Page 5

5

Kroaicho

I awaken with a start, disoriented and alone. The walls of my prison are smooth, and cold, and seem to pulse with an eerie, otherworldly light. I shiver, feeling the chill seep into my bones. My skin begins to shimmer with an array of colors: blue, violet, and red.

Not my calmest moment.

The panic sets in regardless as I try to comprehend the situation. The air is thick with the scent of decay and something metallic, creating a nauseating cocktail that churns my stomach.

My hands instinctively reach out to touch the walls, seeking purchase, any familiar sensation. The walls are slick and unresponsive, offering no comfort. I recoil, feeling a wave of helplessness wash over me. As my senses come alive all of a sudden, I am slammed with sensory overload. The smell I perceive is acrid, bitter and I get the vague impression that were I not surrounded by walls on all sides I'd have just been witness to something truly terrifying.

It takes some time to adjust, but with that gone, my senses return to normal. With a clearer head, I pick up the sounds of distant explosions and muffled voices echoing through the walls, growing louder as I focus on them. It's a cacophony of languages I don't understand, filled with fear, anger, and desperation. I'm alarmed, that much is a given, and it takes a bit of effort to recouple my memory of all that happened to lead me to this point.

I remember that I was captured by genali. Did they sell me?

I am on my feet in an instant and with that done, I take a minute to take stock of the cave I am in.

Driven by instinct, I begin to claw at the walls, desperate to escape. My claws, durable enough for the task, dig into the material. The walls resist my efforts. Yet, with each desperate attempt, a small amount of material chips away. As the wall begins to yield, a draft of colder air rushes in, carrying with it the scent of dirt and something wild. Hope ignites within me.

The sounds of approaching footsteps echo through the prison, growing louder. Adrenaline surges through me, fueling a final, desperate push against the weakened wall. With a final heave, I break through the wall, meeting dirt, and quickly begin tunneling through at vicious speeds. The soil around me is a familiar sensation, grounding me as I dig.

I maintain the pace until I tumble into a narrow tunnel. The tunnel is pitch black, filled with the same metallic scent from before. As my eyes adjust to the darkness, I see figures moving ahead, their forms indistinct in the low light. They speak in rapid, harsh tones, their words lost in the echo of the tunnel.

My heart pounds in my chest. I am no longer alone, but the company offers little comfort. The figures ahead are a threat, their intentions unknown. I decide to remain hidden until I can determine the next best step.

Crouching low, I peer at the figures, my bioluminescent skin dimming to avoid detection. The tunnel is narrow, and their movements are slow and methodical. They carry equipment, strange metallic devices. I strain to catch any recognizable words or phrases, but their language remains foreign, alien to my ears.

It’s simple though, and I know it won’t take me long to figure it out.

As I watch, one of the figures stops and sniffs the air, its head turning slowly in my direction. I freeze, willing my skin to match the dark tones of the tunnel walls. The figure's eyes, glinting faintly in the darkness, scan the area where I hide. My breath catches in my throat, and I remain motionless, praying to any entity that they do not see me.

After what feels like an eternity, the figure moves on, satisfied that nothing is amiss. I let out a silent sigh of relief, my muscles relaxing slightly. But the danger is far from over. I need to find a way out of this tunnel, away from these unknown entities, and back to safety.

The distant crashes and muffled voices continue, a constant reminder of the chaos beyond these walls. I stalk forward, careful to avoid making any noise that might attract attention. The tunnel is cramped, forcing me to move slowly, and cautiously. Every step is a calculated risk.

As I near a bend in the tunnel, I pause, listening intently. The voices are louder here, more distinct. I catch snippets of their conversation, though the words are still incomprehensible. Their tone, however, is unmistakable: urgency, frustration, and fear.

I peer around the bend, my eyes adjusting to the dim light. Ahead, the tunnel opens into a larger chamber, filled with more of the figures. They are gathered around a large, cylindrical device, that dominates the center of the dug-out cavern that had been repurposed to become a room of sorts.

Now I can get a proper look at them, I feel the first vestiges of unease begin to bubble up.

Braceaaer. A whole group of the terrible bipeds.

Surely I have not displeased the demiurge so much so that zha chooses to punish me like this.

