Chapter 12.

GVIF Rheeavher

The Cavaglatar Sector

Date: Zeran 19, Year 4731

Caul Malocktus stalked through the Rheeavher’s corridors, his Kelkor blade at one side, Dissolver pistol at the other. His gray cloak trailed behind him, catching the subtle sway of each step. His gaze swept steadily over the crew, lingering just long enough for each member to feel his scrutiny, weighted with his unspoken demand for acknowledgment. Caul’s expectation for respect was well-known—an unstated rule among many commanders within the GVIF—though he took it a step further. Those who failed to meet his eyes or show deference risked a slight he would not soon forget.

Two Vorcon Bruisers marched behind him, their heavy footsteps echoing through the corridors. Encased in armor fitted for their solid frames, they moved with low, labored breaths muffled beneath their helmets. Where the Bruisers wielded brute strength, Caul’s form appeared slim and agile, exuding a fluidity their bulk could never match. Each Bruiser carried a Plasmord sword strapped to their back and cradled distortion rifles in their arms, awaiting any command Caul might give. Their obedience was unmatched.

Caul found mild amusement in knowing that Garen Rivers had taken down two Bruisers on Chiex, along with four other Vorcon soldiers. Garen was godless—driven by will alone, yet he had survived. Caul knew victory was more than brute strength; it required skill, the ability to defy fate itself. Strength was essential, but intellect held the true power. He assumed Garen had been responsible for most of those deaths, and the thought pleased him—Garen hadn’t weakened; he remained a worthy foe.

The corridor stretched ahead, long and wide. Crew members moved quickly, some engaged in their work, others in quiet conversation, but each offered respectful nods to their commander as he passed.

Midway down, Centurion Kanvelak stood at attention, bracing himself for the Major Legate’s approach—an encounter he had both anticipated and dreaded. Caul’s eyes darkened with disappointment, the red centers narrowing. Kanvelak lacked the potential that Velharith had shown. Without a word, Caul glided forward, his presence suffocating. The Bruisers halted, statuesque.

“Centurion Kanvelak,” Caul’s voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “I’ve heard your recent performance has been... disappointing.” He drew out the words, each syllable laced with a quiet threat.

Kanvelak hesitated. “Commodore Gahlenka addressed the matter with me, Major Legate. The issues are fixed. I’ve doubled my efforts.”

A dark satisfaction stirred within Caul—Gahlenka was falling right into place. Well done, Commodore. Still, he doubted whether his second-in-command had conveyed the full message, but he appreciated the effort.

Caul circled Kanvelak slowly, the clatter of his gear punctuating the silence. He saw the fear in Kanvelak’s eyes, the struggle to stay composed. Pathetic. Weak. Velharith would have stood tall, ready to challenge me.

“Ensure you maintain those efforts,” Caul rasped, drawing out the last word in a hiss. His hand brushed the hilt of his Kelkor blade, ensuring Kanvelak noticed. “Incompetence will not be tolerated.”

Kanvelak nodded quickly. “I will work to meet your standards.”

“With Velharith gone, there’s an opportunity for more responsibility. There may come a time when I require your abilities.”

Centurion Fal Velharith had shown promise before his death in the skirmish with Garen Rivers. Caul had intended to elevate him, perhaps even grant him more command. But Fal’s death was a minor inconvenience. His Pneuma, along with the others, would be offered to the gods when Caul returned to Kor. There would be more offerings before they reached the Prime system.

“I would be honored.”

“Would you have succeeded where he failed?” Caul’s voice rose slightly, drawing out Kanvelak’s name with a lingering hiss.

“I would have killed the human.”

Caul’s expression remained impassive, though his eyes flickered with cold calculation. Fool.

“Good.” Caul stepped back and, with a nod, dismissed Kanvelak. He continued down the corridor, the Bruisers falling into step behind him. Kanvelak strode in the opposite direction. When will one of them find the courage to challenge me? That was what Caul sought, though he knew his reputation often prevented it. They fear me, he thought, yet courage could earn my respect.

