Page 9 of Fated in A Time of War

KRALL

T he shadows in Tanuki cling to me like oil. I stay in them, every step measured, every muscle ready to spring. The air tastes like scorched metal and rain that will never fall. Even the wind’s gone still, like the city’s holding its breath.

Alice keeps close. Not too close—she’s smart enough for that—but close enough that I can hear the faint hiss of her breathing through the mask. She’s unbound now, wrists free, but that doesn’t mean anything. I’m still watching her. Every twitch. Every step.

The trust isn’t real—it’s a calculated risk. She’s faster without cuffs, more useful if she hits a tripwire before I do. Let her be the one to test the ground. Let her bleed first if it’s a trap.

“Keep pace,” I growl without looking back.

Her answer is a small nod, nothing more. She’s learning. Or plotting. Maybe both.

We weave through what’s left of the eastern corridor—half-collapsed towers leaning on each other like drunks, their glass and steel guts spilling into the streets. The light filtering through is that sick green shade you only get when the air’s poisoned and the sun’s more rumor than fact.

My instincts prickle. Something’s off. Too quiet. Even in war, there’s always sound—distant artillery, a cough of gunfire, the echo of someone dying in an alley you’ll never see. Here… nothing. Just the slow crunch of boots, the occasional groan of a structure thinking about collapsing.

I tighten my grip on the rifle. My HUD’s useless—static chewing the feed, overlays flickering in and out. That’s the thing about Horus IV: you don’t know if the interference is from the storm layers, enemy jamming, or the planet itself trying to eat you.

We pass the husk of a vendor cart, the smell of whatever food burned there weeks ago still clinging to the metal.

I catch a flicker of movement in a broken display window—just my reflection, distorted, red scales broken into shards.

Lakka would tell me to focus. I bite down on the thought before it can turn into his voice.

Ahead, the corridor opens into a wider space—a crater-rimmed structure, skeletal beams reaching toward the sky like broken fingers. I slow, raise a fist to signal halt.

Alice freezes instantly. Points for that.

The crater used to be a shuttle platform. I can still see the charred outlines of where the docking arms were. Black scorch spirals mark where something big went up—shuttle, reactor, maybe both.

And then I see them.

Movement, low and deliberate. Not Ataxian. Not Alliance. My chest tightens as I take in the silhouettes, the way the armor plates catch the dim light—black with slashes of crimson, sharp-angled helmets with mirrored visors.

The Wrecking Kru.

My mouth goes dry. My finger twitches toward the trigger on instinct. You don’t just see the Kru and walk away. Mercs, killers, slaughter artists who sell their souls to the highest bidder and then burn the receipt.

I press back into the shadows of a buckled support beam, pulling Alice with me. She makes a small sound—half protest, half question—but I clamp a hand over her mouth before she can ruin our chances.

Through the jagged opening in the wall, I count four of them.

One is definitely Bonesnapper—the tank-tread chassis, the massive rotary cannon slung like it’s a toy.

The others are smaller but no less dangerous.

The red paint on their armor isn’t decoration—it’s layers of dried blood beneath a sealant coat. A calling card.

The Kru don’t patrol. They don’t “secure” an area. If they’re here, it’s because someone paid them to kill everyone in it. Which means the clock I thought I was racing just started ticking faster.

Alice’s eyes are wide above the cloth of her mask, but she doesn’t panic. Doesn’t even fidget. Her gaze flicks to me, a silent question: What now?

What now is simple.

We don’t get seen.

I lean down, my voice barely a breath in her ear. “You move when I move. No sound. No heroics.”

She nods, slow and deliberate. I let go of her mouth but keep a hand on her arm.

I peek again, just enough to see the mercs shifting formation, scanning with casual precision. They’re looking for something—or someone. My gut tells me it’s not Ataxians. Which means I might already be on their list.

A cold knot forms in my chest. If they’re here for Alliance survivors, I’m worth a bounty. If they’re here for something else, I’m still in their way. Either way, they won’t hesitate.

The Kru don’t take prisoners.

