Page 26 of Alien Warrior Chef… With Benefits

REKKGAR

I move through the chaos of the orbiting resort station with lethal precision, every sense primed and alert.

The luxury finishes—the polished floors, the ambient Holonet music, the soft lighting—clash with the taste of fear hanging like metallic tension in the air.

Civilians duck under tables; terrified children cling to sobbing parents.

Decorative plant walls tremble as Vortaxian guards in gleaming black-and-gold armor march forward, weapons scanning with authoritarian intent.

Aelphus stands at center stage, voice amplified with calm menace, but I don’t see him—not yet. My focus is razor-sharp: Ruby’s safety.

I grip her hand, feeling the tremor in her palm, and pull her behind a reinforced buffet station.

The scent of overproof rum and caramel glaze drifts around us—sickly-sweet but comforting.

Before her fear could anchor her in panic, I silently lead her to the station’s side corridor, mapping escape routes in my mind: service elevators, maintenance shafts, a cascade to the lower public decks.

Each gateway is a grid of vulnerability—but also opportunity.

Ruby moves beside me with fierce determination. I’ve never been prouder. Clad in her Holonet chef’s whites stained with espresso, she looks more warrior than baker, eyes blazing steel. She nods at me. No words are needed. Together, we’re synergy incarnate.

A clang echoes: two guards approach the corridor entrance.

I press Ruby down beside a hydroponic planter, whispering, “Stay low.” They round the corner; I step forward, silent as a shadow.

With one brutal sweep of my elbow, I dent steel plating on the guard’s armor.

A knee to another’s abdomen, and the second collapses, breath gasping seawater.

I drag them both into the planter, whispering to calm their panic-stricken breaths before moving on.

Ruby steps in behind me, flicking a bowl of espresso glaze behind our weakened foes.

The ceramic dish smashes and glaze hisses on the hot metal plating, blinding the guard as he curses.

She’s adapting fast—using what she knows to shield and disorient.

I smile for a microsecond, admiration burning through the adrenaline. Then I pull her forward.

We round another bend and burst into the central atrium.

Holonet screens now flicker with static; elegant patrons crawl under tables.

A guard has planted himself by the main staircase.

I send a chair flying—wooden leg striking his knee with a snap loud enough to reverberate off the marble.

He crumples. Ruby sets off a small canister of powdered sugar from her station with a throw—white cloud blankets the next wave of guards. They cough and stumble blindly.

My fists work faster than thought. Each strike echoes centuries of combat training—broken bone, metal dent, unconscious grunt.

I bend lightly, tucking my balance as blades snap forward.

I’ve never fought like this before—against humans, aliens, future-tech.

But the instinct is ancient, engrained. Defense of my soul’s anchor.

Ruby moves with equal intensity. A caramelizer she had in her hands ignites, she throws it at pursuing soldiers: stream of fire arcs across the atrium, igniting tapestries and forcing retreat.

Sparks fall like fireflies. She’s an elemental force—fury tempered with purpose.

My chest swells with pride, tinged with sadness that I can’t afford to let her be consumed by this darkness.

I reach her side, calling her eyes—“We need to push through to the docking ring. C’mon.”

She nods, fire in her stare. We dash off again, stepping past overturned tables and debris.

A corridor near the docking ring hums with activity—people rushing to safety; a Vortaxian squad blocking the hallway exit.

I grab a metal barricade to our left, ripping it free and swinging it with brute force, staggering the front guard.

Ruby fires a small flare into their line—blinding red light and concussive blast brings them to a halt.

I pull Ruby close as we pass, shielding her form.

My blood thrums with the gravity of this fight—this is no longer just rescue.

This is declaration. Every move I make finds its purpose: protect, clear, move, survive.

I think of her face when I first saw the bouquet.

Of that fear, then hope. Now there’s only our rise.

We reach the docking ring—a half-circular corridor with massive viewport windows overlooking Novaria’s curve.

Drones whirl overhead, scanning. We climb atop a luggage cart.

Ruby pulls a metal food tray and slams it down, wincing—but she keeps standing.

“Hounds are after us,” she pants. “We can disrupt them from here.”

I squat beside her, fitting our backs together. “Do it,” I say. “I’ll hold them.”

Ruby flips a toggle on the food-tray’s psyche unit—an emergency beacon that sends tremors through dock bay comms. Red lights flash.

Alarms die to static. Mechanical arms block deployment.

The scene shudders as station systems recalibrate.

Security drones disengage from main feed.

Guards near the entrance halt, looking around befuddled.

My jaw loosens in a flush of relief. I hold her hand, eyes reflecting the blinking lights.

She exhales. “That’s enough… for now.”

I press her palm. “For now,” I echo. My gaze travels outward. Beyond the glass, station lights blink. Hope rises.

Ruby looks at me, sugar-streaked face illuminated by red strobes. Steel and compassion entangle in those blue eyes.