Reaching the stairwell, Caul began his descent, the spiraling steps taking him deeper into the ship. At the base, he crossed another corridor and approached a melee training room, one of several scattered throughout the vessel. He gestured for his guards to remain outside. They took their positions without a word, offering only a low grunt.

The door slid downward into the floor at Caul’s command, a faint tremor passing through as it locked into place.

Inside, Nelve was immersed in training. She wielded her Kelkor blade, its edge crackling with a faint bluish-white plasma field that pulsed with each movement, accompanied by an unsettling frequency that shifted pitch. Opposite her stood a Stryder model Servitron, a combat-programmed artificial. Its shielded practice blade emitted a steady faded blue energy, designed to withstand the force of her strikes.

The Stryder, built to match a Vorcon’s physique and reach, mirrored Nelve’s every move with mechanical efficiency. Its featureless, sensor-equipped face intercepted her aggressive blows. Her blade sliced through the air, each impact altering the frequency’s unsettling tone. Every calculated strike was met with a precise counter; the Stryder absorbed each blow as though her efforts posed no threat.

Caul observed from the corner of the room, scrutinizing her reflexes and decisions. Impressive. But is it enough? He needed more than skill; Nelve would have to be tested beyond technique. If stealth fails her, will she escape? Will she survive? Caul demanded more than obedience—he required agents capable of vanishing without a trace, leaving no evidence, no connections, and no fear of meeting the gods.

“Stryder, pause,” Caul commanded, his voice low. “Initiate offensive protocol, level four.”

A smirk crossed his face as Nelve braced herself, her breath coming in shallow bursts, her chest heaving. Father warned me: his silence is his only praise. She stepped back, widening the distance as the Stryder reset.

The Stryder advanced, gears grinding as its movements grew more aggressive. Nelve’s gaze darted to Caul; his sharp black teeth showed a glint of quiet amusement, igniting her determination. She raised her Kelkor blade, preparing for the onslaught—without the use of shields, as Caul had forbidden them in her training sessions. There may come a time when shields fail; do not rely on them fully.

The Stryder’s assault came faster, heavier. Nelve’s movements slowed under the relentless barrage. With each strike, her body grew sluggish until, finally, she dropped to one knee, the Stryder’s blade hovering coldly above her, signaling her momentary defeat.

“You’re holding up,” Caul remarked. “But let’s push you further. Increase attack level.”

Nelve barely had time to recover as the Stryder’s strikes intensified—faster, heavier, more precise. Exhaustion sank into her muscles, her blocks becoming weaker, more desperate. The ceaseless assault finally drove her back to her knees, then to the floor, the Servitron’s power pressing down on her.

“Cease,” Caul ordered.

The Stryder halted instantly. Gritting her teeth, Nelve hauled herself to her feet, clutching her blade tighter as pain flared through her. Caul approached, each step measured and purposeful.

“Inquisitor,” he said, his tone almost casual, “you’ve lasted longer than most.” A trace of approval across his face, vanishing as quickly as it came. “Survival is not victory. Endurance alone is meaningless.” His voice darkened as he moved closer, his presence oppressive. “I require sacrifice, strength, and the will to claim what others cannot.”

Caul paused, his eyes narrowing as his words settled over her. After a moment, he turned to the console and reviewed its data. “In a real battle, you would have managed only three kills.”

Breath by breath, Nelve steadied herself, though her body shivered with fatigue. “I’ll keep pushing myself, Major Legate,” she replied. Every day, he ordered her into the training room for hours, pushing her to the brink. Her recent mission to Chiex had been her only reprieve from the relentless drills he demanded of her.

“Yes, you will,” Caul responded, his eyes narrowing. “There will be tasks that push you beyond your limits. I expect you to succeed where others fail.” His gaze locked onto hers, holding her firmly. I was tested the same way.

“I will obey,” Nelve said.

Caul’s expression darkened. “I expect more than compliance, Inquisitor.”

“I understand,” she answered, wondering how much more she could possibly give.

“Surviving this long against a Stryder should make facing ordinary enemies insignificant,” he said with a lingering hiss.

“I am ready for greater trials and missions,” Nelve vowed. But doubt crept in. Can I truly live up to his expectations? They seem impossible.

