Death Drop (4 page)

“You insolent wretch!” Slaag hissed. “Who do you think you are, talking to me like that, huh? Your pitiful abilities don’t make you fit to be my servant, and your defense of the Mewlatai is a treasonous offense punishable by death!” Slaag was drawing breaths in low, throaty rasps and pausing erratically to exhale in high, whistling sounds that wheezed from his throat after every word. “
You
are barely above a Slave in The Order and you don’t have the ambition to climb out of the dregs, you shit-heel! The Dissension and their Serum is the last thing barring our complete reign of the universe, and when the last of the Dissenters are tortured and killed, there’ll be no more chances to prove your worth to The Order and King Helekoth. The ranks of the Generals and Overlords will stay locked to you forever, no matter how your faculties progress, because you fail to act—you fail to manipulate the situation for your own benefit and seize power when it’s there for the taking!”

Slaag’s insults cut to the bone. Krex knew he was the lesser Duraxian mind, and he lowered his eyes in submission.

“You assume too much, Krex.” The guttural words choked from Slaag’s small, withered mouth as he raged on. “The only creature that could’ve possibly understood why the Dissenter attacked was the Mewlatai, and he’s either dead or will be soon enough. It makes no difference.”

“But King Helekoth needs Blangaris,” Krex countered in a withered tone. “Without him, we can’t convince the Dissension that the whole of the Mewlatai race can’t be trusted and stop the spread of the Serum to our enemies!”

“You’re an imbecile and I’m sure your ignorance is a sign that you’re selected to die without evolving the mental powers you’ll need to survive in the ages to come!” Slaag was brow-beating Krex with one long, emaciated finger stretched out, and flecks of rancid-smelling spittle were flying from his mouth as he forced out his words. “The Mewlatai traitor has done a fine job killing Dissenters and putting the weapon right under their noses, all the while sowing the rotten seeds of fear and doubt that’ll spread to every Dissension brigade cowering in the farthest corners of the universe.

“The story’ll be told a thousand times over how a real Mewlatai warrior, one who’s supposed to be bound by the strictest code of
honor
,
one believed to be the sworn enemy of the Durax, has murdered Dissension soldiers with the very Serum they have deemed as the weapon that’ll help them turn the tide of this war. And the story will grow more evil and defiled with each telling until the words ‘Mewlatai’ and their beloved ‘Serum’ are spoken with contempt and disgust by those who once looked to them to help defeat us!”

“Yes, I understand!” said Krex excitedly, buying into Slaag’s nefarious vision. “But how will you convince King Helekoth, without a doubt, that you’re not somehow to blame for the failure of the surprise attack and the loss of his Mewlatai servant, huh?” Krex had lost the firm backbone that allowed him to challenge his counterpart just moments ago and was now sniveling for Slaag’s approval.

“Because I have no doubt in my mind. Your suspicions, however, are another problem.”

Krex’s face deformed in a painful grimace. Throughout his tirade, Slaag had crept ever closer to the copilot chair where Krex was seated.

Blangaris heard the razor sharp edge of his Kaiten sword sliding along flesh, and he smelled the greenish-black blood that poured from Krex’s stomach and back, coating the sword in a slick, foul-smelling elixir.

Krex lurched in the chair in choking spasms as blood filled his airway.

“Trust me, Krex,” Slaag said, grunting as he pushed the blade further in, “I’ve saved you a lifetime of embarrassment and servitude while assuring my usefulness to the King. When my abilities reach the next level, I’ll be anointed a General in The Order.”

Blangaris was all too familiar with the song of his blade that rang in the cockpit as Slaag removed the sword from Krex’s body. The high-pitched hum was followed closely by the sound of warm blood as it streamed from the gleaming metal and splattered across the floor and onto the control console.

Krex’s body slumped in the copilot chair as he gave out his last gurgling breath.

Blangaris was impressed. If
he
didn’t hear the Kaiten being unsheathed in the raucous argument, Krex never stood a chance. Slaag had executed his fellow Durax with stealth and without hesitation, but now it was his turn to close his eyes for eternity.

