Page 17

Chapter17

THEY MOVED in silence, the stabilizer secure against Anya’s chest. Behind them, the pedestal chamber remained open for several long steps—until the corridor’s walls shifted with a hiss and a deep mechanical grind. Hydraulic locks engaged, and slabs of metal slid across the opening, sealing itshut.

Tor’Vek’s steps were measured, blade still in hand. The final glimmer of chamber light vanished behind the sealed door, swallowed completely by shadow.

They had no choicenow.

The path back was blocked. There was only one directionleft.

Toward the monster.

Anya didn’t speak. Her breath stayed quiet, shallow, as if sound might draw the thing waiting up ahead. The bond between them didn’t hum—it bristled, tight and alert. She felt it crawl like static under her skin, tingling at her wrists, the back of her neck, asubtle prickle that made her muscles lock just a little tighter. Awarning system. Alivewire.

They passed the junction where the scouts had split.

The shattered spider still lay there, legs bent at grotesque angles, as if something had enjoyed breakingit.

Tor’Vek stopped.

He crouched beside it, examining the fractured casing. The broken pieces flaked beneath his touch, delicate as dried bone. Its inner components were warped—compressed inward, not shattered. No scorch marks. No electrical interference. Just pure, brutal force. Tor’Vek turned the fragment slightly, analyzing the entry vector, eyes narrowing. Whoever—or whatever—had done this hadn’t just destroyed it. It had known exactly where to strike.

“What do you see?” Anya whispered.

“Force,” he said. “No burn. No heat. Just pressure. Blunt. Precise. Intelligent.”

Herose.

She followed his gaze down the corridor ahead. The air there looked different. Not just thicker—but distorted, like heat shimmer rising from pavement, bending everything beyond it. Aweight pressed at her skin, subtle but wrong. As if the space itself remembered violence. As if it hadn’t wanted to let that thing pass—but hadn’t dared stopit.

Her pulse ticked faster.

They kept walking.

Every step forward felt like descending into something deeper than shadow, into something deliberate. Like walking into the narrowed throat of a predator just before the jaws clamped shut. The corridor widened just enough to let them think they had space, but the ceiling dropped low and tight, stealing what little air remained. Anya could feel the pressure build behind her eyes, like the walls were pressing closer with everystep.

They turned a corner.

Then another.

And then they heardit.

Low. Wet. Rhythmic.

Breathing.

It wasn’t behindthem.

It was ahead.

The corridor had drawn them here—step by step, turn by turn—into the deepest point, the narrowest passage, the one place they’d be at their most vulnerable. And now it waited.

Tor’Vek slowed. His arm shifted back instinctively, contacting with Anya’s abdomen—not forceful, but firm. Asilent command. She felt the pressure of his palm, steady and unyielding, and it pulled her into the shelter of his body without thought. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. Every part of him said one thing: I will stand between you and what comes.

Tor’Vek reached for the holster attached to his belt and pressed a sidearm into her hand—sleek, compact, already primed. “Use this if I fall,” he said quietly, his voice steady as stone.

Something inside her cracked.

She curled her fingers around the weapon, its weight pressing down like it belonged to another version of her—one braver, steadier, more willing to kill. Her throat closed. The thought of him falling—of his body hitting the floor, still and broken—shattered through her like a jolt of lightning.

“You won’t fall,” she said fiercely, lifting her chin. Her voice shook, but the words didn’t. “You’re not allowed.”

He didn’t answer.

He didn’t needto.

The air was so still it hurt to breathe. She could see the curve of the corridor now. Another turn. Another blindspot.

Tor’Vek moved.

Three steps.

He stopped.

Anya waited. Blood roaring in herears.

Then, quietly, he looked over his shoulder. “There is no cover. When it sees us, it will strike.”

She nodded, mouth dry. Her palm was slick around the grip of her weapon.

Tor’Vek adjusted his stance.

Then—

A noise.

A shape.

The thing emerged from the darkness like a nightmare made flesh.

Tall. Crooked. Its movements too fluid for something so massive. Its skin was plated in overlapping slabs of dark, slick tissue—like armor formed from rot and oil. The stench hit them next: acrid, organic, metallic. It punched up into Anya’s sinuses, made her eyes water, her throat close. Her stomach clenched, twisting up with nausea. She turned her face away on instinct, coughing once, hard. Death after too much time—stale, intimate, and thick enough to taste.