Caul snickered. “Are you truly prepared? You must claim your place... or lose it.”

“I will, Major Legate.”

“We’ll see.” He paused briefly. “In the future, Ubar will lead a critical mission—one that will involve both of you. You will assist him.”

Nelve nodded solemnly. I’d rather face it alone than with him. “And the mission?” she asked before she could stop herself.

Caul didn’t seem fazed by her question. “The specifics will depend on what intelligence Ubar gathers,” he explained, his voice carrying a hint of mystery. “All my plans are flexible, Inquisitor. A true plan is incomplete by design—it can shift at a moment’s notice. I may send you off without warning.”

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A realization struck Nelve. So, Ubar has been preparing... but for what? Following him felt like little reward, but perhaps it would build trust, she considered.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Caul's next command. “Stryder, resume offensive stance, level nine. Arm yourself with the Scalar Falcata.”

The Stryder retrieved the weapon. With the blade in hand, its movements quickened, each strike growing faster and more precise. Nelve barely had time to brace before the Stryder’s blade came down, jolting her arm with the impact. She struggled to maintain her stance as each blow landed harder—and harder.

The Stryder’s relentless assault pushed her to her limits. She fought back with everything she had, but the speed and complexity of its attacks left her little room to recover. At first, she held her ground, but eventually, it became too much.

“Stryder, halt. Training complete. Deactivate,” Caul commanded, his tone flat. “Better than expected, but still not enough.”

The Servitron complied, returning the weapon to the wall before disappearing behind a panel that slid shut, hiding its presence.

Caul stepped forward, drawing his Kelkor blade and activating it in one fluid motion. He swung without warning. Nelve barely managed to parry, but his counters came too fast. With one sweeping movement, he knocked her legs out from under her, his blade hovering at her throat. After a pause, he deactivated the weapon and sheathed it.

As Caul slid the blade back into its scabbard, he assumed a contemplative stance—one arm behind his back, his right hand extended slightly. Nelve, regaining her footing, glanced up at him. He fights me without hesitation, even after all this training... I wonder how long I could last if this were serious. Doubt crept into her mind. Caul Malocktus’s reputation as a warrior was well-earned.

“The Scalar Falcata,” Caul mused, letting the words linger. His gaze settled on Nelve, expectant.

Realizing he was waiting, she responded. “The weapon Garen Rivers used,” she said, catching her breath. “He was proficient with it.”

“He was indeed—a warrior through and through, and as cunning as ever. What did you think of his home? You saw it.”

After all these years, it seemed impossible that Rivers could still be a threat, yet the bloodshed on Chiex left little room for doubt. She had seen the planet. “Chiex is harsh—cold. He had little technology to support him. It looked as though he lived off the land. His cabin was far from the Camerian Settlement.”

Caul nodded, impressed. “Yes,” he hissed. “Go on.”

“Chiex seems like a place where survival is a constant battle. He could have gone anywhere, but he chose that planet; he chose that struggle,” Nelve added thoughtfully.

Caul nodded in approval. “Understanding humans is crucial,” he said. “They possess remarkable resourcefulness. You may face them someday—perhaps even him, the General.” Though that was far from Caul’s plan; no, Caul would face Garen himself. Garen was his to fight, his to kill.

“I would like to test myself against him,” Nelve affirmed, though Rivers’ reputation left her uncertain—as uncertain as the thought of facing Caul in a real fight. She did not fear Garen as she feared Caul Malocktus.

“Good,” Caul said with a slight smirk, nodding once. It was the answer he had expected, though he already knew what the outcome would be.

“Your training for today is concluded.” Without further words, he turned and exited the room, leaving Nelve alone.

***

The next day, Nelve resumed her training. The sharp clash of her Kelkor blade against the Stryder’s practice weapon echoed through the room, plasma energy crackling along its edge as it struck the Stryder’s shielded blade. Each hit surged with power.

With a final blow to the Stryder’s chest, she ended the session, panting for breath. Deactivating her blade, she ordered the Stryder to finish. It complied, returning its practice weapon to the wall before disappearing behind a concealed panel.