My eyes fall on the gadget in the center of the room. Its surface is covered in blinking lights and strange symbols. There are multiple metal ropes leading from it into a part of the room I can’t see. The figures work quickly, their hands moving with practiced precision.

One of them, larger than the others, appears to be giving orders. Its voice is commanding and authoritative. The others respond with quick nods and movements, their focus entirely on the device. I watch, fascinated and horrified by their efficiency.

I need to find a way out of this place, but the presence of these figures complicates matters. I can't risk being seen, not until I know more about who they are and what they want.

I press myself against the cold, damp wall of the tunnel, my skin dimming to a muted blue to blend into the shadows. The figures move closer, their conversation becoming more distinct. I strain to catch their words, my mind racing to piece together their language.

One of them growls something to the other one, their tone urgent.

The other replies testily, its tone even.

A third one snaps at them and they shut up; it's obvious who is in charge of this little operation.

I take a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves. These ones are clearly afraid of something. I move closer, careful not to make a sound, my eyes fixed on the group ahead. Their faces are obscured by helmets and their bodies covered in protective gear. They carry weapons, the glint of metal visible even in the dim light.

One of them turns suddenly. I freeze, holding my breath. For a moment, I think they have seen me, but they continue moving forward, their attention focused on the path ahead.

The leader growls out something to the others, their voice steady and commanding. And with that the group disperses, their footsteps echoing through the narrow passageways. I wait until the last of them has disappeared from sight before moving. My skin shifts to a deeper blue as I creep forward, keeping to the shadows. I need to find a way out of here, but I also need to understand who these people are and what they want.

I follow the leader, keeping a safe distance. They move with purpose, their steps confident despite the darkness. I stay close to the wall, my senses alert for any sign of danger. The tunnel widens slightly, and I see the leader stop to inspect a large metal door set into the rock.

They press a series of buttons on a keypad, the door hissing open with a burst of cold air. I edge closer, peering through the gap as the leader steps inside. The room beyond is filled with strange machinery, the hum of electronic devices filling the air. I slip through the door just before it closes, hiding behind a large blinking table as the leader moves deeper into the room.

I watch as they approach a table, their fingers flying over small buttons that respond by lighting up. The machines come to life, screens flickering with data and lights flashing in sequence. I move closer, my curiosity piqued. What are they doing here?

It hunches over the console, speaking into a communicator. I can barely make sense of its growls and grunts until I heard an all-too-familiar name.

Trakeldon. My skin lights up a muted red as I suck in air sharply.

No wonder they are terrified, they are about to die… what good a supplication can I give to the demiurge to avoid the same fate?

The leader grunts out a few more sentences before a voice crackles back. I’m starting to piece together the language, upset with myself that I never tried to learn it before.

The braceaaer nods, cutting the communication and turning back to the control panel. I take a step forward, my curiosity getting the better of me. I need answers, and this might be my only chance to get them.

"Who are you?" I demand, my voice low but firm. My skin shifts to a dark-hued purple of anger as I approach him slowly.

The leader spins around, their weapon drawn in an instant.

It gives me an appraising look before it sneers, "Back off wasur, " they counter in a perfect rendition of my zhasie tongue, their eyes narrowing behind their visor, freezing me dead in my tracks.

My skin pulses to a darker shade of purple as I stand before the braceaaer. Its weapon remains trained on me, eyes narrowing behind the visor. This alien is unlike the genali; its build is more compact but brimming with potential lethality. My knuckles twitch, the spikes ready for action.

Did this incomplete life form just call me a wasur ?

"You intend to make me pry it from your lips? Very well then…" My words are a growling click, the irritation, and adrenaline fueling my resolve. The braceaaer responds with a swift motion, a shot firing from its weapon. I twist, my body contorting with ease, the shot grazing my side but not enough to slow me down.

The first clash is brutal. I lunge, using the full force of my muscular segments to deliver a crushing blow to its helmet. The spikes on my knuckles pierce through, drawing a spray of blood as the helmet cracks. The braceaaer staggers but doesn't fall, a testament to its resilience.

I pivot, my body coiling back like a spring before launching into another assault. My hands dart forward, seeking weak points in its armor. The braceaaer counters with a series of quick, precise strikes, aiming to disorient me. I duck and weave, my bioluminescent skin flashing lighter purple as my irritation mounts.