It had no eyes. No face. Just a long ridge of slitted grooves, like the fossilized gills of some extinct predator. The slits flared once, then pulsed. Breathing. Smelling. Knowing.

And its hands—too many fingers, jointed in all the wrong places—dragged claws as long as her forearm across the floor, the sound sharp and slow, like metal sighing its last breath.

It didn’trush.

It savored . Each step calculated.

Anya’s stomach flipped. Her fingers tightened on her weapon.

And through the haze of terror, the bond flared—just once. Adesperate, craving pulse like a last cry for contact. Her body remembered the heat of Tor’Vek’s mouth, the way his touch burned steady through chaos.

She didn’t look athim.

She didn’t haveto.

He was already stepping forward.

Not fast. Not reckless. Deliberate. Like he was calculating angles with everystep.

Anya adjusted her stance, holding the stabilizer tighter against her chest. The strap bit into her shoulder. She didn’t dare loosen it. She didn’t dare let it shift. The stabilizer was too important—fragile, volatile, irreplaceable. One jolt too hard and it might shatter, taking their mission with it. But God, it was cold. It radiated through her like an echo of the creature’s breath.

The thing kept coming.

Its claws whispered over the floor, drawing shallow lines into the alloy. With each step, its body distorted—shifting subtly, like its bones weren’t fixed. It had to duck to fit beneath the corridor’s low ceiling, and the way it folded its body was wrong. Limbs bending where there should be none. Definitely no eyes, but it tilted its head toward Tor’Vek first, then her—as if weighing its options.

The air grew tighter. Anya’s pulse beat against her ribs like it wanted out. Her mouth went dry. Her hands ached from gripping the weapon too hard. She couldn’t run. Not with the corridor sealed behind them. Not with the stabilizer strapped toher.

Tor’Vek stopped. Just meters ahead of itnow.

The thing stoppedtoo.

A pause. Then a breath—wet and thick—from deep inside itsbody.

Tor’Vek’s voice was low. “When it strikes, Ineed you behind me.”

Anya nodded.

But the bond flared again. She could feel it pulse along her spine like it knew the moment was close. Knew what they both were about torisk.

Tor’Vek lifted his blade, shifting his weight slightly.

And then the creature moved.

No screech. No charge. It lunged with horrifying silence, ablur of darkness and too many limbs.

And they braced for impact.

The corridor behind them had already sealed. But now another sound came—asecond groan, lower and closer. Somewhere deeper in the corridor—nearer to the creature than to them—athick slab of alloy began to descend with a deep, grinding drag. Whether it was triggered by the creature’s presence, their motion, or something watching them from unseen systems, Anya didn’t know. But it moved like a warning. Or a cage. It moved slow, deliberate, cutting off even the illusion of retreat.

A shudder ran through the floor, like the structure itself understood what was about to happen. Dust sifted down from above. The light dimmed. Every escape vanished in that sound, every second forward sharpened into a single truth:

They were trapped.

And whatever happened next, there would be no one else. No reinforcements. No way out. Just them, the stabilizer, and the nightmare blocking theirpath.

Tor’Vek was the one who moved first.

He didn’t wait for the creature to strike. Didn’t hesitate. His body reacted with the clean, violent grace of instinct honed by war. The monster lunged—and Tor’Vek lunged back, not to meet the blow, but to beat it to the centerline. To own the moment before impact.

They collided in a blur of movement, motion made flesh and steel androt.

No clash of blades. No dramatic impact. Just raw speed and the sickening sound of bone snapping under pressure. He dropped low, swept the blade up with a force that should have carved the thing in half—

—but it twisted.

Toofast.

Too fluid.

The blade sliced clean through one of its many limbs, sending a black arc of fluid hissing against the corridor wall. The smell that followed was worse than before—acid and decay and something alive . The creature screamed without sound, its torso pivoting in a way no spine shouldbend.

Anya watched in horror as the creature’s claws tore into Tor’Vek’s forearm, shredding through his sleeve and into his skin. Blood welled fast, bright against the black fabric. He didn’t cry out—but she saw the way his body jolted, the brief stumble in his step, the flash of raw pain that crossed his face before he forced it down. He was still fighting—blade slashing to the creature’s midsection, an elbow to its ribs, abrutal kick to its knee—but it wasn’t enough. Not yet. Not fast enough. Not critical enough.

