Chapter 15 – The Thief at the Feast
The victory ceremony was a study in cruel pageantry. Skodar was hosed down with icy water, his wounds bandaged with rough gauze, and draped in a crude purple cloak—the color of champions, a mockery of the Purple Energy Stone. His shank was taken away. He was to approach the masters empty-handed, a supplicant.
He was led through a gilded gate and up a winding ramp that emerged directly onto the royal podium. The roar of the crowd was muffled here, replaced by the oppressive aura of power. The eight War Masters regarded him with expressions ranging from bored disdain (the feline predator) to intense scientific curiosity (the crystalline being).
At the center stood the oldest among them, a being of swirling dark smoke and solid light—a Nexus Archon, the highest-ranking War Master. Before him, on a pedestal, sat the open cryo-case. Within, suspended in a glowing gel, was a vial of liquid that seemed to contain swirling galaxies—the Genes Amplifier Liquid.
"Kneel, champion," the Archon's voice echoed, not from a mouth, but from the air itself.
Skodar knelt, head bowed, playing his role to the end. He could feel the energy radiating from the Liquid. It was potent, a cocktail of refined essence that paled in comparison to the raw Prima Genes within him, but was concentrated, usable.
"You have fought with… surprising tenacity for your species," the Archon intoned. "A flaw in your genetics, perhaps. Or latent atavism. You will serve as an interesting subject after your reward." The words were a death sentence. He would be studied, dissected.
The Archon lifted the vial from the case. "Receive the Amplifier. May it make your corpse more informative."
He extended the vial.
This was the moment.
Every sense heightened.He saw the guards at the edges of the podium, their hands on weapons. He saw the crystalline War Master leaning forward, a data-scanner in hand. He saw the route back to the ramp, and beyond, to the section of the wall closest to the slave pens.
He had one chance.
As his fingers closed around the vial,he didn't take it.
Heactivated it.
With a thought, he sent a jagged pulse of his own Prima energy into the vial. The delicate balance of the Amplifier Liquid shattered. Instead of absorbing it, he triggered a catastrophic energy release.
The vial detonated.
Not with fire, but with a concussive wave of raw, genetic potential—a storm of multicolored light and screaming force. It blew the Archon back, sent the other War Masters stumbling, and blinded the guards.
The podium was plunged into chaos and a shimmering, disorienting haze.
Skodar moved. He was no longer a slave. He was a bolt of blue lightning. He snatched the now-empty cryo-case—it was made of a dense, energy-absorbing alloy, useful—and sprinted not for the exit, but for the edge of the podium.
Below was a twenty-foot drop to a service walkway along the Arena's inner wall. He leaped, using a whisper of energy to cushion his landing, rolling to his feet.
Alarms blared. "CHAMPION IS ROGUE! LETHAL FORCE AUTHORIZED!"
But the energy haze from the exploded Liquid was interfering with scanners and targeting systems. He was a blur in a fog of chaos.
He ran along the walkway, his mind locked on the map he'd memorized. A service door ahead led into the administrative spine of the slave pens. He hit the door at full speed, his shoulder enhanced just enough to shear the lock.
He burst into a corridor. Two Yunvarn guards turned, raising rifles. Skodar didn't slow. He flung the empty cryo-case like a discus. It slammed into the first guard's head. He was on the second before he could fire, a brutal, efficient chop to the throat. He took the guard's plasma pistol and shock-baton.
He was armed.
The ghost was gone.The beast was unleashed.
He moved toward Section H. The alarms had triggered lockdown. Security gates were sliding shut. He fired the plasma pistol at the control panel of the first gate, melting it, jamming the door half-open. He slid through.
Guards converged. He fought now not for show, but for speed. He used the shock-baton to disable, the plasma pistol to kill at range. His movements were a fusion of Vaktari's taught grace and the savage efficiency he'd learned in the Arena. He was a storm of blue and crimson light.
He reached the door to Section H. The keypad. He didn't have the code. He placed the plasma pistol against the lock and fired on full burn until the metal glowed white and melted. He kicked the door in.
Inside was a cold, sterile room. Two stasis pods hummed. Inside, he saw them.
Makosra. Sukodar.
Pale,still, but alive. Their vital signs flickered weakly on displays.
Relief, sharp and painful, lanced through him. But there was no time for emotion.
He shot the control consoles for the pods. They hissed open, releasing clouds of cold vapor. His grandmother and brother slumped forward. He caught them, laying them gently on the floor. They were ice-cold, barely breathing.
He had no medical equipment. But he had his essence.
Placing a hand on each of their chests,he pushed a gentle, warm stream of his Vaktari Essence into them. Not to heal, but to jump-start their systems, to pull them from the brink of stasis death.
Makosra's eyes fluttered open first. They were clouded with confusion, then recognition, then terror. "Sk-Skodar? The mountain… the gorge…"
"No time, Grandma. We have to move. Now."
Sukodar awoke coughing,his body wracked with shivers. "B-Brother? It's… cold."
Skodar ripped the purple champion's cloak from his shoulders, wrapping it around Sukodar. He lifted his brother in one arm, and helped Makosra to her feet with the other. She was weak, but the fire in her eyes was rekindling.
"They will come," she rasped.
"Let them," Skodar said, his voice like iron. He handed Makosra the shock-baton. "Stay behind me."
He led them out of the cell, back into the hell he'd carved. The corridor was full of the sounds of reinforcements. They were trapped deep inside the enemy's heart.
He had the prize.
He had his family.
Now,he had to fight his way through an entire city.