CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

A pity-laced cackle brewed in Kaligan's chest. Ranna's body fell from the once caring arms of his young crew-mate, splashing over the unyielding ground. Heartbreak was one of the Pirate-Lord's more perverse pleasures. That moment of snatched hope was a potent nectar for those devoid of sympathy. The loss of belief had a visceral aura that, if one was so inclined, could be absorbed, swallowed like a fine wine; Smooth and fragrant, nourishing to those who delighted in misfortune. Being the harbinger of such devastating revelation had a lingering aftertaste and, were it not for the prescience of what he was about to uncover, Kaligan could have reveled in the moment for eternity.

Kaligan examined the wide, onyx plated hallway that extended beyond the threshold of the steel frame, vigilant for any sign of further defensive measures. He waltzed over to Tugg and -- using only one arm with no visible exertion of effort -- hoisted the Accran into the air. Before Soran could utter even a whimper of protest, Kaligan had hurled Tugg's seared remains into the hallway. He anticipated a barrage of plasma or targeted laser to eviscerate the helpless Accran, but stillness persisted.

The disbelief that would usually have overtaken the boy was noticeably absent. Astonishment, terror, anger, the appropriate emotions to follow such a foul display. Not one of them chose to cast their judgemental gaze. Instead, Soran found himself blanketed in the tattered shreds of hope he still clung to. The collision of Tugg's body hitting the ground was unbearable, each subsequent impact compounding to the vicarious pain. Despite the shivering and vomiting inflicted by the terrible sickness, Soran knew Tugg was stronger than anything the pirates could muster. He was strong enough to survive.

Kaligan's lips peeled back, revealing the gleam of his glistening golden teeth, grinning wildly at the success of his plan. His advance into the shimmering black hallway was halted by a disembodied voice from behind.

"What's taking so long?" The wind carried the authoritative whisper to Kaligan's ear, souring his jovial mood.

He took several labored steps back into the room to witness the unfurling of the ethereal intruder. A flicker of electric light jolted through the vaporous mirage that surrounded the drill platform. Stealth-tech suits shuddered into reality through a static mist. A horde of miniature assassins, along with their hooded leader, emerged from the crackling miasma in a sea of skulls and feathers.

Kaligan feigned a smile.

"Lord Neraka. To what do I owe the pleasure?" His question was met with the foulest grimace.

"As I recall, Volka entrusted retrieval of Galneus to me. Unless I am mistaken the Atlazar was assigned to…" Neraka halted his blathering, pulling a bound figure from behind her and casting them to the ground. She peeled the sack covering from her prisoner's head to reveal the pale sunken features of an enervated female Vrell.

"El". Soran let out the first breath in what felt like hours. She was still alive, and by the lack of visible violence, unharmed.

"Explain it." Neraka looked him dead in the eyes as she spoke.

"After trying to steal what was mine you can at least offer me that." Kaligan snorted at her accusation. Despite being caught red-handed, he would never admit to any wrongdoing.

"Just a precautionary measure. Not that I ever doubted your abilities Neraka, that goes without saying." The smug look of condescension shook the frost from Neraka's icy exterior. Her blood bubbled with the overwhelming urge to eliminate his ability to ever speak again. Her minions let out a chorus of excitable grunts, giddy at the prospect of bloodshed. Witnessing Neraka in combat was a rare spectacle that only a minority of them had witnessed. After a few seconds of composure, her body fell back into its natural, apathetic posture and a silent sigh of relief, or disappointment, could be felt by all present.

She was handed a handful of disheveled, empty pages that were sandwiched between a torn outer casing.

"Dozens of my men are dead. For this." She said scornfully. Her anger was not a gesture of sentiment for her lost crewmen, but an expression of her abhorrence for waste. In her eyes, the object they had recovered was not worth the sacrifice of even a single life. Kaligan eyed the unsightly heap of parchment, immediately drawn to the embossed daggers that adorned the covering.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"Have you gone mad?" He accused.