I ease back, keeping low. The smell of ozone from their powered armor systems drifts into the crater, faint but enough to raise the scales on my neck. My heart’s steady, but my hands want to shake. Not from fear. From the itch to move first. To act before they do.

Alice is watching me. Not the Kru—me. It makes my teeth clench. She should be afraid of them , not wondering what I’ll do.

Her voice is a whisper I almost miss. “You know them.”

“Everyone knows them,” I mutter. “Stay behind me.”

And just like that, the war shifts again. I thought I was stranded. Turns out, I’m hunted.

I drag her down behind a slab of broken ferrocrete, the edges sharp enough to cut if we press too hard. Dust plumes up, gritty in my throat, stinging the cuts on my knuckles. I shove her flat beside me and press a finger to my lips.

Her blue eyes lock onto mine. She nods once, slow, deliberate. No hesitation.

That unsettles me more than if she’d fought, more than if she’d tried to scream. It’s too easy. Too damn quiet.

I ease the scope up over the slab. The lens is cracked down one side, but it’s enough. Through it, the world sharpens—jagged wreckage, fire-pitted ground, and the Kru.

Four of them, at least. Maybe more in the shadows.

They’re unloading crates—black steel coffins with hazard glyphs scorched off. Could be salvage, could be weapons, could be bodies. With the Kru, you never know. And I don’t care which. What matters is the ship.

Their dropship squats in the crater like some beast from an old nightmare—hull bristling with guns, plating scorched from reentry.

Engines hiss and tick, heat shimmering off the vents.

The Kru move around it with casual menace, their armor whining with each step, hydraulic seals catching the light in ugly gleams.

My stomach knots. Every instinct I’ve got screams to stay low, stay hidden, wait this out. But waiting gets you nothing. Waiting gets you killed.

I track one merc through the scope, cataloguing details the way Lakka drilled into me: rifle model, stance, the way his helmet turns too wide, favoring his left side. Weaknesses. Openings.

“Think, Krall,” I mutter under my breath. “Not just hit. Think.”

Something tugs at my sleeve.

I jerk my head down, ready to snap—ready to shut her up before she gets us both cooked. But Alice doesn’t speak. She doesn’t even breathe loud. Just raises one bound wrist and points.

My gaze follows her gesture.

At first, I don’t see it. Then I do.

Mounted on the flank of the ship, half-buried in plating and scorch marks, is a comms tower. Damaged, sparking weakly, but intact.

My heart slams once, hard.

A comms tower means signal. Signal means backup. Extraction. Maybe even vengeance.

The thought electrifies me so fast I almost laugh. My squad’s gone. Lakka’s gone. But if I can get that signal out, then maybe his death counts for something. Maybe I can call down hell on these bastards.

I look back at Alice. She doesn’t smile. Doesn’t speak. Just meets my eyes with that unnerving calm. Like she knew what it meant to me the second she pointed it out.

I bare my teeth. “Could be a trap.”

She tilts her head, as if to say all of this is a trap.

She’s not wrong.

I suck in a breath, drag the rifle close, and start sketching the plan with my hands. Old signals. Military shorthand. Sweep left, disable sentry, breach hull, hit the tower.

She watches every motion, her gaze sharp. Doesn’t ask a single question. Just nods. Once.

Like we’ve done this a hundred times before. Like she’s not the enemy.

My pulse hammers. My mouth tastes like copper.

Fast. Brutal. That’s the only way this works.

I glance back through the cracked scope one last time, burning every angle, every shadow into memory. The Kru’s armor whines. Their dropship smolders. The comms tower flickers, a weak little heartbeat against the ruin.

I lower the scope, muscles coiled so tight they ache.

“They move.”

Everything goes wrong in seconds.

One heartbeat I’m tracing lines of attack, the next the world erupts in sparks and thunder.

A ferrocrete wall to our left groans and crumbles—wind, rats, hell, maybe ghosts.

Doesn’t matter. The Kru don’t hesitate. They open fire, rotary cannons coughing flame, rounds tearing into the rubble where we’d been crouched.

“Move!” I snarl, shoving Alice forward before my brain catches up.

