CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Soran's hand dropped slightly under the weight of the weapon. Ranna had handed him a pistol with a pulsating yellow lens on the barrel. It felt alien to him. A device forged on a faraway world for some unknowable purpose, something beyond his understanding. It was the first time he had ever held a gun, or anything with the innate purpose to harm. The Hyacinth's combat training program had never held much allure as for him, engineering was the obvious path. Never seeing himself as anything but a sweat-slicked worker, he had been unable to foresee that one day, danger would come to him; presenting its malice-filled eyes whether he was ready to greet them or not. The click of the stock on Ranna’s weapon ignited the plasma within. Both barrels gleamed with disastrous potential, ready to unleash their murderous payload. Plasma weapons had become the weapon of choice for most patrons of violence in the galaxy. They fired a concentrated beam of energy that could incinerate flesh, melt steel and inflict all manner of havoc in the right hands. Soran felt that at his command, the weapon would do more harm to him than any potential aggressor. Raising his arms and gripping the trigger, he pointed the barrel directly into the tunnel, watching in horror as a nightmare was birthed from the gloom.

A hideous snout protruded from the haze, sniffing at the air in search of its next meal. Its wiry barb-tipped whiskers jostled in ghoulish whisps of wind, and clawed feet clapped the ground, kicking up clouds of vermilion dust. Glazed over eyes of brilliant gold gazed through them, sightless but no less intrusive. Ranna turned, pressing his finger against his lips and forcing another step for pulpous limbs. Soran watched a row of jagged Bohlatite shards emerge through the pulsating fleshy slits that littered the creature's back. Cocooned in a fortress of crystal it furthered its advance, stalking the circumference of the cavern, tightening the noose. It combed the ground with its snout, salivating thick streams of viscous liquid into the sand. Not more than a dozen feet away, its front feet dug into the ground, poised for attack. It was time to eat.

Without warning, the creature lunged at Tugg who raised twin machetes to his defense with comparable haste. Clicking the metal locks on the hilt into place, the blades ignited with striking oceanic pigments as he plunged them into the gaping maw of his aggressor. Goliath jaws clamped down with frightening force and a struggle of might erupted. Tugg attempted to push the blades through the rows of serrated teeth but was met with an immovable resistance. Ranna dashed to the right, opening fire on the backside of the creature. Flashes of plasma illuminated the cramped cavern, forcing Soran and El to shield their eyes from the blinding light. The boy had his weapon pointed directly at the beast but found himself unable to take the shot. The deafening sound of gunfire had turned his reality into a silent movie, and the cries of his crew were lost to the ringing in his ears. He had stopped. Stopped moving, stopped thinking. A terrifying theatre of violence was playing out before him and the will to act had been stolen by fear. Despite the distillation of power harnessed at his fingertips, the horror of the gigantic beast had overwhelmed him. This frailty of will harkened back to his encounter with Malig. As was the case then, he was unable to thaw himself from the frigid paralysis.

Tugg’s blades splintered between the creature's jaws. He roared in agony as razor-sharp canines ravaged his flesh to the bone in an instant. El ripped the gun from Soran's hand, shoving him to the ground to save her friend. Three simultaneous rounds punctured the wrinkled flesh of beats face, penetrating its left eye in a fountain of luminous blood. Tugg was released from its deadly grip. He fell to the ground, clutching what remained of his arm, his body convulsing in shock. El rushed to his aid, retrieving a sealant spray from the leather satchel which hung at her waist. Ranna flung his body between his crew and the beast, firing shots at the gaping injury El had inflicted. Using its Bohlatite armor to shield itself, the creature sprouted a fresh shard as quickly as Ranna could destroy them. The Captain heard an ominous click from his weapons which signaled the plasma cell had expired. He stared at the now useless pistols and watched in horror as the beast sauntered toward him, syrupy orange blood pouring from its wounds. Despite the inability to defend himself, Ranna did not back away; He stood his ground and stared the reaper in the face. Sorrow swam in the midnight pools of his eyes as he faced his crew. His job was to protect them and instead he had led them straight into the jaws of death. The beast unhinged its jaw, parading the tangled mass of Tugg’s flesh and blood. It lurched onto his hind legs, towering over the crew and positioning for its final assault. Ranna whispered something under his breath and for a split second, the cave fell quiet, the beast's heavy panting the last thing they would hear. Soran looked on in disbelief as the creature pulled back its clawed fist, swinging with ferine fury. The crackling ring of thunder filled the cavern and the beast jolted to one side, halted in its attack. It collapsed to the ground, eviscerated. Its rich, rusty blood spilled out at Ranna's feet, producing a foul smell as it charred the sandy rock. Unable to believe his eyes, Ranna patted at his body, rubbing his eyes to dispel the dream he was trapped in. Soran who was still curled on the ground, calcified by the fearsome ordeal. El tended to Tugg, spraying copious amounts of sealant around the wound to quell the bleeding. Ranna's attention was stolen with a rhythmic whistle. Smoke billowed from the barrel of a large rifle and its owner wore a scowl vicious enough to sow unease in even the toughest of hunters.

“Hallow,” Ranna said with reverence. Despite his familiarity with the name, Hallow was not a man he had wanted to meet. Although now a debt of gratitude was owed.

“Thistlegore trouble?” Hallow asked in a calm bassy voice.

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Ranna nodded his head in response, backing up to cover his injured crew.

