It only takes a few hours to come up with a foolproof plan of escaping, and then several more to integrate Enoch Gris and the prince into it. Mostly because the Braus Straus took up to annoying him and interrupting his plotting at every possible second, scratching at the walls and pounding her head against the cell. It was almost as if she didn’t actually want to escape.
“Of course I do! I thought Rai are supposed to be smart!” she’d shouted when he pointed it out to her. And then she was blessedly silent for fourteen more minutes before clicking her tongue in the most infuriating of ways possible.
Pleiad soldiers make their rounds every hour, a whole cohort of them stomping by, facing forward. They’re all tech entirely, and stand four by four except for the last bot that trails behind, swinging it’s head from side to side and scanning each prisoner. When he was fighting the Pleiad, he found that they were full of sharp parts and edges. He wasn’t one for tech himself, so he wasn’t sure if there was anything useful he could find a part of, but he at least knows that pointy things make damage. He needs all the pointy things in the bot that he can get.
Enoch shoves the soldier into his arms, outstretched in front of the cell, and he breaks off its head before it can make the annoying siren-y sounds. It sparks and flares alarmingly, singing his hand and making him curse and Enoch snort, but the fruits of his labor are clear immediately. He’s armed with the spine of the soldier, and the Braus Straus picks his left leg.
The soldiers notice they’re missing one of their men relatively quickly, but not fast enough for Jaiyra to sculpt a makeshift explosive out of the spare parts and a few of the less important tools he’d been allowed to keep on himself. Then he’s being blown back into the back wall of his cell by an explosion that’s much more dramatic than he’d anticipated.
His back aches and his ears ring, but he gets up anyway. Rai always get up. There’s alarms going off for sure now, and the thunder of soldiers returns. Enoch Gris has passed out, so he has to throw all hundred and so pounds of her over his shoulder and use her body as a battle ram (something he decisively won’t tell her when she awakens), and rushes through the first sector of soldiers.
He doesn’t need to make it through all of them, so he doesn’t try. Just enough to reach the control panel he’d passed at the fork earlier, flip it open, and do a little configurations. Which is hard when dozens of bots have caught up and started attacking him, but he’s Rai, so he completes the job.
More alarms go off. Every prisoner in the ward have been let loose, their doors swinging open, and Jaiyra can nearly see salvation.
But no one escapes.
Doors open and freedom waits only a few steps ahead of them, but the prisoners don’t come. Jaiyra had wondered how it could be so easy to release them all at first, why so few soldiers rushed by and it was so easy to tap in the coordinates in between his fighting, but it quickly became clear that it wasn’t the jail doors or the chains that were holding the prisoners back. The prisoners were beyond the point that unleashing them from their bonds could bring them liberty now.
Jaiyra cursed, slamming the Braus Straus’ body into an incoming electrical rod with little remorse. They were supposed to be more durable than other beings, and Jaiyra, a mere Origin, would’ve been taken out by such a blast. She was already taken out; she couldn’t complain beyond the spasms of her sausage fingers.
The bulk of the plan relied on prisoners running to escape. Hundreds of enraged captives racing for freedom was supposed to cause chaos, depleting the amount of bots focused on trying to impale the Rai. Instead, the prison is still beyond the sounds of his own exhaust as he desperately fights his way through the hoard, knowing what’s to come in spite of himself. This time when the Pleiad inevitably caught him–because they would, Jaiyra was a realist–they would kill him on the spot, not bothering with the formality of holding him in a cell to be bailed out. It would piss off the Rai covenant, but they wouldn’t be able to do anything since he was the one who incited violence. Plus, it wasn’t as though they’d have the time to retaliate even if they wanted to. The Pleiad’s had finally completed Dies Irae, after all.
Briefly, he considered going down in a blaze of glory then and there. He’d already made one of the bots’ explosive in a few seconds, he could do it again. This time, he’d stand in the line of fire, Enoch Gris over his shoulder, and allow the flames to consume him alongside the coordinates to the last key. The Braus Straus would have to eat her words then, no one could say Rai Jaiyra didn’t care for the affairs of the galaxy beyond his own wallet if he went down like that.