Blangaris slunk backwards to the cargo hatch. As soon as it was in reach, he depressed the control sensor with his tail. The portal opened with a rush of air as the Mewlatai warrior sprang across the span of the deck and silently melted into the shadows beside the cockpit entrance.

The instrument panel at the helm added one more blinking light to its ensemble as the cargo hold door indicator flashed to life with a beep. In his surprise, a startled Slaag sent the Kaiten sword crashing to the ground, and he turned all of his powers to the task of searching for another presence on board. His mind raced as he scoured the hidden darkness of the interior. He detected nothing. The seeming emptiness kept its secrets hidden to the Durax soldier, and he let a small wheeze of relief creep past his cruel mouth.

Slaag reached out and flipped the switch to close the cargo door, but the light continued to flash in time with a low beep indicating the barrier was still open. He tried again with the same result. Slaag craned his neck around and peered down the long, dark space that led to the back of the freighter. He could see the faint glow of the poison inside its canisters, and an uncontrollable fear shook his body as he thought of a gruesome death by exposure to the liquid. He knew it was not safe to pilot the ship while the hatch was open.

Slaag stepped through the threshold leading from the cockpit to the deck and moved toward the rear of the craft. A sinister growl erupted from the shadows beside him, and Slaag pulled the gun that hung from his belt, but he was too late.

A powerful force ripped Slaag from where he stood, and he landed against the hull of the ship with a fragile whimper. He was pinned to the wall in three places. His right arm lay outstretched and restrained at the forearm; his left arm, still grasping his gun, felt as if it had a thick, muscular cord wrapped around its length; and he choked for precious breaths as the grip on his throat tightened. His mind screamed with fear and the impossibility of the situation as his assailant’s growl echoed through the Zebulon, and he struggled to identify his attacker. Then he saw them; two orange fires that erupted from the shadows just inches from his own eyes and confirmed his worst fears. Slaag was at the mercy of the Mewlatai he was certain he had left to die.

Blangaris continued his death growl as he surveyed his prey. Of course, he could see flawlessly in the murk, but no matter how many times he beheld the gruesome form of the Durax, he always wished he had kept his eyes shut. They repulsed him.

Slaag was a Soldier in the Durax Order. His skin was sallow white and stretched so tightly across his bones that purplish veins branched across every exposed inch of his flesh like the pulsating tentacles of a vile thing living just below the surface. He had no hair or fur on his head and, in fact, was completely void of either on his entire body. His eyes were black and set in deep sockets above sharp cheekbones. His ears looked as if they had been gnawed off by some creature and were now mangled and wrinkled lumps on the sides of his head. He did not have a nose or a snout. The expanse of skin between his eyes and above his mouth was featureless except for two vertical slits that opened and closed as he struggled for air. Slaag’s mouth was entirely too small for his evil face, which made him look all the more menacing. His purple lips were cracked and bloody and stretched impossibly tight across his jagged teeth.

The Durax were a race that had evolved extreme abilities of the mind, and the more powerful they became, the less they relied on any physical attributes they had once possessed. Slaag had a long, thin neck that sloped into angled, narrow shoulders with hardly any musculature whatsoever. His arms were likewise without any significant substance and hung gangling from his torso. The long, bony fingers on Slaag’s right hand clawed at the air as he tried to sink the points of his filth-covered nails into Blangaris’ left eye.

“If you want to move your hands, let us try moving this one, shall we?” Blangaris said as he wrenched his tail tighter around Slaag’s left forearm and hand. The Mewlatai had managed to snake his tail around Slaag’s trigger finger, and Slaag could feel the gun’s firing mechanism slowly inching its way back under the building pressure. He had pinned Slaag’s left arm across his chest so the barrel of the pistol was aimed at the left side of the Durax’s face.

Slaag let out a wheezing squeal as the bones in his left forearm snapped like dry twigs and his spindly legs, suspended above the deck, kicked wildly at Blangaris’ midsection with no affect.

“Your right arm will be next, followed by your legs. Or you could choose to go quickly and pull the trigger yourself. The choice is yours, but I’ll warn you now, choose quickly before I decide to do something much more exciting for me and—ooh—
so
much more painful for you!”

Slaag’s eyes darted from the gun to Blangaris as he gathered all his breath to speak.