“Business, I assume? Kaligan?” Hallow said as he ejected the spent plasma coils from his rifle, reloading from an ammo pouch stored inside his jacket. His face was a perfect collection of angles, all culminating in the sharp points of his chin and nose.

“The Navy is handling it. You’re ‘services’ are no longer required.” Hallow pulled his rifle back onto his shoulders. He bore the brunt of the weight on his chest which forced him into a formidable posture. The glow of the Thistlegore blood reflected off of the near brilliant white of his regal cape as he retreated into the gloom of the tunnel.

Ranna waited for Hallow to disappear before lunging at Soran. With a heaved fist, he connected a vicious right hook with the boy's jaw. Righteous anger erupted impact, the Captain's molten rage collected in his scarred knuckles. Soran's head bounced off the ground and blood poured from the side of his swollen mouth.

Ranna opened his lips to unleash his fury but was stilled by the stream of tears falling from the boy's eyes. Any faith in the ruse Soran had been perpetrating had now been erased. All that remained was the naked fragility he had attempted to conceal.

“No one that could take on Malig would be shaken by a beast. Look at him.” Ranna spat in a mixture of furor and pity, pointing to Tugg who remained unconscious and deathly pale. His wound had been sealed by El who's hands hovered over the afflicted area, a faint glow emanating from her fingertips.

“That is on you kid. All you had to do was pull the trigger!”

Soran was crushed. He had always been there when people needed him, willing to give what little he could offer. But this, this was different. His imaginings of the galaxy were nothing like the reality. The visions had lacked peril, devoid of the inescapable suffering that venturing away from the Hyacinth entailed. He had thought that his honest work and his life with Lanic had crafted a decent man. Now with his true character exposed, the coward he had hidden away was revealed. He could feel only shame. His head drooped, unable to face his accuser. The truth in Ranna’s words felt sharp, each one a needle pricking his skin. He was helpless, useless, and worst of all, a liar.

“How long until we can move on,” Ranna asked. His eyes abandoned the boy, filled with dread as they settled on the shallow, pained breaths of his friend.

“He won't be able to move for another few hours. We can’t risk his wounds reopening.” El replied, her concentration focused on healing the lacerations carved into Tugg’s torso. Her healing drastically sped up a recovery process that would otherwise have taken months.

Ranna looked over at Soran who was still face down in the dirt silently shedding empty tears onto the bleached crimson sands.

“Go.” Soran’s eyes peered up, Ranna was pointing to the tunnel.

“Go now, before I change my mind.” He pulled a serrated blade from his waistband.

Soran pushed himself to his feet, his body still trembling with remorse. He took once last glance at El but her back remained turned. Her skin had faded into puddles of brown and yellow, and the movement in her hair had ceased completely. She didn't need to cry or shout, she had become her sorrow. The boy sauntered off into the darkness of the tunnel without so much as a word passing his lips. He should have been grateful for the fact that his life had been spared. The hands of guilt clasped around his throat forced him to entertain the notion that the alternative may have been preferable.

After hours of aimless wandering through the labyrinthine moon, Soran's remorse had solidified in his throat. Swaying in an almost drunken haze, his well-being and safety were taking a backseat to the punishment he knew he deserved. The endless, undulating corridors in which he was trapped were sweltering; The thick polluted air made breathing a chore. Slivers of light provided by the glistening platinum flakes were his only protection from being engulfed by the black.

The call of self-pity washed over him in consecutive waves, each more tempting to ride than the last. He hadn't chosen to join the Horizon crew. He wouldn't have agreed even if he had been asked. The thoughts attempted to comfort him like a siren song but, Lanic had taught him better than that. He remained steadfast in his guilt, convinced that the only path to redemption, was action.

A rabble of foreign voices intruded from the distance. Not just one or two, but what sounded like dozens. His curiosity was peaked by the mossy glimmer of a stone archway in the distance. With caution tempering his footsteps, he passed under the arch and out into a vast cavern. A previous excavation site, the expanse had been stripped of its resources; The deep groves of Khabol claw decorating its jagged walls. Soran peered over the perilous drop of an outcrop, discovering a sprawling, subterranean settlement. Bands of oddly dressed men roaved across handcrafted rope bridges, entering small huts constructed with mismatched scraps of sheet metal. A sea of torn flags adorned the various dwellings, each depicting an emblem he couldn't quite place. A jaw bone with sharpened fangs, sitting before a pair of swords. He took away from the ledge and whispered a solitary word.

"Pirates"

The clamor of a jeering of a crowd roared out from below. Soran stumbled into a crouch, shuffling behind a stack of discarded metal sheeting. Against his better judgment, he again peered over the ledge. A large pit that housed two Thistlegore was the stage for a savage and cruel battle. The pirates threw rocks and screeched in joy over the perverse display of brutality. The boy could only watch on in horror as the larger of the two beasts clamped down on the neck of its unfortunate opponent, savaging its rival until all the flame of life was doused. Soran averted his gaze, sickened by the barbarism of the duel. His mind conjured profane images of the man responsible for leading the ruthless crew. The commotion from below was reignited. The pirates demanded more, flinging a captive Khabol to the waiting jaws of the victorious beat. Their murderous lust remained unsated and their appetite for violence would require more blood to be spilled. He had to escape the hell he had wandered into or risk becoming the next poor soul cast into that pit of inescapable death.