But how embarrassing would it be to die before completing his last bounty? Until Enoch Gris had paid him, until the prince was returned to his kingdom, Jaiyra was a Rai on the job. Rai’s on the job aren’t supposed to fall for any reason, not even death.
Within the minute, Rai Jaiyra stumbles when an electric rod slams into his unprotected back and his vision blurs. The strain of everything catches up to him with a single electric shock. Spots scatter across his eyes like stars he isn’t sure he’ll ever see again and his mouth dries. He looks up just in time to see the rod arching back down to him again, a final blow, and allows his vision to fade out indefinitely.
Indefinitely only lasts three seconds.
The sound of metal slamming against the wall and more rapid beeping pulls his headache out of hiding, but his eyes flutter open nonetheless to be met with the blurry sight of an angel, waiting to welcome him to whatever afterlife they let Rai’s into.
“You make it a habit of kneeling like that, revenant Rai?” the very annoyed angel asked, and Jaiyra’s head finally slots back in place enough for him to realize that it isn’t an angel. Just Prince Malvedae, spinning one of the electric rods effortlessly and cocking his head to the side arrogantly. Not a note of gratitude in his voice after Jaiyra had just saved him.
Smiling tightly, Jaiyra forced out words that hurt far too much to not be concerning, “Only for beauties like yourself, your fairest grace.”
They’re worth it at the sight of the scowl that breaks apart the Daea’s emotionless perfection. They’re less worth it when the Daea tosses his weapon directly at the Rai and it pops against his head before he can catch it.
More stars speckle the Rai’s vision. It’s a wonder he’s still alive.
The prince knocks out a few more bots seamlessly with a flick of his wrist before raising his eyebrow at the Rai. “I’m hoping you have a ship ready, but based on your lack of preservation skills so far, I wonder if I should,” he commented, spinning the rod again in a way that Jaiyra decided must be show-off-y.
Huffing, the Rai pushed to his feet, struggling slightly under the weight of the Braus Straus which only added on to his lethargy. Not wanting to let the Daea see his exhaust, and wanting to prove that anyone could spin a spear in such a way, he knocked out a bot of his own. And then nearly dropped his rod when he realized the spinning wasn’t so easy with just one arm.
The prince’s eyes crinkle and, again, Jaiyra feels like he lost something.
“These preservation skills got you out of your kennel,” he said, and then as if to prove it, yanked the prince away from an incoming blade by his wrist. “I’d watch how you talk about them, your fairest grace.”
The prince’s amusement dissipates, leaving behind a glare that could kill. Snatching his hand away, he hits the bot hard enough to slam it into the wall and said, “It’s Malvedae. If you keep calling me fair I think I may willingly walk back into my kennel.”
“Less deadweight for my ship, your fairest grace,” Jaiyra shrugged as he surged forward, ignoring all his aches and pains in order to maneuver his way to the end of the passage. With the prince at his side, easily taking out double the amount in his healthy and unmarred state, they had a chance at getting to the ship without any more trouble. More thunder announces the arrival of more soldiers, but with the way they knock through them, he isn’t concerned.
It’s a wonder the Pleiad didn’t protect their keys more. With how much they wanted the galaxy destroyed, they sure were letting them walk out easily. Such thoughts made Jaiyra uneasy, readying himself to turn a corner only to be met with bigger and worse bots.
“Speaking of deadweight, is she okay–” Malvedae began, just as they turned the corner to met with bigger and worse bots.
These ones are armed with shooters and blast without hesitation and an unfortunate amount of precision.
Throwing the prince behind himself, using Enoch Gris once again as an unwilling shield, he backed right back around the corner.
Into another arriving cohort.
Jaiyra hated doing business with bots.
“Your ship…” the prince trailed off, the answer unnecessary. There was no hope of getting to the ship now, with the weapons and the bigger bots between it and them. And thus, there was no longer any hope of an easy escape.