“We thought…you…were…dead,” Slaag choked. “We…had no…choice but to…save the…mission.”

“You were told not to leave the cargo hold,” Blangaris taunted in a tone of mock sympathy. “You were told that the Moxen have a keen sense of smell, and he would be able to detect your rotten filth even in the storm. It’s why I had you stay in the hold the entire journey. But you couldn’t stand taking orders from a Mewlatai, could you, and you were determined to have your revenge!”

“Nooooo!” Slaag rasped. “We…were…afraid…we would be…overrun with Dissension…reinforcements and…the weapon…would…be…discovered!” The Durax was wheezing even more than usual under Blangaris’ death hold around his throat. “We…had…no…choice!”

“I admire your cold-hearted ambition, Slaag, but your planning was poor. Even if you had no other choice but to take the cockpit to escape, you had no reason to flee
unless
I was attacked.”

“You…
were
…
attacked,” Slaag whimpered. “We saw…on…the display…then we opened…the door. That’s…why we…ran!”

“You might have convinced yourself that was the way of it, but Krex knew the truth. Krex knew you opened the cargo hold to trigger the attack yourself, and you killed him for it. For which, I congratulate you.”

A confused look crept across Slaag’s distorted features as he tried to understand.

“Krex was the only witness to your crime against your king and your…
precious Order
,” Blangaris said with disdain. “And, for that, you had to kill him. But you should’ve killed him
before
the rendezvous with the Dissenters. You would have still had to make up something to fool your king; but then at the very least, you could’ve lied and told me Krex had ruined the surprise attack, and you killed him for endangering the mission. That may have saved you the unpleasantness of your current situation.” Blangaris loosened his hold slightly so Slaag could respond.

“That’s exactly what happened,” Slaag lied. “The fool, Krex, saw the Dissenters’ apprehension at your approach from the surveillance system in the cargo bay.” Slaag was choking for little gasps of air as fear tightened around his stomach and airway. “He panicked and opened the cargo hold door!”

Blangaris let out a sinister laugh that made Slaag shiver in his grasp.

“I might’ve believed you, Slaag, if you hadn’t left the cargo hold first. Just like your entire pathetic race, your enchantment with your own powers blinds you to the simplest of physical instincts. I
smelled
your foul odor before the Moxen. How else do you think I was able to avoid his first strike so easily?”

Slaag did not answer, but stared back at Blangaris in terror.

“Even if I hadn’t overheard your little exchange in the cockpit, I would still know you were lying to save your own skin. You still underestimate
my powers
and it’s going to end up killing you.” A sadistic grin curled Blangaris’ lip as he spoke. “I detected your scent first, and it was stronger than your friend’s.” Blangaris motioned in the direction of the cockpit with his head. “Your rot is far more progressed than was Krex’s. Had he been the first to exit the cargo hold, I would’ve smelled his scent before your own, and I would be congratulating you for saving me the effort of having to destroy him!”

Blangaris tightened his grip around Slaag’s frail throat again and watched with amused satisfaction as the lack of air turned the Durax’s once sallow skin shades of blue and purple.

Slaag, sensing the slow creep of death, looked frantically from Blangaris’ burning eyes to the gun pressed to his face and back again. He knew he could not harm the Mewlatai physically, and he quickly abandoned the thought before he turned his remaining strength to somehow accomplishing what no Durax had been capable of since the onset of their mysterious powers ages ago. He had to break into Blangaris’ mind or he was going to die.

“So, at the end, even with all of your mind tricks, you can’t save your own worthless life,” Blangaris spat with contempt. “Without your powers, you’re nothing! You can’t compete with a Mewlatai physically, and your attempts at controlling my mind are as laughable as they are futile. You’re no match for me, just as none of your race can match even an apprenticed Mewlatai in his First House. Even now, you long for the weapon in your hand so you can kill me. Your entire race, including your beloved king, knows they are beneath us, and that is why you fear us. That is why you’ve come to rely on your vile mechanizations to have even the slightest chance of defeating us in battle!”

Despite the lack of air to his lungs, Slaag managed to return a murderous stare in retaliation for Blangaris’ slanderous tirade, and then a look of extreme concentration crossed his hideous face.