Its fighting style is methodical, with each movement calculated and controlled. In contrast, my approach is raw and feral, driven more by instinct and brute strength.

If there is one thing my zhann tunneled into my head from the time I was but a limbless zhannel , it was the ability to play into my own strengths with little care to flare or some misguided sense of dominance hidden under the veneer of a fair fight.

I do not need to outfight a clearly skilled fighter, I just need to surprise the fool once, and then capitalize on that to extricate its life from it in the most effective way possible.

I see an opening and release a burst of poison mist from my nose glands. The mist envelops the braceaaer, but its suit protects it, the toxin ineffective. It retaliates with a powerful kick, its deceptively spindly limbs sending me sprawling.

I roll with the impact, my back spikes digging into the ground to halt my momentum. With a snarl, I rise, my skin a deep violet as I bare my tusks at the small thing.

The braceaaer charges, and I meet it head-on, using my near-invulnerable tusks to deflect its weapon. The clash reverberates through the cavern, or maybe that's just my brain rattling in my skull from the bone-to-alloy clash.

I make a mental note never to do that again.

In a fluid motion, I grab the braceaaer’s arm and twist, the spikes on my knuckles digging into its flesh. It cries out, a guttural sound of pain, but manages to break free, landing a solid punch to my middle segment. Pain flares, but I embrace it, channeling it into my next attack.

I leap, my flexible body twisting mid-air to deliver a punishing blow to its chest. The impact sends the braceaaer crashing into the console, the machinery sparking from the collision. My skin shifts to a dark purple, reflecting my determination. I cannot afford to lose.

The braceaaer rises, its movements slower now, but no less deadly. It draws a blade.

I respond by bracing myself, my back spikes flaring defensively. We circle each other, both searching for an opening.

It lunges, the blade slicing through the air. I sidestep, my hands grabbing its wrist and twisting. The blade clatters to the ground, and I follow up with a limb to its midsection. The braceaaer doubles over, gasping for breath. I don't let up, my fists raining down blows, each one more brutal than the last.

I feel the crunch of bone beneath my knuckles, the spikes tearing through flesh and armor alike. The braceaaer collapses, a lifeless heap on the floor. My chest heaves, the purple of rage slowly fading to a pale blue of confusion.

"Did I… kill it?" I mutter, my voice tinged with disbelief. I hadn't intended to go this far. I sink to my knees, staring at the broken body before me. "Fool," I berate myself, my skin shifting to a muted purple. "You should have known better. You didn't even check if it could take your hits."

I needed answers.

My self-reproach is cut short by a horrifying screech echoing down the tunnel. My skin flashes red with fear, head spikes shivering.

There is another crash, braceaaer screams, and then suddenly the lights on the control panel dim until they are all out.

Did it destroy their power supply? There is a crash behind me that interrupts that tunnel of thought.

I barely have time to react before a massive limb slams into me, sending me crashing into the wall.

Pain explodes through my body, but I don't wait to see what the limb belongs to. Instinct takes over, and I begin tunneling into the wall. My physiology, built for such tasks, allows me to burrow through the soil at high speeds.

My muscles work in perfect harmony, each segment contributing to the effort. The spikes along my back slice through the soil, creating a path for my body to follow. The dirt around me is a comforting embrace, grounding me as I flee the unknown terror behind me.

I push myself to the limit, my breath coming in ragged gasps. The tunnel I create is narrow, just wide enough for my body to squeeze through.

My skin glows a faint red, a beacon in the darkness. The scent of soil fills my senses, a stark contrast to the metallic tang of the braceaaer domain.

Minutes pass in a blur, my mind focused solely on escape. The sound of the creature's roaring grows distant, replaced by the rhythmic scrape of my tunneling. I don't stop until I'm certain the danger is far behind me.

My hands, with their four thick digits, dig into the dirt at a manic pace, pulling and pushing with relentless determination. There is none of my usual finesse in the act as I brute force my way through to get away from the murderous creature those idiots brought here, my strength and the sharp spikes running down my back were more than sufficient to carve a path. The tunnel I created is narrow but stable, the walls packed tightly by the force of my movements.

