Long looks wearily at Syretia, who is bound to some sort of rack and being tortured. Given Zeeannssii’s temperment, Syretia isn’t saying anything useful, such as where on the ship her egg would be located.
The Admiral isn’t a complete fool. She has a sidearm on her hip that the Zarakyssns didn’t identify, and so, she still has it. She’s not sure what moment she’s waiting for or what to do if she succeeds, but she’s waiting. She has to.
Zeeannssii is exactly as merciless and treacherous as Dzor tried to warn her. She executed most of the humans of the Argonaut before Syretia and Long landed. The Admiral knew it was the risk whether they agreed or refused to meet. But if she can save ANY lives, then at least some good comes out of her foolishness.
And, Zeeannssii is not a fool, either. She may have bitten most of the carrot off, but she left some; the surviving humans from the Argonaut are all spacers; crewmembers needed to operate the Argonaut. The horrifying loss weighs heavily on her, but she keeps her mind on the mission for now. Again, she has to.
Zeeannssii slowly drives a metal pike into Syretia’s abdomen, and the latter squeals in pain. Long cringes, feeling for the insectoid Queen. Zarakyssn melee weapons are extremely sharp, but have a lot of microscopic angles and edges, maximizing the pain they can inflict. The Admiral knows the feeling of this first hand.
The white Queen grumbles in Grodrrn at Long -some curse words she recognizes confirms it-. She’s likely frustrated that Long can’t speak either language that she can speak, making torturing Long almost useless. The slender Queen is less ‘buxom’ than Syretia by a lot, definitely lacking the egg-laying bulk to her thorax of a typical Queen. Still, the soldiers around her step out of her way and move at her seeming mental behest, even forming a chair for her to sit on when she decides to take a break to stare menacingly at Syretia and Long while formulating a strategy. A soldier provides her a drink, and she murmurs in Zarakyssn, but of course, Long has no idea what is said.
A strange whistle fills the air, alerting the Zarakyssns and the humans. If Long had to compare it to anything she’s ever heard, it would be that telltale, foreboding, and all-too-late sound of a mortar shell.
BOOM!
Something slams into the ground from the sky, cratering the planet’s surface near the center of the massive crowd of Zarakyssns, humans -some dead-, and three de facto rulers. A massive cloud of dust explodes across the field, obscuring vision of everything; the object most of all.
She trusted Dzor to make the military call she should have made. She trusted him to be the heartless conqueror and commander that she could never be. She trusted him to order an orbital bombardment on allies to destroy an enemy, because he’s the only one in the fleet who would ever consider it, and he’s the only one that could force it to happen when the human crewmembers hesitated.
There’s an eerie and long quiet that falls over the previously noisy chatter of the Zarakyssn soldiers. To Long’s best guess, they have simple minds, perhaps similar to human children. They can think and converse with each other, but are compelled toward certain actions at the deep-consious order of the Queen, with absolutely no question or hesitation.
Nothing else follows, though, indicating Dzor didn’t just commence bombardment. A warning shot perhaps? And yet, the ‘shell’ didn’t seem destructive enough.
Then again, this ‘shell’ may prove far more destructive.
Long would be a liar if she were to claim she feels betrayed or that she was disobeyed. She was, but she feels something else.
Words cannot express the positive emotion running through her in any meaningful scope. Any single word would pale in comparison to the feeling.
But when the deep, foreboding growl of a near-literal monster rumbles from the epicenter of the cloud of dirt and dust, a true and powerful rush of hope, adrenaline, joy, excitement, determination, and… love… All of those and more, but especially love, pours down her spine like an electrifying bolt. She could never forget that sound from every time she ever heard it.
A shadow rises within the cloud; a towering shadow of nearly seven hundred pounds of muscle, fury, and skill.
He disobeyed her.
He betrayed her trust.
He is here to rescue them all.
Dzor’s roar is as powerful as ever, seemingly causing half of the army around them to fall by the might of the roar alone. Even in open air and through her helmet, the volume and power of the sound pains Long’s ears, and many of the Zarakyssns are forced to clutch their helmets.
And then a blur explodes forth from the dust and snatches their lives away; one by one.