I lean in, brushing my lips to her ear. “We’ll finish this. Together.”

She nods. Breath steadies.

In that moment, fear fades. What remains is purpose. Bond. A future forged under pressure and vowed in fire. We stand on the threshold of a new fight—not for glory, but for love and life.

Aelphus may think he’s architecting a spectacle. But we’re writing the finale.

The control center is a muted chaos—panels sparking, tremors of reclaimed power vibrating through the floor, a score of stunned technicians frozen amid emergency overrides.

Pale holo-globes flicker, casting fractured luminescence.

And there, behind the central console, stands Aelphus—skin smeared in golden ichor like a fallen god, corners of his lips curved into that infuriating, arrogant smile.

He watches me, eyes abyssal with contempt. “You cannot deny the bond,” he purrs, voice low and lethal, yet ostentatiously calm. The broadcast screen behind him still reflects his smug grin to a frenzied Holonet audience. The entire world watches this moment.

I do not respond. His words are empty and dangerous—yet they no longer carry the weight to topple me. My anger coils tight, a predator's pulse locked in my veins. I step forward with purpose—every inch charged with controlled force.

He straightens his posture, blade-like dignity still intact despite the wound on his lip. But I’ve seen empires fall slower —this is only the crumble of his facade. “She’s never yours,” I growl, voice a low swamp of promise and threat.

Aelphus laughs—a brittle, insane-sounding note that dies in the stale air. Then he lunges, startling in his quickness for one so casually wounded. I sidestep, leaving him to smack against the console with a garbled crack, plastic splintering.

Enough. I launch forward, drive my fist into his bleeding jaw with precise brutality. The impact jolts the screens around us, sending pixelated distortions flying. I taste the hit—cotton and metallic sweet—feel the rush of dominance flood my limbs.

He staggers backward, eyes unfocused. I hold the moment, level-headed but fierce.

“Ruby was never yours,” I repeat, voice quiet but absolute. “She’s mine.”

I pivot, long arms sweeping in a signal to Ruby, who’s already stepping across the console aisle with the override lever in hand. The hum of the lockdown unlock begins—doors releasing, shutters rising, systems rebooting.

I keep my gaze locked on Aelphus, chest heaving with adrenaline. “She chose me.”

He staggers one last time, awareness flickering. Then strong hands, overseen by security drones and resumed backup units, rush in to seize him. His mouth twitches into something like regret. I fold into his corner of the console as they lift him away, golden light dimming.

Ruby pulls free the lever entirely, and a loud chime sounds—a high note of victory and release reverberating through the chamber. I exhale deeply, muscles unclenching for the first time since the alarms blared.

The crowd surges through the newly opened doorways behind us, rushing toward safety. Ruby’s eyes meet mine, fierce and tender. I step forward, brushing sweat-slick hair from her forehead. I cup her face in both hands, thumb soft against her cheekbone, tracing the delicate line of her jaw.

“You were never his,” I murmur, voice rough with relief and claim. “You were always mine. But now—for everyone: the whole galaxy knows it.”

Her smile is fierce, triumph and gratitude wrapped in that small quiver of lips. She leans into my hands, closing her eyes for a moment. “We did it,” she whispers. “Together.”

Behind us, hired holocams recommence their roll, capturing the moment. The glitching broadcast comes back to life—but instead of images of golden pomp, it projects me and Ruby, bodies entwined in triumphant intimacy, guardians of one another’s souls.

The screens shift across the world. Our battered forms aren’t perfect, but they’re undeniable. And I understand: fame can’t touch what we’ve claimed. Not when it’s etched by choice, by fire, by blood. The world sees our devotion. Our bond echoes beyond the cosmos.

I brush her hair back, fingers tangling in the soft platinum strands. “Come on,” I say gently. “We’ve got a final to win.”

She laughs, head tipping to mine—soft, rebellious. “Together.”

We turn back to the central console. The technician who nearly cowered steps forward, heart pounding, reassurance in his eyes. I nod to him, silently granting safe sweep.

Security flows in, escorting wounded Vortaxian guards—confusion pill in their eyes. Aelphus’s throne room, now just a mess of control panels and shattered egos.

Ruby wraps an arm around my waist, anchor and partner. She draws in a breath—the scent of spilled circuits, steam, and our shared victory warming around us.

“Are you okay?” I ask, turning so my forehead touches hers.

She laughs—soft and wild. “I feel… fire.”

I smile, pressing a quick kiss to her temple. “Fire’s a good thing.”

She raises eyebrow. “Let’s light up that stage one last time.”

We hand the torch to a returning staffer, lighting agencies flowing in to secure the center. I drop the fist of adrenaline that's still rattling through my system. Tonight we reclaim our story, our bond, our future.

I glide my arm around her, ready to lead. Our final challenge awaits—holonet, stations, empire watching. But failure is not an option this time.

With her beside me, flame in our hearts, we step forward into the next act.