Page 4 of Savage Bond

KAIRON

T hey never see us coming. Fucking amateurs.

“Breaching now,” Nyra’s voice cracks through my comms, all business. I can hear the hiss of pressure equalizing as our grapplers punch into the IHC hull. One of the sleek little bastards. Smooth, sterile. Not for long.

“Cut clean,” I growl, standing at the boarding hatch, hand wrapped tight around my rifle. “We’re not here for a body count. Get me to the core.”

Renn’s grin flashes in the smoke. “Says the guy who leaves trails.”

I slam the butt of my rifle into the bulkhead. “Shut it, Dravik.”

The doors burst open. Screams follow.

Smoke floods the corridor, and I move like a ghost through it—fast, brutal, surgical. The IHC boys scramble in the haze, all panic and training wheels. They aim high. I aim for throats.

The first one goes down with a crunch, his helmet cracking like a cheap shell under my boot. I drag the second into the wall so hard he folds before he can beg. Another rounds the corner, yells something righteous. I put a round through his kneecap and let him scream.

“Move, move!” Nyra’s voice again, closer now. My crew's sweeping through the ship, cutting through their half-assed resistance. They’re trained, sure—but not for me.

Never for me.

We take the right junction, and I slam my fist against the control panel to overload the doors. Sparks spit. The corridor lights strobe. For a second, I see her—an IHC officer ducking behind a console at the far end.

She’s quick. Small. But she moves like someone who’s expecting hell. The kind who doesn’t run from a fire—just tries to box it in.

The lights flicker, strobe-blinking like a club on fire. I jam a spike into the wall panel, fry the lock, and rip the next door open.

More resistance. Useless.

I slam one soldier into the ceiling and crush his chest against the floor. Another takes three shots to the vest before I gut him anyway. The hallway starts to smell like a butcher’s stall.

“Three decks down,” Renn pants into the comms. “That’s where the AI’s housed.”

“Then get there,” I growl. “Unless you want me to carve you a shortcut through the fucking floor.”

We push deeper into the heart of the ship, our footsteps echoing against the metallic floors, punctuated by the steady rhythm of gunfire that becomes a twisted song of war reverberating in my chest. It’s a familiar cadence, one I was forged for, crafted in the fires of conflict.

Each kill brings me a sense of clarity, a visceral reminder that I’m alive and present in this chaotic dance.

This is how I breathe, how I exist in a world that often feels like it’s slipping through my fingers.

As we approach the shaft leading to the core, the air shifts dramatically. It’s subtle at first—a low, ominous hum that resonates deep within my bones, steady yet wrong, like a warning bell tolling in the distance. My instincts flare, sending a ripple of unease through me.

“Feel that?” Nyra’s voice cuts through the tension, laced with an edge that only emerges when she senses the ground shifting beneath our feet, when the calm before the storm starts to crack.

“Keep moving,” I command, though my mind is already racing, scanning every shadow and corner twice over. This isn’t just the usual tension; this is something deeper, a foreboding that wraps around us like a shroud, heavy and pressing.

Suddenly, a body crashes into mine—lean, yet solid, powered by grit and determination.

She’s no soft, bureaucratic drone; this woman moves with the lethal grace of someone who has earned every inch of muscle through blood and sweat.

Compact and coiled, she’s a live wire beneath that IHC uniform, a storm of energy ready to unleash.

We hit the ground hard, the impact jarring, and my rifle skids away, lost somewhere in the chaos of our sudden entanglement, forgotten in the midst of the escalating turmoil.

It’s that officer. The little firecracker.

Up close, she’s even more of a problem. Medium-toned skin gleams with sweat under the emergency lights, smudged with soot and streaked where hair’s come loose from her tight braid.

That mouth is curled in a sneer, lips full and bitten pink at the edges like she’s been chewing frustration since launch.

Hazel eyes—flecks of green and gold—lock on mine with the kind of fury that burns clean through hesitation.

She’s got high cheekbones and a scowl that belongs on a battlefield, not behind a desk.

Dust and blood cling to her like war paint.

And those curves—tight, balanced, made for movement—shift with every motion like she was built for close combat.

She’s got fists like bricks and a jaw that says don’t underestimate her. She snarls and drives a knee for my ribs—I catch it, twist, flip her over hard. She grunts, feral, but doesn’t stop fighting. Nails rake across my arm as I pin her wrists to the floor.

“You think you’re getting out of here?” she snaps, voice raw with effort.

“I know I am,” I grunt, pressing down harder.

She’s a live wire under me, writhing, trying to buck me off like a wild animal. Her braid’s come undone at the edges, strands sticking to her neck and temple. Her freckled cheeks flush darker with heat and rage.

“I’ll kill you,” she spits, teeth bared.

“You’re welcome to fuckin’ try,” I smirk, ducking closer. “But you’re gonna need more than pretty words, sweetheart.”

She bucks. I laugh.

She snarls again, whipping a blade out from somewhere and stabbing me hard in the thigh. I catch her foot and throw her sideways. She rolls, back up fast. She’s got fire.

“You little bitch,” I say with a grin, stepping forward.

But then, without warning, the floor beneath us begins to vibrate violently, as if the very ship we’re on is trembling in fear.

A blinding flash of pure white light erupts in the corridor, momentarily searing my vision, followed by an ominous wave of static energy that crashes through the air like a freight train.

The sudden surge sends tremors rippling through the metal structure surrounding us, rattling pipes and causing every screen nearby to erupt into a shower of sparks, flickering wildly before dying out in a plume of smoke.

“What the hell was that?” she hisses, her voice barely cutting through the cacophony of alarms and chaos.

I don’t have the luxury of an answer. I can’t. Because the truth is, I don’t know what just happened. It feels as if the ship itself has come alive, its metallic bones groaning and shrieking in protest. A deep, primal sense of dread coils in my gut.

Suddenly, the shrill wail of auto-evac alarms fills the air, piercing through the chaos with a sense of urgency and impending doom.

One of the escape pod hatches behind us bursts open with a loud bang, a violent reaction to the pressure failure echoing through the corridor, and the thought of escape crosses my mind like a fleeting shadow.

Before I can process the situation any further, another explosion rocks the ground sideways, throwing us off balance.

We crash together again, but this time it’s not a struggle; it’s a chaotic fall.

The impact sends shockwaves through my body as we hit the deck hard, the cold, unyielding metal slamming into us with unforgiving force.

I shove her off me, but not fast enough.

The pod door slams behind us.