Not that any of this has been easy so far. Jaiyra was slowly losing his bearings, the weight of the situation finally catching up to him. He didn’t have much time before he lost consciousness entirely, leaving the prince alone to either surrender or fight to the death for them. Either way it wouldn’t matter, the second Jaiyra’s vision clouded, it was clouding for good. He couldn’t imagine he’d ever wake up if he lost it now and that was the sole thing keeping him moving onward.
But where was onward? They couldn’t reach the ship. They were stuck in these prison cells with no apparent way out. There were two cohorts rushing at them from both sides.
Jaiyra cursed, shifting Enoch Gris over on his shoulder from where she’d begun to slip. A bullet had skimmed her arm, leaking out a flood of blood that he could only hope wasn’t as serious as it looked. It made everything sticky and slippery and Jaiyra tried not to think about it and focus on something far more important. “My ship isn’t an option anymore,” he said after clearing his throat. He could feel the heated look the Daea set on him, cementing the fact that he could not pass out if he wanted to make it out alive. Prince Malvedae would probably help the Pleiads drag him to the guillotine. “If we can find evacuation–”
Malvedae swung his pole, knocking out two of the oncoming cohort with a clatter and clang. “Can you make another bomb?”
“Can you get me thirty seconds?” Jaiyra returned, already dropping in front of the remains of one of the fallen bots.
Malvedae spins his spear in response before starting towards the cohort. It’s hard to look away after he starts, gracefully weaving between the group of bots, striking them down at random. Daea combat was one of the hardest Rai Hela had ever tried to impress upon him. As good as a teacher she was, being a Daea herself (albeit, one from the lesser moons, where they weren’t quite as beautiful or ethereal), she’d never been able to teach him their style completely. Jaiyra had never been good at dancing after all, and the way the prince takes the bots is more of a waltz than it is an attack.
This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.
Tearing his eyes away, he focuses on the more important task at hand. It takes him twenty-three seconds to twist the wires into place, just in time to greet the shooting bots behind them as they turn the corner.
The explosion is bigger this time, louder, and it burns Jaiyra’s back as he gets up, chasing after the prince who’s already begun running. He greets every bot that approaches them with his dancing, and before long they’ve passed the cells and damned prisoners and reached a large anteroom, steel and hard.
“The evacuation ships are six floors up,” Malvedae explained. Jaiyra doesn’t question how he knows, doesn't care enough to in his lethargic state. He doesn’t even batter an eye when the prince knocks at the steel wall a few times and it swings open as though it were made of flimsy plastic to reveal pitch black darkness.
“We have to climb,” Jaiyra said more than asked, dread already setting in. His muscles were already sore as it was, and now he was going to climb six floors with Enoch Gris over his shoulder.
As though realizing such a dilemma, the prince bit at his lip. “I can carry her,” he offered, already reaching out as though to pull her from his shoulder.
Before he can even touch her, Jaiyra flinched back. “She’s my bounty,” he said, a bit more forcefully than necessary.
Malvedae’s pity melted in place of poorly hidden indignation, but his hands dropped to his side and he doesn’t insist. As a prince, he must know much about the Rai and their intensity when it comes to their business, and he proves as much when he simply accepts the statement with nothing more than a frown and clear displeasure. “You climb ahead of me,” he insisted instead, and before Jaiyra can scowl and say something about his own strength, he said, “I don’t want to be shot first if there’s anyone already waiting to greet us.”
It’s a clear lie when they reach the sixth floor and no one’s waiting up there for them but a single bot that’s taken out with a single punch. But even before that it was clear, with the intensity the prince watched him as they climbed upwards, and how he moved ready when he slipped slightly. A kind gesture, but not something Jaiyra expected to get anything out of, since the prince looked as though his strength was all slender and there was no way he’d be able to haul up all three of them on his own. There was no room for kindness when escaping the Pleiad ship.
“I was expecting more of a pushback,” Jaiyra admitted, when they boarded one of the evacuation ships all too easily. Prince Malvedae had taken Enoch Gris from him and begun looking over her wounds, confirming that the bullet wound wasn’t anything to fret over, and the Rai had turned to the controls, flipping through them. “You’d think the most fierce force in the galaxy would want to protect their weapon more forcefully.”