As I tunnel, the spikes on my back serve a dual purpose, cutting through the soil and providing a defensive barrier. Any debris that falls is quickly pushed aside, the rhythmic motion soothing. The walls around me are cool and dark, a soothing contrast to the chaos I left behind.

The bioluminescent glow of my skin provides just enough light to navigate, the soft blue hues casting an eerie glow in the confined space. My breath comes in steady, controlled bursts, the rhythm of my tunneling matching the cadence of my heart. The scent of dirt is a comforting companion.

Every muscle in my body aches, but I push on, driven by the instinct to survive. The terror of the unknown creature becomes a distant but all too vivid memory in the back of my mind, replaced by the focused determination to escape. My mind races, each movement calculated and precise, a knife-edge balance only those who had tempered the urge to survive and the instinct that guides it.

Finally, as the adrenaline begins to fade, I find myself in a small cavern, the walls smooth and cool to the touch. I collapse, my body trembling with exhaustion. My skin shifts to a pale orange, the relief washing over me as palpable as anything.

That was close. Too close.

Nonetheless, I'd escaped.

***

I awaken with a sharp intake of breath, pain ripping through my side as if that cursed trakeldon struck me all over again. The memory surges forward with a clarity that makes me almost keen, my bioluminescent skin pulsing violently in whirls of blue, violet, and red. The cold, damp air of the cave does nothing to soothe the agony, and for a moment, I remain sprawled against the stone floor, gasping for air, disoriented.

Where am I? My head whips around frantically, my eyes scanning the cave, but there's little comfort to be found in its jagged walls. My vision blurs slightly as my skin shifts to a soft gradient of blue that ripples across me in erratic waves before I shake my head. I need to focus. But the panic flares hotter, and I can't seem to link the story that brought me here.

The pain, the darkness, the relentless chase—I was fleeing from something, wasn't I? My thoughts are fragmented, scattered, like shards of broken glass. My body tenses, skin shifting to a deeper shade of violet as my brows knit together in a grueling effort to get a hold of my feral-fueled anger.

It's not often I lose my control like this, and the thought of allowing fear to cloud my mind, like a headless zhannel, irritates me in more ways than I'd like.

Control yourself.

I remain like this for several agonizing moments, my breath ragged as I struggle to regain some semblance of composure. Slowly, ever so slowly, I steady myself, forcing my breath to even out. The blue glow on my skin dims, replaced by the faintest hue of red as I feel a venomous steam hiss from my snout into the stale air of the cave.

The relief that washes over me is short-lived, but it's enough to bring my mind back to the present. I blink slowly, assessing the situation with more clarity now. I can't stay here. Not with the distant rumbling of the ground beneath me, growing louder and more violent with each passing second. The ground trembles as if it, too, is aware of the dangers lurking nearby. My reprieve is over.

I push myself to my limbs, wincing as the ache in my side flares up again. I ignore it. Pain is familiar, comforting, even. I can deal with pain. What I can't deal with is being caught off-guard again.

I stagger out of the small cavern, squinting as I step into the harsh light that greets me at the cave's mouth. The brightness burns my eyes, forcing me to hiss in discomfort. A thin membrane slides over my pupils, dimming the glare to a tolerable level. My vision sharpens, and I assess my surroundings with renewed focus. The terrain stretches out before me in a jagged mess of rocks and sparse vegetation. It's alien—nothing like the lush, dense forests I'm used to.

But there's no time to dwell on the unfamiliar landscape. I need to move. Fast. I drop to all six limbs, my body moving with a natural fluidity that only comes when I'm in full motion. My muscles coil and release in perfect synchronization, propelling me forward with bursts of speed that leave the cave far behind. I push through the discomfort, the lingering pain in my side no more than an afterthought now.

I'm getting a good distance away when a sound stops me in my tracks. Voices. Not far off. My first instinct is to bolt in the opposite direction, but something stops me. A scent. Sweet, enticing, cutting through the acrid taste of my fear like a blade. It wafts into my nose, and before I know it, I'm frozen in place, inhaling deeply. The smell pulls at me, urging me to find its source.

