a promise with this kiss to—

The sky split open above them. Crackling energy lined the conduit. Another formed. And another. All over the sky, the desert, the arena, conduits opened. The monochromatic vistas of the Seam waited on the other side.

Sagan.

People fell into them. One even opened behind Matt. But Puk, Lucy, and Matt climbed down from the catwalk to safety. As they backed away, Razor snatched Lucy from behind. She gasped—never screamed. But Matt almost did.

“Let her go.”

Razor’s voice lowered to its greatest depths. “I finally learned what can ease your troubles.” He touched two fingers to her wrists and frowned. After a moment, he pushed her away from him and back into Matt’s arms. “Both of you should come work for me. Your interests won’t align with the Shadow forever. But with me, you’ll know infinite violence and gratification—”

More conduits appeared.

“—Why do you fight your nature to appease a few morally superior types?” Razor was covered in blood from his ripped open button-down to his pinstripe pants. He spilled so little of it.

Matt and Lucy looked back at Puk, who shrugged and responded, “I don’t know about this Shadow. But I’ll follow Morning Star anywhere. Including back to Hell.”

Matt gazed into Lucy’s dark blue eyes that he mourned for months. They had an answer. He left Lucy with Puk as he crossed the stage to face Razor. The man stared coldly at him, awaiting their response. Matt stepped around a freshly formed conduit before gripping his chain. “The Shadow doesn’t lock little girls in basements and torture them for years. They don’t control the wills of others which may eventually extend to myself. And they don’t take pleasure in tearing people apart to appease an audience—”

With a shout, Razor’s foot fell back into a conduit. It swallowed him almost completely. He clung to the stage as the Seam tried to take him.

Oh, the irony. Matt stood over the Pain Curator, whose eyes flickered with fear for the first time. “And the Shadow doesn’t befriend people with the malicious intent to manipulate them. That’s all you are, Razor. Malignant intent. And I’ll try my best not to be like you.” He stomped on the man’s nail-less fingers until Razor slipped into the Seam.

Puk dropped the blazer into the conduit. “There’s my notice, boss.”

Matt hoped Sagan enjoyed her revenge.