“I’m not a weapon,” Malvedae cut in icily, shooting a glare over his shoulder.
“You’re a key, it’s the same difference.” Malvedae’s glare doesn’t lessen, but Jaiyra has turned to focusing on the phasing configurations, so he doesn’t care. “Which Rai brought you in?”
He’d turned the thought over in his mind and couldn’t think of someone who could’ve managed it. Not even Rai Hela could handle a feat like that, or any of the elder Rai’s. If it was possible, the prince would’ve been on the black markets years ago, at the request of some sleazy bastard from the Cores. But the First Moon of Daeadem had always been impenetrable, and the princes and princess, especially Malvedae, unreachable.
“None of them,” Malvedae confirmed as much. When Jaiyra turned to him in mild surprise, somehow expecting that answer less than he would’ve even the worse of the Rai, he simply folded the bandage over Enoch Gris’ shoulder, careful and gently. He doesn’t offer any more information, and when Jaiyra opens his mouth to ask for some, he said, “Start the ship. We don’t have time to speak.”
They don’t. But that doesn’t stop Jaiyra from speaking again when he finishes the configurations and starts the ship. “Why are you here, your fairest grace?”
The answer is quiet, almost ashamed. It’s so unlike everything the prince has said before that Jaiyra starts, nearly stopping the ship from phasing back together again when they push through. “I came.”
Two words that spur millions of question to flood Jaiyra’s mouth, like drool flooding an excited dog’s tongue. But none of them escape his lips, sitting impatiently as he pulls the ship to an immediate stop. There before them, the reason their escape was so easy comes into view.
Hundreds of steel ships, small and guns at the ready, stare back at them.
“Moons,” Malvedae whispered, right at his shoulder. His eyes are wide when Jaiyra looks up, a brighter silver as they reflect the horizon, both the stars and the ships.
Jaiyra responded with his own curse, a more Rai one. “Fucking shit.”
“Rai Jaiyra,” comes a scratchy whisper. It takes an embarrassingly long moment for the Rai to realize it comes from their transmitter rather than the ghosts of the damned, calling him into the afterworld. “Return to the Armeggedon.”
So he could be captured again and executed? Yeah, right.
Snatching the transmitter up and holding it at his mouth he returned, “What’ll you pay me?”
At his side, Malvedae started. “You–” he began, and there was so much venom in his voice that it confirmed just how well he knew the Rai’s. Most wouldn’t be bluffing. The code claimed that a bounty must be completed, and to some of the more notorious Rai, completing could equate exchanging for an even heftier bounty if the situation arised. If Jaiyra had been raised by any Rai other than Hela, he probably would’ve taken even a small sum in exchange for his life. That was deemed acceptable by most, and was the reason Rai had such a reputation of backstabbing and turning traitor. Why it was so risky to make a deal with one and people always thought twice before calling after them.
The scratchy voice returns after a moment, stuttering with so much emotion that confirms it’s no bot. “Why-how could you–we will not pay you anything, Rai Jaiyra!” the voice exclaimed, indignant and infuriated at the mere thought. And really, how cheap could they be? Refusing to pay him the full amount they owed him and then demanding he do them a favor for free? What did they think he was? Some manservant? “You will return or we will blast you into–”
“That’s enough, Zaytor.” A new voice transmits across the mic, this one feminine and steady. There’s something cruel about it, hidden within the even tones. Even though she speaks in a placating manner, calling down her men from threatening, Jaiyra doesn’t trust it immediately.
There’s also the fact that the prince has gone still and wide-eyed, his breath escaping his lungs in a shaky exhale.
“Rai Jaiyra, are the captives near?” she questioned and before Jaiyra can bargain with her over their location, Malvedae has snatched the mic from his hand.