Bullets scream past us, chewing up ferroglass and throwing shards into the air. I feel them nick across my scales, hot sparks of pain that vanish under the roar of adrenaline. The air turns into a storm of grit and metal.

We break cover early, sprinting out of shadows that were supposed to buy us precious seconds.

Alice is fast—faster than I gave her credit for.

Her boots slap against fractured stone, her breath sharp but steady.

I keep my body angled between her and the gunfire, rifle tucked into my shoulder, snapping bursts at the muzzle flashes.

The Kru don’t fight like soldiers. They fight like predators. No suppression fire, no warning shots. Just kill, fast and ugly.

The comms tower looms ahead, a skeleton of scorched plating and sparking cables. Ferroglass plating around its base is already spider-webbed from the barrage. Bullets ping and whine as we slam into cover beneath it.

Alice presses flat to the ferroglass, eyes wide, chest heaving. She’s alive. For now.

“Up!” I bark, jabbing a finger toward the maintenance panel above.

She doesn’t argue. Doesn’t waste breath. She just sets her hands to the corroded rung bolted to the tower’s flank. I lace my fingers together, crouch low.

“Go!”

Her boot hits my palms. I heave upward, muscles burning as I boost her toward the panel. She scrabbles, grabs hold, hauls herself up.

Rounds slam against the ferroglass inches from my head, one shard nicking my cheek.

Blood mixes with dust in my mouth, iron and ash.

I lean out just enough to fire back—short, sharp bursts.

Surgical. Two shots drop a Kru’s shoulder servos, forcing him behind cover.

Another burst clips the rotary barrel of Bonesnapper’s cannon, sending it whining out of sync.

“Faster, damn you,” I mutter, teeth gritted.

Above me, sparks shower as Alice yanks the panel open. The acrid stench of fried circuits fills the air. She mutters under her breath—words I don’t catch, maybe prayers, maybe curses—while her fingers fly over the jury-rigged mess.

The tower flickers. Once. Twice. Then it hums to life, a faint vibration I feel through my boots.

“Yes,” I hiss. I slap the side of my helmet, forcing the cracked HUD to sync. A window flares open, signal bars crawling. It’s weak, but alive.

I thumb the comm, jaw tight. “Alliance Command, Horus IV sector Tanuki, this is Krall Vakutan, Alpha Two squad. Coordinates uploaded. Hostile Kru presence. Request immediate retrieval and fire support. Repeat, hostile Kru presence. Over.”

The tower buzzes, static roaring back. But the light blinks—burst ping encrypted and away. It’s out. That’s all that matters.

I look up at Alice. She’s still perched against the tower, mask half torn from the heat, eyes bright with something I can’t name. Relief? Triumph? Doesn’t matter. We did it.

Then the world explodes.

A fusion block whistles through the air, lobbed with casual precision. It lands not ten meters from us.

“Down!” I roar, throwing myself against the tower’s base.

The blast rips the ground apart. The shockwave hurls me sideways. Ferroglass shatters in a scream. My ears ring, my HUD dies in a flood of static.

Pain tears up my ribs, hot and sharp. Shrapnel’s lodged deep—I can feel the wet warmth spreading under my armor. My lungs seize.

Alice screams—at least I think she does. The ringing makes it all muffled, far away.

Through the haze, I see Funzil—big bastard, crimson-etched armor, already priming another block. He’s laughing. I can see it in the tilt of his helmet, in the swagger of his stance.

“No—” My voice is a growl in my own skull.

I grab Alice’s arm, yank her down from the tower hard enough she slams against me. She fights for a second, startled, then realizes what I’m doing.

“Service tunnel!” I bark, pointing with the rifle even as my vision swims. A maintenance hatch, half-collapsed, gapes like a black mouth in the rubble.

Rounds chew into the ferroglass behind us, showering sparks. My legs scream, ribs on fire, but I don’t stop. I drag her with me, half shoving, half carrying, blood slicking my side.

Another blast rocks the ground. Dirt rains down. The Kru are closing in.

No time to process or time to bleed.

Just escape.

I shove Alice headfirst into the tunnel, then follow, rifle dragging, every breath a knife in my chest. The dark swallows us whole.