And Anya couldn’tfire.

Tor’Vek was too close. The corridor too narrow. All she could do was wait, her finger tight on the trigger, eyes darting for an opening. She moved along the wall, keeping distance between herself and the stabilizer strapped across her chest. If she fell, if it cracked—if the stabilizer shattered against the corridor floor—it wouldn’t just end the mission. It might kill themboth.

She couldn’t think aboutthat.

The monster twisted again, one clawed hand swiping toward hernow.

Tor’Vek turned in an instant. He didn’t block—it was too far. He threw his body into its side, slamming it against the corridor wall. Flesh slapped alloy. Anya stumbled back as black fluid sprayed.

“Now!” he shouted.

She fired.

Twice.

The impact slammed into the creature’s shoulder, spinning it just enough for Tor’Vek to strike again. This time his blade drove deep—through muscle, joint, bone. The creature shrieked, this time audibly, awet, splitting wail that echoed like static in her skull.

It thrashed.

One massive limb caught Tor’Vek in the ribs and threw him against the wall with a sickeningthud.

“Tor’Vek!”

He dropped but didn’t stay down. Blood smeared the wall where he’d hit, but he was already rising, blade still in hand. Limping. Focused.

The creature staggered. Anya saw its movements slow—fluid leaking from multiple wounds, its limbs spasming. It was dying.

It knewit.

That was when it turned toward her again, almost as though the stabilizer drewit.

She raised the weapon.

And fired.

Once. Twice. Then again.

The last shot punched through the creature’s neck joint—what passed for it—splintering vertebrae and severing the long column of muscle beneath. Its head jerked sideways with a wet crack, limbs twitching once in spasm before collapsing all at once like a puppet dropped from a great height. The creature buckled—collapsed to its knees, then flat. Afinal hiss escaped its lungs, like the air leaving a rupturedtank.

And then it stopped moving.

For several long seconds, Anya couldn’t breathe. Not from exertion. Not from fear. It was as if her lungs had locked shut, stunned by what they’d just survived. Then the dam broke. Her breath came too fast—ragged, uneven, tearing past her lips in quick, shallow gasps. Her hands shook.

Tor’Vek stood above the creature, panting, his blade still poised.

“Is it dead?” she asked, struggling to hold back hersobs.

He didn’t answer for a beat. Then: “Yes.”

He turned toward her. Blood streaked his temple. His side. But he was alive.

And so wasshe.

And the stabilizer? Still intact.

The silence that followed was worse than the fight itself. It settled over them thick and absolute, broken only by the staggered drag of exhaustion through their lungs and the distant hum of corridor systems that no longer sounded neutral. Anya’s legs nearly gave. Tor’Vek lowered his blade, slowly, as if unsure it was safe to let go. They exchanged a glance—no words, no comfort, just the shared shock of survival.

Because now they had to keep moving.

And there was no strength left to spare.

The creature’s body cooled slowly, its limbs twitching once more before falling still forgood.

Then came thehiss.

Behind it, the thick slab of alloy that had sealed the corridor began to retract. Slow. Mechanical. Not a surrender. Arelease. As if something had watched and waited, and now that the fight was over, it had no more use for confinement.

Anya’s pulse spiked all over again. The timing was too perfect. As if the walls themselves had been watching, calculating. As if this wasn’t coincidence at all—but something orchestrated. Her skin crawled with the sense of being observed, of a presence just beyond perception pulling strings she couldn’tsee.

She turned to Tor’Vek, her voice low. “Was this a test?” The bond flickered faintly between them, strained and crackling—tainted by adrenaline, but alive. Even in this moment, with the reek of blood in her nose and death at their backs, her body registered his nearness. The sweat on his neck. The heat radiating off him. How badly she wanted to reach for him—and how wrong it would be. How necessary.

He didn’t answer. But his jaw tightened. He checked the bracelet countdown and stiffened. Twenty-two solar units. He jerked his head in the direction of the access panel. “We need tomove.”

They moved.Fast.

Tor’Vek led the way forward, every motion swift and deliberate, weapon still in hand. They stepped through the new opening, past the crushed remains of the creature. Past the fluid it had spilled. Past the smell of death.

And back into the crumbling corridormaze.