***
It burns and stings. It feels cripplingly painful. And yet, it will go away.
The Azure Queen simply lets the burn in her left eye be. Blood from her own forehead has poured into it, but it matters not. She couldn’t be more pleased.
She is sitting on her temporary throne; a throne that presents itself only once in a while. And yet, it is her favorite place to sit. She licks her own blood off of her cheek, dragging her tongue satisfyingly across her sharp teeth. It is sweet with the nectar of pleasure and the tangy bite of adrenaline. She hums in appreciation at her own taste.
She strokes his cheek tenderly. He is unable to resist, panting and completely exhausted, having used all of his strength in an attempt to escape. But, it was always futile. It always will be.
She swaps the crossing of her legs as she enjoys the throne that is his lap, the perfect place to be to humiliate a defeated opponent; one once believed to be so powerful and is now helpless before her. She chuckles deviously, whispering to him sensually, “[Mmm, you look exhausted.]”
She exhales a warm breath on his neck, and the only real motion he can make is to shift his eyes away. She moves from this to dragging her long tongue up his neck and across his close cheek, following a trail of blood from his mouth.
His blood is bittersweet with rage and adrenaline, but also something else. And, she loves the taste.
She hums appreciatively, “[Mmm, how I love your taste. So full of passion, of hatred, and of desperation. Tell me, did your bond mate or your whore make you feel this way?]” She affectionately claws his other cheek, not breaking his scaly blue skin, but ensuring he feels it even in his numbed and beaten state.
He, of course, is too weak to even speak now. It always ends this way. Her sisters beg her to use poisons, to use weapons, or to use her sisters and soldiers. But, she always refuses.
She looks tenderly at her severed left forearm, admiring the injury. “[You always fight so well.]”
Her arm is just one small sacrifice to her victory; a victory worth savoring each and every time. She is mightier, and she will never tire of reminding him of it.
Needless to say, a swarm of her sisters are around them, weapons ready. They seem to believe he will summon some last ditch strength and slay her in the blink of an eye.
Unlike them, however, she can smell it. There is a scent when a Grodrrn is exhausted; when their muscles have given all they can, when their adrenaline is all but vapor in their blood. He fought desperately; valiantly; but he lost.
She has a new feeling though; a message from Zeeannssii. She can feel and see it all. Zeeannssii chose a hostage approach, and successfully has the mammal ruler captive, but she made a miscalculation.
How far a Grodrrn can actually push themselves.
The Azure Queen plays the scene out in her own mind, watching what her sister just saw.
From the sky, an object fell, cratering the ground.
And from this crater, rose a demon.
A reptilian demon.
The Queen coos as she more excitedly digs her claws into his neck, feeling a surge of arousal and interest. He is able to flinch the tiniest bit, feeling her nails so close to his vital blood vessels feeding his brain, but she would never kill him. NEVER.
Instead, she teases, “[My, my. If only you could see what I see. He fell from the sky… and survived. Mmm…]” She squirms in his lap, making herself more comfortable and reminding him of a challenge she posed him long ago.
“[He may just be the mightiest Grodurn that ever lived, hm? Yes… look at the ferocity.]” She exhales lustily, cooing deviously into her throne’s ear, “[He would make mighty offspring, wouldn’t he? Yes…]”
He tries to look away, and she bites his lip, holding his head still. She adds through the side of her mouth, “[Does it pain you? I could breed you an army all your own. Perhaps they could be the mightiest, and we could rule the galaxy ourselves. Or do you still choose your incestuous whore?]”
She releases him, and he weakly whispers something, but she ignores him. “[A good thing she’s dead, then. You may not want me, but I will never not want you.]”
“[G-gree…]” whispers the bulky male Grodrrn with little strength remaining.
“[Gree? What concern is she to you? You KNOW I take far better care of her than your whore and her abominations.]” She says distantly, “[I would NEVER allow what you allowed to be done to her.]”
“[F-... F-...]”
“[They sterilized her on purpose and told her she was worthless because of it. Or did you forget why you never wanted a Zhi?]” This time, she more sternly claws his cheek, drawing blood.