What am I doing? My brain tries to pull me back to reality, but the scent… it's overwhelming. I find myself sniffing around, eager to locate the source. I shake my head, trying to snap myself out of this strange trance. Focus, Kroaicho. What am I doing sniffing around like some animal? I've lost my composure. I snarl quietly, berating myself for the lapse in discipline.

But then, the smell comes again, stronger this time, making my body respond in ways I hadn't anticipated.

What in the demiurge's name?

Frustration and embarrassment flood through me, my skin shifting to a dark, virulent purple. This is unacceptable. My control is better than this. I am better than this. The fact that there exists something capable of breaking through my discipline so easily makes my skin flash purple. I clench my fists, digging my claws into the soil to ground myself, trying to regain some semblance of control over my body.

Before I can settle my thoughts, a shout erupts nearby, startling me. I freeze, instinctively ducking lower into the brush. The scent has grown stronger, almost unbearably so, and it's clear now that whoever—or whatever—is producing it is close. Very close.

My mind races as I try to focus on the more pressing matter at hand: I'm being hunted. And, judging by the increasing intensity of the scent, the braceaaer are closing in on me. Of course , I think bitterly.

It's not enough that my hoard was destroyed, now I have to deal with… I cut off the thought, pushing aside the rising anger. Now is not the time to mourn what I've lost.

Another shout rings out, closer this time. My body tenses, ready to move at a moment's notice. I don't like the idea of approaching the source of that scent—it's dangerous, intoxicating, and far too distracting. But at the same time, I can't ignore it. It's calling to me in a way that makes my muscles itch with the need to move toward it, no matter how much my mind protests.

I consider burrowing underground, a tactic that has saved me on countless occasions. But as much as I long for the safety of the depths, tunneling isn't always the most subtle of actions. If I want to remain unnoticed, I'll need to rely on something less… conspicuous.

I shift my weight, testing the stability of the bushes and trees around me. They'll provide decent cover, at least for now. I begin to move cautiously, creeping forward through the underbrush, my body low to the ground. The scent is stronger now, pulling me along despite my better judgment. My heart pounds in my chest, a mix of trepidation and… excitement?

I freeze again, mentally cursing myself for the traitorous surge of emotion. Excited? Now, of all times? I grit my teeth, fighting back the urge to laugh at the absurdity of it all. Here I am, on the run from demiurge-know-what, possibly being hunted, and my body has the audacity to feel… thrilled?

I push the thought aside, focusing on the task at hand. I need to find out who or what is creating that scent and why it's affecting me like this. And I need to do it without getting caught.

Creeping forward, I move as silently as possible, using the cover of the bushes and trees to hide my presence. Every step is careful and calculated. My skin shifts to a muted brown to blend in with the surrounding foliage as I move closer to the source of the commotion. The voices are louder now, more distinct, though I still can't make out what they're saying.

As I near the edge of the clearing, I peer through the thick leaves, my eyes narrowing. There, in the center of the clearing, I see them.

Genali. Again.

Of course, it had to be them. What cruel twist of fate is this?

The leader stands in the center of the group, its compact frame brimming with the same lethal energy I remember from before. My body tenses involuntarily at the sight of them, my skin flashing purple with irritation. These… incomplete life forms. I don't know what they're doing here, but if the scent is coming from one of them, that might explain why I've been so… affected.

I watch as the leader gestures to something behind them—a large, cylindrical metal-like contraption. The rest of the group moves with practiced efficiency, setting up equipment and positioning themselves around the clearing. Their movements are precise and controlled, just like before.

My eyes go back to the cylinder, eagerly taking in the details.

I must have it.

I remain hidden in the bushes, trying to make sense of the situation. My body itches to move, to strike, to do something. But I need to be smart about this. I can't just rush in without a plan. I need to figure out what they're doing, why they're here, and most importantly, how I can use this to my advantage.

For now, I'll wait. Watch. And when the time is right, I'll strike.

I shift from one foot to the other aggravated as the tension in my gut rises, before the familiar scent wafts into my nose again, eliciting a low hiss from the back of my throat.

The scent is not from here, but the only way to get to it is past them.

Tunneling is out of the question though, they'd be here and have a one-way path to my destination.

Perhaps now is a good time as any to plan an ambush.