The door slid open, and Nelve turned to see Major Legate Caul Malocktus enter, his pale white Vorcon face unreadable.

Caul strode toward the training console, setting a wooden case on a small ledge as he reviewed the day’s training statistics. Nelve remained at the center of the room, her deactivated Kelkor blade still in hand.

Without looking up, he gave a slight nod. “Your progress is commendable.” He left it at that.

Still catching her breath, Nelve replied, “Yes, Major Legate Malocktus.”

Caul regarded her in silence for a moment. Then he lifted the wooden case. “Inquisitor,” he hissed, “put away your blade.”

Nelve complied, hanging her Kelkor blade on the wall alongside the others. She returned to her position at the center of the room, where Caul now stood, unmoving.

“I’ve brought something for you,” Caul said, unfastening the clasps. He lifted the lid to reveal a twelve-inch dagger, its blade curving to a fine point, almost claw-like. The handle, unlike standard Vorcon daggers, was designed as a push dagger—for a different style of combat.

Nelve’s eyes widened slightly. She had seen this type of blade before but couldn’t recall where. The dagger had a power source with a small control panel built into the hilt, complete with buttons and a dial.

“This is no mere weapon,” Caul said, his voice low and reverent as he lifted the dagger from the case. “It is a symbol of your commitment to the Brotherhood, should you accept. This blade will serve you, but only if you prove yourself worthy of wielding it—a Katarath Dagger.”

The Brotherhood? Nelve’s face betrayed nothing, though her pulse quickened. “It will be useful,” she replied, though the hidden intent behind the gift made her wary. What exactly am I supposed to do with it?

“Perhaps,” Caul replied. “Used incorrectly, it could mean your death.”

He handed her the dagger, watching as she tested its weight. What is he really asking of me? Caul nodded, signaling for her to activate the weapon. She pressed the activation button, and the blade surged to life, raw and volatile. Sparks of pale blue and white energy flickered along the edge before it abruptly deactivated.

Nelve shifted her grip, noting the precision of its balance as she punched forward experimentally.

“Is that how it’s supposed to function?” she asked, turning the dagger over in her hand.

“Yes,” Caul confirmed. “The energy can only be sustained briefly. If left on too long, the weapon destabilizes and destroys itself. It’s designed for swift, precise strikes—for a killing blow. One second is all it needs when used properly.” He studied her for a moment. “It also symbolizes my trust in you and your acceptance of further guidance.”

“I accept your teachings,” she said, though her heart pounded in her chest. Do I have a choice?

Caul’s eyes took on a deadly focus. “You’ve been a fine officer in the Grand Vorcon Imperial Force, a fine Inquisitor, but this is a pledge to embody the true virtues of our Empire—the virtues of our ancestors. You will help restore them and ensure our Empire does not fade into insignificance in the Karadolex Galaxy. Sacrifices must be made to secure our growth and prosperity. True dedication means communing with the gods as our ancestors did and standing among the Immortals of our history. Are you prepared for that?”

Nelve’s thoughts raced. “I am. I will follow your command.”

“Good,” Caul said, his voice carrying a faint note of satisfaction. “But you don’t fully understand what’s at stake. Not yet. What I’m about to tell you isn’t easily grasped.” His tone lowered. “I am part of an ancient order—the Brotherhood of Velor,” he revealed, watching her closely. “Have you heard of it?”

“Yes, I have,” Nelve replied.

To most Vorcons, it was a myth, a legend. Could it actually be real?

“The Brotherhood of Velor is shrouded in mystery,” Caul continued, his voice dropping lower. “It has lingered over our Empire for centuries. I tell you, Inquisitor, the Brotherhood has always been as real as the Empire itself.” His tone became deliberate, each word weighted. “You have a choice to make, and you must make it now. Continue your training with me and join the Brotherhood of Velor, or refuse and end your training. Once we reach the Empire, you will no longer be under my command. Accept only if you’re fully committed—if you’re willing to put the good of the Empire above your own beliefs. If not, I will find another.”

Join the Brotherhood… or die here.