“[I gave you my conditions for her freedom. But, you choose yourself every time. I see a Grodrrn right now, fighting my sister far away who is far more promising than you will ever be.]”
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She leans right to his ear, asking, “[Do you know why that is?]”
She licks his blood off of his cheek once more, finishing, “[He is fighting for the mammals. How VERY curious.]”
She then says to the Void Queens around her, “{Take him back to his cell and bind him. Ensure the regenerator is charged and place it on him. Once he’s healed, resume feeding him as normal. Wouldn’t want him to lose his strength.}” She gently strokes his cheek, exhaling on his neck once more before climbing off of him.
Just as she’s walking away, though, she says coldly, “[By the way. Now is probably as good as any time to tell you; your Myzh, Dzhonn, is dead. He revealed himself and was nearly captured. You understand. He was weak and failed his mission. Best to cull weak bloodlines.]” She looks at him with eyes of soulless fire. “[Isn’t that right?]”
His gaze is locked with hers for once, horrified at the revelation. But, between horror, weakness, and heartbreak, he can say nothing. Several Void Queens step in and bind him carefully and meticulously, ensuring that, if he has any strength left, he can’t escape them.
The Azure Queen can take him in a fight. More than likely, they can not.
She then passes a message across space to her darling little sister, “{Zeeannssii, if you must retreat, there is no shame. We are not Uniter Queens, we are Void Queens. We need no status, only victory.}”
“{No! Sister, I can…}”
“{You can’t. If he doesn’t fall quickly, retreat. Do not waste your life.}”
There is a pause. “{Darling sister?}”
“{I hear you, my dear sister. I will obey.}”
She licks blood off of her teeth, and her tongue touches where one of them were, reminding her of what she actually is once more. It’s fitting. That momentary hatred matches what she feels for being told lies. Warfare lies and deceits are one thing. Lies from her own precious sisters are another.
***
“{Zjhika! Zjhika! Zjhika! Zjhika! Zjhika!}”
The chanting has begun, even as Dzor thrashes his way through columns of soldiers. He just cleared the immediate area around Long and Syretia, and tore Syretia’s bindings free. He should have left her to die, but…
Some part of him is trying to see what Long sees, what Kane sees. Is this Queen truly different? Let her prove it here and now. Otherwise, they’re all likely to die anyways. Long and Dzor at least.
Once she’s free, he hands her the Grodrrn rifle he brought. He intended to give it to Long, and it thankfully survived his entry, but Syretia has four arms and a taller profile -if only a little over Long-. She looks up at him with surprised eyes, but his are full of hate.
And his gaze is swirling around the crowd.
“{Zjhika! Zjhika! Zjhika! Zjhika! Zjhika!}”
He spots them, launching himself through the air.
This time, the bodies that attempt to block his way are nothing. He is in a frenzy. He is not the Grodrrn that fought Syretia’s Zjhika. He was desperate then.
Today, he is far beyond that.
Dzor lands on his target, pinning the surprised higher soldier to the ground and smashing it in the same motion. He is careful not to pierce himself or any of the other soldiers in the area with the stinger, but viciously whirls up to slaughter any of those that were too surprised to move.
This Queen, however, is not like any other known Queen in the Zarakyssn horde. He has never heard of the Zarakyssns using anything other than their stun weapons with their foot soldiers; so much so, that the weapons are typically grafted to the soldiers -their only armament forever-.
This Queen, however, has her soldiers fitted with weapons firing something that is actually pinging off of his armor and ocassionally splintering through his undersuit to pierce his skin. His regenerator, of course, will keep him alive for now, assuming the Zarakyssns still don’t know its secrets, but he is starting to feel the injuries.
And, to his pleasant surprise, Syretia is fighting valiantly, having moved with Long to the crater he formed for cover. She’s firing at Zarakyssn soldiers with deft and skillful shots, if a little less accurate than a trained soldier. But, she hasn’t fired at him once, nor has she attempted to turn Long back over.
Something that does surprise Dzor is something else he is struggling to understand but can’t focus on enough to make sense of.
Why are there so many vastly different smells? Each soldier he slaughters seems to share nothing with the ones before it, at least on that most miniscule of levels.