“Ayri.” He didn’t as much say the word as he breathed it on a trembling tongue. All grace the prince exuded has disappeared, replaced with something akin to deep rooted fear. Jaiyra has seen the look on his face many times before, in helpless bounties right before they were locked away in their cells and handed over, in people on the streets of the Cores, stumbling away as he passed. It didn’t fit him. “You don’t need–”
“Mal.” There’s familiarity in the nickname, but it isn’t kind. Rather than an endearment, it sounds more like a reprimand, a reminder of something. “Return to the ship or I will begin shooting. Neither you, the Braus Straus or the Origin will make it out alive.”
The last time someone referred to him as an Origin had been years ago. Once one joins the Rai, they are supposed to shed everything of their past, including what type of being they were. Jaiyra hadn’t been Origin in a little over a decade now, and it was disrespectful to call him as such. This Ayri was probably aware of that and had called him so intentionally. Pleiad soldiers were just dicks like that naturally.
“You can’t kill me,” Malvedae said, but it’s quiet and almost a question. And logically, no they shouldn’t be able to. Not if they ever wanted to get their hands on Dies Irae and destroy the galaxy that was. You couldn’t kill a key.
“I don’t want to,” Ayri said, and for a moment, Malvedae stills, a shocked look passing over his features. But then it falls at the sound of her next words. “It’d be very expensive to collect your DNA and keep it preserved until we can find Rotch. And the next Braus Straus they send will be more on edge certainly… it wouldn’t be ideal.”
It wouldn’t be ideal, but it wasn’t impossible. Jaiyra’s fists clenched.
Malvedae was silent for a moment too long before speaking again. “If I return, you let the Rai and the Braus Straus go,” he said finally, bargaining in his own way. Jaiyra’s nails dug into the skin of the palm. It wasn’t the right way to bargain.
“That’s not happening,” Jaiyra disputed, staring up at the prince who suddenly found the stars to be quite engaging. Barring his teeth, he opened his mouth to enforce just how much it wasn’t happening, but Ayri wasn’t content on waiting and Malvedae wasn’t content on listening.
“Okay,” Ayri agreed. “Phase back into the ship within the next minute or we will begin shooting, Mal.”
In other words, back up to your death bed or I’ll kill you, with a far too emotionless nickname tacked to the end of it. The transmitter clicked off dispassionately, leaving the ship in silence other than the Braus Straus’ weak breathing. It only lasted three second of their little time before Jaiyra burst.
“It’s not happening,” he reiterated, and finally the prince’s silver eyes set back on him. If they were mercury before, they were iron now, steel and unyielding.
“Do you crave a paycheck that much, Rai?” Malvedae demanded, tearing a hand though the ends of his ponytail. Blue fingers trembled. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get a couple thousand out of them before sealing the deal, but this is the only way you have to get out alive–”
“You’re the shittiest barter I’ve ever met. I wouldn’t expect you to get me five credits out of anyone,” Jaiyra cut in with a roll of his eyes. Then, when the prince’s mouth opened again, his face turning a darker shade of blue in his irritation, he added, “And it isn’t about the money, fairest.”
Face remaining the same deeper color, the prince’s mouth clamped shut. Confusion was etched across his face in the tremble of his lower lip and narrow of his eyes. “This isn’t about your bounty either, is it? She said you and the Braus Straus could go free–”
“You’re also the most gullible barter I’ve ever met,” Jaiyra added. Anyone with a single brain cell in this galaxy would know that Ayri had been speaking out of her ass when she said anyone would be going free. “But no, it isn’t about the bounty. I just don’t like being indebted to people.”
No Rai did. That’s why it was so important to complete the mission. The last thing Jaiyra wanted was a prince to give up his life for him, the most martyrdom of sacrifices. How was he supposed to pay back something like a soul? He doubted the Daea would take the measly amount in his bank account, or really, any of the riches in the galaxy he could get his hands on. Nothing was worth their shining gem of a prince.
Malvedae’s annoyance was back. “So it’s an ego thing,” he condensed, entirely unimpressed.
Jaiyra’s lips slanted into a lazy smile, unabashed. “Yep.”
