Page 56 of Hooded (Gladiators of the Gryn #5)

KLYNN

I’m listening to all the threads which flow through this place, each one slowly unravelling until I can grasp them all. This is the most complex system I’ve ever tapped into, but somehow it is intuitive. I catch the thread which controls the bots, and I squeeze. As one, they are disabled in an instant.

But there is another which is proving hard to take hold of, the one which belongs to Proto. It’s as slippery as the worm itself, sliding through my head and my fingers as I attempt to grasp it.

“!” Fern’s voice sears through me, both down the thread and in the air.

Proto rears up, one of its huge gray heads dropping down, teeth bared, and one which I sidestep with ease.

“Give up and you get to keep your mate.”

I see it has curled one of its tails around Fern. All the blood in my body ignites. A growl I didn’t even believe I had rips from my chest.

Proto has my mate.

Proto will die for even touching her.

She shakes her head slowly at me.

Wait.

The word fires down the thoughtbond as clear as if she was stood next to me.

Keep it talking.

I don’t talk. I kill.

But Fern needs me to talk. I obey my mate in all things. My Fern is the only creature in the galaxy I trust.

Trust yourself, .

I’m not sure if the thought comes from her or somewhere else, but I take a breath, swallow my snarl, and stare at Proto.

“What do you want from the Gryn?”

“I want an army.” Proto writhes, exposing its belly to me for a brief moment. “I’ve been preparing for nova-centuries to take back this galaxy which once belonged to my ancestors before it was polluted by all these parasites.”

“The other species?”

“Yes.” The disgust is apparent in Proto’s voice. “They are living off what we created, what the Protoex wanted for themselves until the super-nova scattered us.”

“There’s more of you?”

“Not anymore. I am the last of the Protoex, but I will be the greatest,” it booms. “All the time, all the preparation, using the Drahon to obtain the right species, using the credits obtained by them to get the Galactic Council to look anywhere but at me. All fools, all will be ended once I rise.”

“You don’t need me or my mate. Not if this is your intention.”

“On the contrary, Gryn. I need you.” A head swoops down, hovering in front of me.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see it shake Fern, who cries out in alarm. My hands itch to get hold of my sword.

But I have to trust her. I have to trust myself.

I have to keep Proto talking.

“If you need me, your plan is doomed.” I respond with a growl. “If you need the Gryn, we will fight you every step of the way.”

Instead of grabbing my sword, I touch the crystal again.

“You are merely the template, .” Proto says. “The one which got away and I now own again.”

“I’ve told you.” I grit my teeth, feeling down both the thoughtbond and the thread which binds me to the electrical impulses flowing through this place. “No one owns me.”

I risk a glance over at Fern. Something flashes in her hand, a blade. She gazes at me and runs it over the tail which binds her.

The thing parts from the whole, dropping to the floor and squirming like a heap of foul entrails. Proto raises its middle head and howls to the sky, metallic and deafening.

“!” Fern calls out as she races for the flyer. “Unleash hell.”

Whatever it is she wants me to unleash, she doesn’t have to ask me twice. I send everything I have learned from the thread back into the electrical systems, and almost instantly, there is a low, deep rumble which can’t signify anything good…for Proto anyway.

Pulling my sword from its scabbard, I’m in the air as Fern reaches her ship and it lifts off the ground. Proto writhes, words spewing from it, not making any sense.

“There are Gryn…underneath.” Ayar flies past me, gashes covering his arms. “We have to free them.”

“Already done,” I respond, looking down.

All the threads, all the algorithms, everything which Proto had, I have undone. Below us, Gryn warriors emerge from the ground, blinking into the light.

“Now we have our army,” I call out to Strykr. “Now we finish this. There must be nothing left.”

I look up to see my Fern piloting her ship, pulsar cannon ready. Fate has brought us to this moment. Fate gave me my eregri , fate made the Drahon mutate my thoughtbond, fate put us all here for this very moment.

Strykr nods, and as his Gryn warriors coalesce into a formidable force, Fern lets rip with the first volley of cannon bolts, aiming at the middle of the Proto.

As she does, the rest of the Gryn set up a firing line which steadily grows and grows until the air stinks of burning dust and the Proto slowly, slowly sinks down into the depression.

With a roar, I follow the thing, the rest of the Gryn at my back.

It squirms in its own goo and guts.

“Did you really think you could prevail?” I ask.

It burbles at me.

“You didn’t understand how the game was played”—I lift my sword above my head—“or what the stakes were. An entire species doesn’t bow to anyone.”

I bring my sword down on the neck of the first head, slicing through it until the thing rolls away. The second head follows easily, leaving only the third.

“Gladiator…” It struggles the word out.

“Not gladiator,” I say. “Gryn.”

“You will not succeed. I will return.”

“You will become the dust of this planet, the floor of this arena, and you will not trouble the galaxy again,” I respond, slamming my blade through the skin of its neck as, from above, the Gryn pour down pulsar bolts. “You lost.” I look up at the ship hovering over us. “We won.”

We won . Fern’s thought comes down the bond, warming me from within.

Time to nest , I respond, and I’m rewarded by the bloom of desire which fills me entirely as all around erupts into loud howls of triumph. The traditional Gryn response to a battle well won.