Regardless, he virtually swims through the blood and gore of insectoid soldiers, sweeping in vicious circles to wipe out as many as possible, leaping to new positions to disorient them and engage another large group to thin them out faster, and searching for the slender and difficult to distinguish Queen.
Dzor hears the telltale static spark and crunch, and an alert appears inside his helmet. He just lost his regenerator.
He doesn’t slow, though. He has slaughtered hundreds of them. Maybe even a thousand or more already. He has no idea. But he cannot relent until something changes; either all of his enemies are dead, or…
The hulking Grodrrn halts dead in his tracks.
His gaze just fell upon Long and Syretia.
Syretia is pinned to the ground by several soldiers, while Long is being held by only one Zarakyssn.
A tiny and white-skinned Queen wearing black armor.
Normally, Dzor knows he could kill the Queen before Long would bleed out.
IF the weapon about to be used on Long would only cause her to bleed.
It is far, far worse however.
The white Queen known as Zeeannssii, a named Zarakyssn queen paying only loose lip service to the doctrine of the horde, has Long held close in front of her, facing Dzor. At Long’s neck, clearly not piercing yet, is a distinct and unforgettable stinger.
Just a touch would be all it takes.
The white Queen speaks in Grodrrn again, “[My queen thinks you may be the mightiest of all Grodrrns, surviving what you have survived today alone. She believed I could not defeat you, and she was right. I’m sorry I dishonored you by underestimating you.]”
Dzor rises to his full height, still combat ready, but flexing his aching body to loosen back up.
Zeeannssii continues, “[You must choose for her, now. Die peacefully, or die a monster. But, she WILL die.]”
There’s a moment of silence as Long’s gaze is locked on Dzor’s shoulder.
Scraped, scratched, and stained with his own and Zarak blood is a silver cross, raised only slightly from horizontal. Her gaze moves to match his, and she feels nothing but positive feelings, in spite of everything. She is calm and full of confidence -if not resignation-.
The human Admiral states calmly in shaky Grodrrn, “[I is only human. I make choices own.]”
In the brief instant of surprise, Long snaps a pistol up from her hip, firing it as quickly as her trigger finger can cycle, nearly emptying the magazine up into the white Queen’s helmet. The insectoid queen is caught off guard, and she can only flinch, before her body goes limp.
Dzor watches in helpless horror, however, as the human struggles to maneuver the collapsing Queen’s arm, and a tiny tear and nick appears in her suit, uniform jacket, and arm. The cause; an alien stinger from a monster on a far away world.
Long’s heart begins to pound as she realizes what just happened and it sinks in. No one knows the consequences of a non-Zarakyssn being stung, but no one ever wanted to find out. Now…
In the instant that slowed down to a horrifying and eternal-seeming crawl, the Admiral’s mind wanders in an adrenaline fueled drift through seeming eternity, thinking a million things that won’t help her at all. How big will Vivi get? Will Jessica be a fearsome marine, or the timid one she is now? Will she ever marry? Will Vivi and Jessica get the chance to be happy? Will Dzor and Khla’s hatchling get along with everyone? Will they be happy together? Will Dzor miss her?
During this wander, her eyes fall on the pistol still in her hand. The slide isn’t locked back, meaning at least one more bullet is still in the chamber.
One more is all she needs.
Her beliefs strictly forbid taking one’s own life as a mortal sin, with an eternity in hell as punishment for wasting so precious as the life she was given. If she does nothing though, she will become something almost no one can stop, and which will do far more damage in a mindless fury.
They say sacrifice is the most noble of deeds a person can undertake, giving one’s own life being the greatest of all. And yet, how is that not an indirect taking of one’s own life?
Perhaps there is no loophole for the sin. Perhaps throwing one’s own life away will always be a sin.
And in that case, the true sacrifice is to know when hell itself is worth protecting the lives of everyone one cares about.
In all reality, it doesn’t take Long more than an instant to make the decision. She doesn’t actually hesitate, and is indeed already moving even as she ponders the thought. She has many choices, now as always, but only one choice that she -Admiral Angelica Marie Long- could possibly make; to protect those she cares about no matter the cost -to herself most of all-.