It felt emptier now. But not safer. The air had a different weight to it—too quiet, too still. Every step echoed back at them sharper than before, and somewhere beneath it all was the faint, irregular pulse of vibrations underfoot, like the structure was waiting to shift again.

They navigating a new route through the maze. Aspider-scout carcass marked one of their turns, silent witnesses to everything that had happened. The walls groaned again, but held. The cracks widened underfoot, but didn’t break.

When they reached the final tunnel leading to the access panel, Anya nearly collapsed.

But she didn’t.

Because the valley still waited.

Steam greeted them first. Then the familiar sulfur burn in her nose. Then the sound—the eerie, churning rumble of pressure building beneathrock.

It was worse than before.

The geysers screamed like ruptured engines—piercing, deafening, primal. Columns of steam shot skyward with bone-shaking violence, and the air split with every eruption. It was less sound than shockwave, rattling Anya’s teeth and clawing at her ears like a living thing.

The terrain beneath their feet vibrated as if the planet were trying to shake themoff.

Tor’Vek didn’t hesitate. He gripped her arm, then his hand slid down to the stabilizer strapped against her chest.

A pang of resentment rose up sharp in Anya’s throat—irrational, immediate. It felt like surrender, like handing over the one burden she’d managed to carry all this way. But under it, another feeling coiled tighter. Relief. Bone-deep, unwanted, undeniable.

She hated that she felt it. Hated how heavy her limbs had become, how much her body craved the reprieve.

“I’ll take it,” hesaid.

“No,” Anya shot back, breath ragged. “I’ve got it.”

“It is heavy. You are already exhausted. We need speed.”

“I said I can carry it.”

But his hands were already working the strap, fast and firm. His knuckles grazed the side of her chest, and the contact was fleeting but electric. Her breath caught.

He met her eyes. Too long. Too steady. Something passed between them—hot, magnetic, edged with everything they hadn’t said. The bond flickered, not sharp this time, but slow and coiling. She felt it in her stomach. In her throat. In the low ache between her legs she refused to acknowledge.

The air between them tightened like a held breath—charged, intimate, inappropriate. And yet neither of them moved.

“If you slow down because of the stabilizer, we both die,” he said, voice roughernow.

The words should have broken the moment—should have snapped her back into the urgency of survival—but they didn’t. They deepened it. His voice, low and raw, slid under her skin, clinging somewhere hot and irrational. She felt it in her chest, her pulse, her breath. In that suspended beat between motion and instinct, she wanted to pull him closer. To close the space. To stop pretending the craving wasn’t mutual.

But she didn’t.

She hesitated—just for a second—then gave a tight nod, the moment splintering but not breaking.

He slung the stabilizer onto his back in a single motion, gripped her arm again, and launched forward.

“Move.”

They sprinted.

They sprinted ten meters—clean, fast, no steam, no shifts in the earth. Then a geyser exploded just behind them, launching a plume of ash and stone high into thesky.

Anya ducked instinctively, the heat scalding her cheek.

They kept moving—dodging fissures, timing their steps to the rhythm of the explosions. The ground cracked again, and a boulder shattered against the cliff wall, spraying shrapnel across theirpath.

Anya stumbled. Tor’Vek caughther.

They paused in the shadow of a jagged ridge as two more geysers erupted simultaneously, one left, one right. Her back pressed to his chest, his arm braced in front of her, holding her steady. For one suspended breath, the planet howled around them—and neither of them moved. She could feel the hard rhythm of his pulse at her spine, the tremble of restraint in the way his hand curled and didn’t grab her waist. It wasn’t the fear that undid her in that moment. It was how badly she wanted to turn and kisshim.

She was panting now. Legs shaking. Skin damp with sweat andfear.

“I can do it,” she snapped, before he could offer to carryher.

“I know.”

He helped her up anyway.

The final stretch was a sprint between eruptions. They darted, weaved, dropped, and ran. Twice more the earth lurched underfoot. Once they slid sideways across loose stone, barely catching their balance.

But they madeit.

They burst past the final ridge and dropped to the gravel just outside the reach of the geysers. Both breathing hard. Both alive.

Tor’Vek looked ather.

She nodded, already setting her sights on the seven kilometers of fractured terrain ahead of them, each meter a blur of heat, danger, and exhaustion. Her legs ached. Her lungs burned. Every part of her felt bruised and stretched too thin—but the only option was forward, through hominid territory, through whatever else this cursed valley held. The ship was still far beyond the next ridge, and every step between here and there would cost them. But there was no time to rest. No strength to spare.

