Deathringer

There is no sound as Dinozon Palar, better known as Deathringer, leaves the square transporter after the other four members of his squat have already left. Just a few moments prior they had arrived at the location of the last life-ship. With the success of the other arrests as tailwind, this job looks like a piece of cake. Deathringer can’t wait to get the last few renegades and cash in the reward for a job well done.

Yet, before he allows himself to celebrate, he has to do the job. So, he trails a bit after the others, seemingly loitering around as if he had nothing better to do. But he is not idle. His psychic ability to find life-signs works best when he covers large areas without concentrating too much on anything in peculiar. Moreover, if he finds their targets before the others, he can cash in a higher bounty.

Yet after a few minutes of walking this way and that, and sneaking around the perimeter he notices a flicker in a nearby shadow. Slow he pulls his sleek combat-batons out of his hyperspace-bracelet, which are made to stun any unwilling suspects. He throws one up into in the air and catches it masterfully with an eloquent twirl.

Slow Deathringer approaches the massive rock, in whose shadow he has seen the movement. While he does so, he has to fight the urge to gloat. He might have found one of the deserters. After all, hiding in the shadows of large rock-formations is one of the oldest and most obvious ways to hide. But about half way there he stops. I don’t feel any life-presence over there, he observes and frowns.

Suddenly, he feels someone right behind him but as he jumps around with his batons at the ready and expecting the sound of bones breaking and blood spilling. But there’s no thud or blood and certainly no perpetrator. Miffed, Deathringer stares at the dust cloud he has caused and waits. His psychic ability picks nothing up. Strange, he thinks and concentrates harder. Sure, I can’t feel the others since Molina hides them, but I should feel if something’s around here. But there’s nothing. No animal. No Menkar. Nothing.

Again a shadow flickers past him and he reacts. But again he hits nothing but dusty air. He hisses with his round ears pulled back and showing his teeth, of whom he misses a few. The next moment he hears the sounds of someone fighting. But before he can be certain where the sounds exactly come from they are cut off.

Immediately he runs to the area of the life-ship, as the sounds have most likely originated there. The moment he arrives there, he immediately knows there’s something off. He can tell it by the taste in the air, the faintest trace of blood, and the fact he can’t feel any of his squat members. But the last one doesn’t necessarily mean that something happened to them.

Still, there is no one of his squat outside the ship and no one has called him back. Slow he walks towards the entrance of the life-ship. He can feel something lurking in the darkness within it, but it doesn’t feel alive. It’s more like a premonition.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

Deathringer stops and listens. Nothing but the taste of fear at the back of his tongue.

Fear has never stopped him.

Without hesitation Deathringer jumps into the darkness of the life-ship and half expects to ram his baton against a head or into a body. But there is no one.

As he leaves the life-ship with his round ears twitching into every direction, he notices smears of glistening light-grey blood. They lead to bloody hand prints, which move along the ship’s hull. Tightening the grip around his batons, Deathringer follows them, ready to kill anyone and anything that might get the stupid idea to attack him.

The moment he darts around the corner, he just sees one of his colleagues lying on the ground. Slow without letting his eye remain too long on any given spot and with his back to the life-ship’s hull, he walks to the body and turns it around. He doesn‘t need to check if the Executioner is still alive since her chest is cleaved wide open, exposing a few ribs and the glistening intestines. The expression of utter shock on her face gets under his skin, though.

Deathringer swallows hard and looks around for the murderer. Skilful he jumps on the life-ship where he finds two sets of strange flat boot prints. One set consists out of dust, but the other one is mixed in with light-grey blood. Carful not to step on them, the small Executioner jumps down from the ship and lands soundless on the dirt. Looking around for further clues he finds something written on the ship, only legible thanks to the blue light of the moon:

Five little Executioners out of the door,

One got sliced open and then there were four.

He frowns at the message and continues to look for the others to report this murder. He could also go back to the transporter and tell Flextruth about it. But all she would do, was to accuse him of killing them, although this is complete nonsense. While there are power struggles inside the ranks of the Executioners, none would be stupid enough to act on those petty squabbles and endanger their missions. Murder those on the outside first to show those on the inside what you are capable of, he repeats an old saying among the Executioners, but Deatheringer is not in the mood to dwell on it.

He is a trained Executioner that has about ninety Circles of experience to brag about. Serious and with his back to the solid life-ship, he rounds the ship and stumbles at the other end over the two dead bodies of his other team members. Their blood coating the ship in just marginally different shades of grey. Again someone has written with it:

Four little Executioners here to see,

One got cut open and then there were three.

Three little Executioners out in the blue,

One ended up like the other and then there were two.

Although Deathringer doesn’t want to admit it, it clearly gets on his nerves in a very annoying and slightly, to his dismay, fear inducing way. Slow he backs away and walks right into someone. Startled, he turns around and hits them out of reflex. He feels how one of his batons cracks solid bone. Taken aback, he stares in shock at his last teammate going down with his skull bashed in. A mere heartbeat later he notices the black shadow standing right in front of him. A black gloved finger in front of a faceless white mask with one red eye on it signals him to stay silent.

Before he can even blink, the black figure jumps towards him ready to kill with the slightly curved sword in their hands. In a last attempt to save himself he instinctively sends out his second psychic ability, which should cause all muscles of his attacker to lock into place. But they do not stop. A heartbeat later, Deathringer feels the blade cut into him, accompanied by the taste of blood. The last thing he sees is the empty mask close to his face.