“Your ego isn’t going to be what gets the Braus Straus killed,” Malvedae said after a quiet moment, in which they both considered each other. It was the only warning Jaiyra got before he was reaching for the wheel right past him.
Right behind the first thing one wasn’t to do to a Rai (steal from one), was the second dumbest thing one could do in their presence. One wasn’t to take the wheel from a Rai.
The ship jolted to the left, nearly skimming the edge of one of the Pleiad ships, before Jaiyra managed to shove the prince off of the controls. The transmission crackled, and this time it was the man, Zaytay or something, with some warning about a few seconds left and going backwards rather than forward, but Jaiyra didn’t have the attention to give to it. His focus was on bashing the prince’s head into the wall.
“You’re being ridiculous,” the prince hissed from where he was pinned against the floor of the ship on his stomach, wrists behind his back. Jaiyra preened over the fact that it was so easy to take down a trained monarch, but he didn’t have much time to celebrate before Malvedae’s foot dug into a raw part of his stomach, where he’d been hit by an electric spear earlier, and he was falling over with a curse.
Malvedae had the controls for two seconds again then, managing to successfully back them up just as Zaytor announced that they had five seconds left, before Jaiyra shoves him to the side and their ship shoots forward. And then the shooting starts, as promised.
“You’re going to die for the sake of your ego, you stupid, stupid Ra–” Malvedae yelled, cutting off when the ship lurched to the side to ignore a bigger blast and he slammed against the floor.
Jaiyra rolled his eyes to the ceiling, trying to keep his hands steady even as the entire ship began to shake. “That’s no different than you willing to die for the sake of your self-sacrificial bullshit,” he shouted over his shoulder, before dodging another larger blast a bit harsher than necessary. When the prince slams against the wall this time, there’s a thud, and he shuts up for a good, blessed moment.
Jaiyra’s enjoying the blissful silence so much that he doesn’t notice when Malvedae finally does get up again, stumbling to maintain his balance, and then they’re fighting over the wheel. Which isn’t the best thing to do when there are hundreds of weapons pointed at your ship. It’s not ideal in any situation in general. The first lesson most instructors teach is that there should only ever be one being at the wheel at a time (someone who could see over the wheel (not Braus Straus) as well).
For very good reason, they would both soon find.
“You stubborn, stupid, stupid, stupid–”
“I get it!” Jaiyra barked, slipping as the entire ship rocks under the force of another blast. The lights flicker in a way that’s horribly concerning, but he’s more focused on shoving Malvedae off than he is getting incinerated. “Let go of the damn wheel–”
“Stupid, self-righteous, bastard–”
There’s a moan of pain from somewhere behind them, Enoch Gris waking up at the worst possible moment, and the transmitter crackles and whines with whatever order is trying to force its way through the broken device, and all of it’s fading out behind a sharp ringing in his ears.
And then there’s a beat of pressing, painful silence.
A kaleidoscope of colors erupts before them–bright reds and dark blues colliding together and battling for dominance, highlighted by purples and oranges and everything in between. The wormhole is a sight to behold, more grand than anything Jaiyra had seen in his travels as a bounty hunter and more intimidating than even the Pleiad ship they had fled from seconds before.
Within only seconds of seeing it, Jaiyra has to turn away. Due to his throbbing eyes or the knowledge of what was beyond those gorgeous patterns, he couldn’t tell.
The prince is glaring at him. Mercury eyes burn in their brightness, a series of light giving his light blue skin color it hadn’t had before. He wears each color gracefully, as someone of the Daeadem race would, and it makes Jaiyra’s lip curl. No one should look half as decent in bright orange as he does.
“We’re in–” the prince started, as if Jaiyra needs a reminder of the mess they’re in. As if he weren’t there when the ship went out of control and their path sharply turned in the worst direction possible. As if he couldn’t see the light show dancing before them, and didn’t know the foreboding darkness that lay just beyond it.
“Deep shit,” he cut in with a roll of his eyes. “If you’ll excuse my language, your fairest.”
They’ve knocked the ship into a Spyre.
Jaiyra’s eyes roll to the back of his head.