Nelve hesitated, though the pause felt like an eternity. “I will join,” she declared, her voice steady despite the turmoil within. She questioned whether this was what her father had intended for her—an assassin’s path, taking lives without honor or recognition. I can’t afford to hesitate. Not now.

“There is a price for joining,” Caul said, his tone unwavering. “And the toll cannot be delayed. An initiation of sorts.”

“I accept the price,” Nelve replied.

Caul nodded, his eyes reflecting the weight of her decision. “Many challenges lie ahead—trials that will reveal the true nature of the Brotherhood of Velor. I cannot yet tell you all,” he continued. “This order worships Velor, a god long forgotten amid the noise of politics and war. He’s called a forgotten Immortal, but he is a god. It’s an insult to call him otherwise. Previous emperors decreed that Velor should no longer be revered. That decision has never sat well with some.” Caul stepped closer, his voice dropping to a reverent whisper. “Velor’s loyalty to the Emperor demanded sacrifice. The Brotherhood expects no less. Our strength lies in making impossible choices for the prosperity of the Vorcon Empire.”

“I am prepared to face the challenges,” Nelve said, standing taller.

Caul’s expression darkened. “You are not prepared. You have no idea what’s required,” he said, his tone cold and piercing. “You must kill someone. Offer them to Velor.” His words hung in the air, weighted with finality.

Nelve’s mind racing back to her father’s cryptic warnings. His words echoed: sacrifice is the foundation of power. But as she stood before Caul, she questioned whether this was the kind of sacrifice he had meant. Killing without honor or hesitation was one thing—but what would it make of her? She had killed before and had no qualms about taking life, but this felt different.

“There are those in the Empire who have outlived their usefulness and now serve only themselves,” Caul continued. “The Brotherhood once played a much more active role. We never disappeared; we act when required. Now, with the Empire on the verge of a new war, we must ensure its strength. Failure is not an option. We cannot afford to lose another war.” His voice carried a sense of urgency.

“I would give everything for the Empire to grow stronger,” Nelve proclaimed. “If my hands can help, then I will die with honor and the respect of the gods.”

“No less is expected.”

“I understand, Major Legate,” Nelve replied.

“I am taking you as my apprentice,” Caul declared sharply. “Remember, the Brotherhood’s secrets must never leave this room. In private, you will call me Master.”

“Yes, Master,” she said, forcing the words past the knot tightening in her throat. Nelve’s mind raced, caught between the weight of Caul’s demands and the irreversible path she had chosen—or perhaps been guided toward.

Caul’s eyes narrowed as he studied her face, searching for any sign of hesitation. “Did your father prepare you for this?”

“He spoke of responsibilities, of difficult decisions that would fall on me,” Nelve replied.

Caul nodded slowly, a sign of approval. “Now, the question remains: for your first task, for your initiation, have you decided whom you will kill?” His voice lingered, each raspy syllable laced with a dark, expectant tone.

Nelve’s thoughts churned, and a question clawed at her mind—whom would she condemn?

“I’ll need to consider it,” she said, her voice wavering despite her best effort to stay steady.

“Time is limited. Your initiation begins now,” Caul replied, his gaze fixed on her, watching for her reaction, for her understanding.

Nelve’s stomach tightened. “Someone... here?” Her voice cracked as her mind spun. The dagger felt heavier in her grip. How do I choose who dies?

“Yes, someone on this ship,” Caul confirmed, his tone firm, unyielding. “By tomorrow, someone must die by your hand, by the blade you now carry.”

“It will be done,” Nelve affirmed, though the task weighed on her like a leaden burden. Determination settled within her as she spoke. Hesitation would mean losing everything; one wrong move, and Caul himself might strike her down.

“I was once where you are now,” Caul continued, his tone softening. “Tasked by the Brotherhood for the good of the Empire. That task left a mark—a great deed, though I can never claim credit for it. You must do the same. Your deeds will remain between us, within the Brotherhood. Be assured, the gods will know.”

He paused, letting his words sink in. “Go to your quarters and rest. It may be a long night for you.” His voice dropped into a low rasp, ending in a drawn-out hiss.

Without another word, Caul turned and exited, the door sliding shut behind him, leaving Nelve alone with the dagger.