"You were tasked with returning Atlazar, and you present this abomination. Volka will have you torn apart." His words dripped with hate, hissed through his metallic teeth. Neraka's soldiers tensed. Clenching their fists they were ready to kill on her command, hands sliding toward sheathed blades.

The pirate crews were loyal only to their respective lords, viewing all others as inferior imposter's. Although the oath they swore was to the one true king, this was regarded as more ceremonial than any binding allegiance. Bar the Cybel twins, no living pirate had laid eyes on the Pirate-King, and therefore like many of the galaxy's denizens, had relegated the tales to mere fantasy.

With a subtle gesture, Neraka stilled her crew.

"What of the ship?" She asked with keen interest.

"Galneus awaits. However, I have something that may be of even greater interest." He said, gesturing down to Ranna's limp body. She examined the man, instantly drawn to the distinctive markings brandished on his neck and chest.

"Impossible." Her sullen expression was invaded by the shock of Kaligan's revelation.

"I was sure he was dead."

"And yet here he is, so very much alive. Well, still breathing." Said Kaligan, concerned that his prize possession might wither before its journey's end.

"Girl, see to it he stays that way," Kaligan commanded. After removing her restraints, Neraka pushed El toward her Captain. She stumbled to a standstill, catching Tugg's body in her periphery. A rising stream of bile filled her throat, sickened by the smoldering state of his skin. Bounding past Kaligan, she draped herself over her broken friend, wails of sorrow crashing against the dull metal of the onyx tomb. She let her tears flow unimpeded over the scarlet tears in his flesh; each told a tale of suffering too terrible to speak aloud. Kaligan's mass of ridged knuckles grabbed her by the hair and hoisted her into the air, a situation with which she was unfortunately familiar. Her legs flailed wildly, her arms desperately reaching out for her friend.

"Not the fish. Him." Kaligan said, pointing down at Ranna. Her eyes focused on the labored compressions of his chest. He needed help.

Kaligan set her down and she crept over to him, casting a shadow over the body of an unfamiliar man. The lack of facial hair that was once so prominent revealed deep scaring around his chin and neck. The pale glow of his skin was replaced with angry rashes of red and brown, a variegated desert of blisters and sores scorching the scar-knitted surface. Although his eyes were slightly open, she knew he was unconscious. The luminous nebula that once permeated his cimmerian eyes had dimmed to a flicker. Resting her hands upon his chest, the still radiating warmth of his flesh stung her hands, and the anguish he had experienced flooded into her.

Today was not the first time she had shared in his pain. After brawls, shoot-outs, and even lost limbs, she had nursed him to health, but never like this. This wound was beyond physical. Even the cruelest of men lacked the required malice to inflict a trauma this deep. A fathomless, unending pain of this kind had to be self-administered. The malign phantom that oozed from his pores was his failure, his most reviled misdeed.

Almost an hour passed before the charred redness of Ranna's skin calmed to a -- nonetheless alarming-- simmering violet. Silent tears escaped El's tumefied eyes, caressing her delicate chin before they fell. As her fingers slid over the markings on his neck, she didn't recoil in fear or disgust. Not even a sliver of surprise appeared in her mind.

Of course he was a pirate.

He couldn't have been anything else. Only in the heart of the fiercest kiln was a man like Ranna forged. Unafraid and uncompromising, he had led her and Tugg into the arms of annihilation more times than she cared to remember. Always able to reclaim them from its grasp with their lives intact, only slightly richer than they entered. He might have told them it was for the credits or the infamy, their names ringing out into the galaxy as outlaws to be feared. She had always known otherwise. She had seen the smile in his eyes when the danger arrived, the thrill of the chase, and escaping the inescapable. It was the adventure and the camaraderie he craved.

Once a pirate… She thought to herself as the last of his scars closed up, the glow of health returning to his face.