The auburn-haired Admiral pulls her pistol to her own head in the last heart-pounding moment of her life or sanity, taking one last, brief instant for a selfish last sight. Her gaze drifts to her dear and close friend; a former adversary, a former aggressor, and an honorable warrior.
However, she is surprised to find him already mere inches away, it seems, crowding her vision in mid-flight toward her. Horror has twisted his face, and desperation filled his soul. Neither of them can fully comprehend what he’s doing, but he did it because he had to.
The seven hundred pound Baskylla Jardzen slams by her with thunderous speed, blasting air across her as his claws move deftly and with ferocious and merciless purpose.
Long’s pistol is no longer at her head as she stumbles. She looks down to her left, where her cross should be, as well as the arm holding the pistol. She finds half of her bicep -severed mid bone, and a faucet of blood pouring to the alien dirt she’s standing on.
Shock quickly consumes her, and her vision fades.
The Baskylla Jardzen, now directly behind her with a severed arm, tosses it away as he whirls, catching the human with auburn hair as she collapses.
Dzor stammers, “No… No…” He holds the human, shifting his grip so he can clutch what remains of her arm. Her blood quickly stains his hand in keeping with his deed, but he must stop the bleeding. He continues to panic, “No… Yukonja…”
He feels more helpless than he’s ever been. More than when he’s been bound and tied. More than when he watched from orbit as others fight and die in his stead. More than when he gazed upon the statue of Mrrk’lah and realized how hopeless the Fievegal is.
He cradles the fragile human female in his arms, waiting for her to rip him apart; the first of a new breed of monster and one he could never bring himself to face. He deserves this outcome. Let his death come at her hands, not the other way around. Or, if her God exists, let her live. Let her live and go on as she deserves.
He is holding tightly to her wound, acting as a tourniquet would, as he pleads, “Yukonja… please, Yukonja… please…” She says nothing. She’s faded beyond the horizon of consciousness.
His soul aches, as if his lungs are being crushed, but his soul instead. His very soul is emptying in pain and loss.
But, she hasn’t turned. The Grodrrn Jardzen looks to where her severed arm lies, and it bubbles and roils with a twisting of flesh caused by an alien mutagenic toxin. It is growing monstrous and deformed, sharpening into a massive weapon with claws and armored skin, but dying all the same with no body to keep it alive or give it commands.
Admiral Long isn’t turning, but Dzor doesn’t brighten. She still isn’t responding.
Buh-bump…
Tiny and soft. But, it’s there. It surprises and almost startles Dzor at first, all things considered. But, he presses his ear to her mamallian chest.
Buh-bump…
He realizes the Zarakyssns around them have fallen silent, as their weak minds process that they just lost their leader. He listens even closer.
Buh-bump… Buh-bump…
Admiral Angelica Long is still alive.
Dzor hugs the human close, breathing hot air on her neck in a sort of instinct. He murmurs tenderly, “Yukonja…”
The Zarakyssns start to chatter and screech at them, but he doesn’t care what they’re saying. He doesn’t care about them. He only cares about one. And, she’s still alive.
He doesn’t worry about anything else now. He will shield her with his body if he must, but he hears all he needs to.
Mining barges converted for war, a handful of purpose-built gunships, and two Grodrrn shuttles have every door open possible, and a rain of death falls on the Zarakyssns rallying a death call for the human survivors and the Grodrrn.
Syretia suddenly appears next to Dzor, pushing in to help. She tugs at Long’s arm, insistently taking it from him to apply first aid and stop the bleeding. He can’t let go of Long, even if it would make Syretia’s job easier, but she works around him. After all, the major concern is the amputation. It’s the most they can treat right now.
While the queen stinks of fear, nervousness, and caution, she works diligently to save Long’s life, and only glances at Dzor. After a long time, she finally offers softly, “{Thank you for saving us, Yarjen. You… You did the right thing. She will forgive you.}”
He looks to her severed arm once more, where a silver cross adorns the arm stained in blood, torn by flesh expanding beyond its capacity. He says nothing.
He wouldn’t forgive himself.
***