She gritted her teeth and started forward.

There wasn’t a moment to waste.

They moved through the valley in silence.

The geysers still raged behind them, but here—beyond the chaos—the landscape had fallen into a waiting stillness. No more explosions. No shifting ground. Just cracked earth and long shadows.

But they weren’t alone.

Anya noticed them first. Figures on the ridges, just at the edge of her vision. One, then another. Then more. Hominids. Dozens.

They didn’t attack.

Notyet.

They lingered like ghosts—on both sides of the ravine, behind them, always out of reach. Watching. Growing in number. The tension was a physical thing now, coiling in the air like a drawn wire ready to snap. Anya could hear it in the shuffle of footsteps along the ridgeline, in the wet panting of unseen mouths, in the scrape of claws over stone just behind her. The soundless watching had gained a rhythm—apresence. The kind that made her skin prickle and her every instinct shout run . The longer they walked, the thicker it became, until every step felt like it echoed through a silent scream.

Anya said nothing. She didn’t need to. Tor’Vek saw them, too. His hand tightened on the hilt of his blade, but he didn’t drawit.

Notyet.

They pressed on. Seven kilometers of fractured terrain stretched behind them by the time they saw the familiar rise of the ship’s hull, half-buried in the slope. The sky above had darkened to a burnt orange, casting the valley in an eerie, apocalypticglow.

At their backs, the hominids crept closer. Still watching. Still waiting. Their growls were low, rhythmic, almost like a drumbeat.

Anya stumbled once. Tor’Vek caught her instantly, strong hands steadying her, but he didn’t let go. His touch lingered, scorching. The contact sent a jolt through her—sharp, uninvited, and far too welcome. She should have pulled away. Should have focused. But the way his fingers curled, the solid heat of his body behind her, it stole her breath.

The craving surged, not in hunger, but in a pulse of helpless awareness. She wanted more. Even here, even now. The craving flared through her like lightning—sharp and instantaneous. She could feel his pulse through his fingers. Rapid. Tense. As if the bond itself were fighting to stay buried beneath the weight of everythingelse.

“Do not let go of me,” he said, voice low, almost ragged. “Therage...”

“I wasn’t planning to,” she whispered, and they didn’t break contact until they reached theship.

Tor’Vek keyed in the sequence. The hatch slid open with a lowhiss.

They stepped inside, sealing the door behind them. Lockingit.

Almost instantly, athunder of fists and claws slammed into the hull from outside. The metal groaned under the first impact, then again. Screeches echoed through the valley—high, warbling, furious. The ship rocked gently as something large hurled itself against theside.

Anya flinched, heart slamming into her ribs. The sound wasn’t just rage. It was anticipation. It was hunger.

Her skin crawled with the pressure of it. Like she could feel them pressing in through the metal, taste the battle in the back of her throat.

Tor’Vek didn’t speak. He moved directly to the ship’s core housing. The stabilizer pack came off his shoulders with a heavy breath, and he snapped it into place. Adeep growl thrummed through the deck beneath them as the ship’s power came on, agrowl practically overrun by the screams of the hominids pounding against thehull.

Anya held her breath. Despite everything, the bond between her and Tor’Vek pulsed hot and tight and low in her belly like it wanted to drag her straight into his arms. Her pulse fluttered in her throat, sharp and uneven. Every part of her felt overexposed, vibrating—lungs too tight, hands damp, skin flushed like she’d been kissed too hard and not long enough.

Outside, the hominids lost what little restraint they’d clung to. Their growls became snarls. Screeches. Fists slammed against the hull in a brutal, syncopated rhythm. The metal began to shake under the weight of it—not just from force, but from numbers. Clawed hands scraped along the viewports. One face—pale and snarling—smeared blood across the glass as it shrieked something guttural and almost human. They weren’t just building to attack.

They were seconds away from unleashingit.

Frantically, she watched her bracelet.

The countdown ticked.

And kept ticking.

She blinked, waiting for it tostop.

It didn’t.

The numbers kept falling.

Her stomach turned over, hard and sudden, like she’d been dropped from a height. Aslow, sick chill crept up her spine, and her knees nearly buckled. Her hands pressed against the edge of the console, white-knuckled, as if she could will the numbers to freeze.

They didn’t.